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diff --git a/35503-0.txt b/35503-0.txt index ff505dd..ce60c01 100644 --- a/35503-0.txt +++ b/35503-0.txt @@ -1,25 +1,4 @@ - THE GIRL AT CENTRAL - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Girl at Central - -Author: Geraldine Bonner - -Release Date: March 06, 2011 [EBook #35503] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL *** - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 35503 *** Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. @@ -6073,375 +6052,4 @@ _Babbitts_ now. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Girl at Central - -Author: Geraldine Bonner - -Release Date: March 06, 2011 [EBook #35503] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL *** - - - - -Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - -This file was produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries. - - - - THE GIRL AT CENTRAL - BY GERALDINE BONNER - - - - - Author of "The Emigrant Trail," "The Book of Evelyn," etc. - - - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN - - - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1915 - - - - - Copyright, 1915, by - _D. Appleton and Company_ - - - - - _Copyright, 1914, 1915, by The Curtis Publishing Company_ - - - - - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - - - -[Illustration: _'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at -Mapleshade'"_] - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - I - - II - - III - - IV - - V - - VI - - VII - - VIII - - IX - - X - - XI - - XII - - XIII - - XIV - - XV - - XVI - - XVII - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade' -Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture -A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail -I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting - - - - -I - - -Poor Sylvia Hesketh! Even now, after this long time, I can't think of it -without a shudder, without a comeback of the horror of those days after -the murder. You remember it--the Hesketh mystery? And mystery it surely -was, baffling, as it did, the police and the populace of the whole -state. For who could guess why a girl like that, rich, beautiful, -without a care or an enemy, should be done to death as she was. Think of -it--at five o'clock sitting with her mother taking tea in the library at -Mapleshade and that same night found dead--murdered--by the side of a -lonesome country road, a hundred and eighteen miles away. - -It's the story of this that I'm going to tell here, and as you'll get a -good deal of me before I'm through, I'd better, right now at the start, -introduce myself. - -I'm Molly Morganthau, day operator in the telephone exchange at -Longwood, New Jersey, twenty-three years old, dark, slim, and as for my -looks--well, put them down as "medium" and let it go at that. My name's -Morganthau because my father was a Polish Jew--a piece worker on -pants--but my two front names, Mary McKenna, are after my mother, who -was from County Galway, Ireland. I was raised in an East Side tenement, -but I went steady to the Grammar school and through the High and I'm not -throwing bouquets at myself when I say I made a good record. That's how -I come to be nervy enough to write this story--but you'll see for -yourself. Only just keep in mind that I'm more at home in front of a -switchboard than at a desk. - -I've supported myself since I was sixteen, my father dying then, and my -mother--God rest her blessed memory!--two years later. First I was in a -department store and then in the Telephone Company. I haven't a relation -in the country and if I had I wouldn't have asked a nickel off them. I'm -that kind, independent and--but that's enough about me. - -Now for you to rightly get what I'm going to tell I'll have to begin -with a description of Longwood village and the country round about. I've -made a sort of diagram--it isn't drawn to scale but it gives the general -effect, all right--and with that and what I'll describe you can get an -idea of the lay of the land, which you have to have to understand -things. - - -Longwood's in New Jersey, a real picturesque village of a thousand -inhabitants. It's a little over an hour from New York by the main line -and here and there round it are country places, mostly fine ones owned -by rich people. There are some farms too, and along the railway and the -turnpike are other villages. My exchange is the central office for a -good radius of country, taking in Azalea, twenty-five miles above us on -the main line, and running its wires out in a big circle to the -scattered houses and the crossroad settlements. It's on Main Street, -opposite the station, and from my chair at the switchboard I can see the -platform and the trains as they come down from Cherry Junction or up -from New York. It's sixty miles from Longwood to the Junction where you -get the branch line that goes off to the North, stopping at other -stations, mostly for the farm people, and where, when you get to -Hazelmere, you can connect with an express for Philadelphia. Also you -can keep right on from the Junction and get to Philadelphia that way, -which is easier, having no changes and better trains. - -When I was first transferred from New York--it's over two years now--I -thought I'd die of the lonesomeness of it. At night, looking out of my -window--I lived over Galway's Elite Millinery Parlors on Lincoln -Street--across those miles and miles of country with a few lights dotted -here and there, I felt like I was cast on a desert island. After a while -I got used to it and that first spring when the woods began to get a -faint greenish look and I'd wake up and hear birds twittering in the -elms along the street--hold on! I'm getting sidetracked. It's going to -be hard at first to keep myself out, but just be patient, I'll do it -better as I go along. - -The county turnpike goes through Longwood, and then sweeps away over the -open country between the estates and the farms and now and then a -village--Huntley, Latourette, Corona--strung out along it like beads on -a string. A hundred and fifty miles off it reaches Bloomington, a big -town with hotels and factories and a jail. About twenty miles before it -gets to Bloomington it crosses the branch line near Cresset's Farm. -There's a little sort of station there--just an open shed--called -Cresset's Crossing, built for the Cresset Farm people, who own a good -deal of land in that vicinity. Not far from Cresset's Crossing, about a -half mile apart, the Riven Rock Road from the Junction and the Firehill -Road from Jack Reddy's estate run into the turnpike. - -This is the place, I guess, where I'd better tell about Jack Reddy, who -was such an important figure in the Hesketh mystery and who--I get red -now when I write it--was such an important figure to me. - -A good ways back--about the time of the Revolution--the Reddy family -owned most of the country round here. Bit by bit they sold it off till -in old Mr. Reddy's time--Jack's father--all they had left was the -Firehill property and Hochalaga Lake, a big body of water, back in the -hills beyond Huntley. Firehill is an old-fashioned, stone house, built -by Mr. Reddy's grandfather. It got its name from a grove of maples on -the top of a mound that in the autumn used to turn red and orange and -look like the hillock was in a blaze. The name, they say, came from the -Indian days and so did Hochalaga, though what that stands for I don't -know. The Reddys had had lots of offers for the lake but never would -sell it. They had a sort of little shack there and before Jack's time, -when there were no automobiles, used to make horseback excursions to -Hochalaga and stay for a few days. After the old people died and Jack -came into the property everybody thought he'd sell the lake--several -parties were after it for a summer resort--but he refused them all, had -the shack built over into an up-to-date bungalow, and through the summer -would have guests down from town, spending week-ends out there. - -Now I'm telling everything truthful, for that's what I set out to do, -and if you think I'm a fool you're welcome to and no back talk from -me--but I was crazy about Jack Reddy. Not that he ever gave me cause; -he's not that kind and neither am I. And let me say right here that -there's not a soul ever knew it, he least of all. I guess no one would -have been more surprised than the owner of Firehill if he'd known that -the Longwood telephone girl most had heart failure every time he passed -the window of the Exchange. - -I will say, to excuse myself, that there's few girls who wouldn't have -put their hats straight and walked their prettiest when they saw him -coming. Gee--he was a good looker! Like those advertisements for collars -and shirts you see in the back of the magazines--you know the ones. But -it wasn't that that got me. It was his ways, always polite, never fresh. -If he'd meet me in the street he'd raise his hat as if I was the Queen -of Sheba. And there wasn't any hanging round my switchboard and asking -me to make dates for dinner in town. He was always jolly, but--a girl in -a telephone exchange gets to know a lot--he was always a gentleman. - -He lived at Firehill--forty miles from Longwood--with two old servants, -David Gilsey and his wife, who'd been with his mother and just doted on -him. But everybody liked him. There wasn't but one criticism I ever -heard passed on him and that was that he had a violent temper. Casey, -his chauffeur, told a story in the village of how one day, when they -were passing a farm, they saw an Italian laborer prod a horse with a -pitchfork. Before he knew, Mr. Reddy was out of the car and over the -fence and mashing the life out of that dago. It took Casey and the -farmer to pull him off and they thought the dago'd be killed before they -could. - -There was talk in Longwood that he hadn't much money--much, the way the -Reddys had always had it--and was going to study law for a living. But -he must have had some, for he kept up the house, and had two motors, one -just a common roadster and the other a long gray racing car that he'd -let out on the turnpike till he was twice arrested and once ran over a -dog. - -My, how well I got to know that car! When I first came I only saw it at -long intervals. Then--just as if luck was on my side--I began to see it -oftener and oftener, slowing down as it came along Main Street, swinging -round the corner, jouncing across the tracks, and dropping out of sight -behind the houses at the head of Maple Lane. - -"What's bringing Jack Reddy in this long way so often?" people would say -at first. - -Then, after a while, when they'd see the gray car, they'd look sly at -each other and wink. - -There's one good thing about having a crush on a party that's never -thought any more about you than if you were the peg he hangs his hat -on--it doesn't hurt so bad when he falls in love with his own kind of -girl. - -And that brings me--as if I was in the gray car speeding down Maple -Lane--to Mapleshade and the Fowlers and Sylvia Hesketh. - - - - -II - - -About a mile from Longwood, standing among ancient, beautiful trees, is -Mapleshade, Dr. Dan Fowler's place. - -It was once a farmhouse, over a century old, but two and a half years -ago when Dr. Fowler bought it he fixed it all up, raised the roof, built -on a servants' wing and a piazza with columns and turned the farm -buildings into a garage. Artists and such people say it's the prettiest -place in this part of the State, and it certainly is a picture, -especially in summer, with the lawns mown close as velvet and the -flower-beds like bits of carpet laid out to air. - -The Doctor bought a big bit of land with it--I don't know how many -hundred acres--so the house, though it's not far from the village, is -kind of secluded and shut away. You get to it by Maple Lane, a little -winding road that runs between trees caught together with wild grape and -Virginia creeper. In summer they're like green walls all draped over -with the vines and in winter they turn into a rustling gray hedge, woven -so close it's hard to see through. About ten minutes' walk from the gate -of Mapleshade there's a pine that was struck by lightning and stands up -black and bare. - -When the house was finished the Doctor, who was a bachelor, married Mrs. -Hesketh, a widow lady accounted rich, and he and she came there as bride -and groom with her daughter, Sylvia Hesketh. I hadn't come yet, but from -what I've heard, there was gossip about them from the start. What I can -say from my own experience is that I'd hardly got my grip unpacked when -I began to hear of the folks at Mapleshade. - -They lived in great style with a housekeeper, a butler and a French maid -for the ladies. In the garage were three automobiles, Mrs. Fowler's -limousine, the Doctor's car and a dandy little roadster that belonged to -Miss Sylvia. Neither she nor the Doctor bothered much with the -chauffeur. They left him to take Mrs. Fowler round and drove themselves, -the joke going that if Miss Sylvia ever went broke she could qualify for -a chauffeur's job. - -After a while the story came out that it wasn't Mrs. Fowler who was so -rich but Miss Hesketh. The late Mr. Hesketh had only left his wife a -small fortune, willing the rest--millions, it was said--to his daughter. -She was a minor--nineteen--and the trustees of the estate allowed her a -lot of money for her maintenance, thirty thousand a year they had it in -Longwood. - -In spite of the grand way they lived there wasn't much company at -Mapleshade. Anne Hennessey, the housekeeper, told me Mrs. Fowler was so -dead in love with her husband she didn't want the bother of entertaining -people. And the Doctor liked a quiet life. He'd been a celebrated -surgeon in New York but had retired only for consultations and special -cases now and again. He was very good to the people round about, and -would come in and help when our little Dr. Pease, or Dr. Graham, at the -Junction, were up against something serious. I'll never forget when Mick -Donahue, the station agent's boy, got run over by Freight No. 22. But -I'm sidetracked again. Anyhow, the Doctor amputated the leg and little -Mick's stumping round on a wooden pin almost as good as ever. - -But even so they weren't liked much. They held their heads very high, -Mrs. Fowler driving through the village like it was Fifth Avenue, -sending the chauffeur into the shops and not at all affable to the -tradespeople. The Doctor wouldn't trouble to give you so much as a nod, -just stride along looking straight ahead. When the story got about that -he'd lost most of the money he'd made doctoring I didn't bear any -resentment, seeing it was worry that made him that way. - -But Miss Sylvia was made on a different measure. My, but she was a -winner! Even after I knew what brought Jack Reddy in from Firehill so -often I couldn't be set against her. Jealous I might be of a girl like -myself, but not of one who was the queen bee of the hive. - -She was a beauty from the ground up--a blonde with hair like corn silk -that she wore in a loose, fluffy knot with little curly ends hanging on -her neck. Her face was pure pink and white, the only dark thing in it -her big brown eyes, that were as clear and soft as a baby's. And she was -a great dresser, always the latest novelty, and looking prettier in each -one. Mrs. Galway'd say to me, with her nose caught up, scornful, - -"To my mind it's not refined to advertise your wealth on your back." - -But I didn't worry, knowing Mrs. Galway'd have advertised hers if she'd -had the wealth or a decent shaped back to advertise it on, which she -hadn't, being round-shouldered. - -There was none of the haughty ways of her parents about Miss Sylvia. -When she'd come into the exchange to send a call (a thing that puzzled -me first but I soon caught on) she'd always stop and have a pleasant -word with me. On bright afternoons I'd see her pass on horseback, -straight as an arrow, with a man's hat on her golden hair. She'd always -have a smile for everyone, touching her hat brim real sporty with the -end of her whip. Even when she was in her motor, speeding down Main -Street, she'd give you a hail as jolly as if she was your college chum. - -Sometimes she'd be alone but generally there was a man along. There were -a lot of them hanging round her, which was natural, seeing she had -everything to draw them like a candle drawing moths. They'd come and go -from town and now and then stay over Sunday at the Longwood Inn--it's a -swell little place done up in the Colonial style--and you'd see them -riding and walking with her, very devoted. At first everybody thought -her parents were agreeable to all the attention she was getting. It -wasn't till the Mapleshade servants began to talk too much that we heard -the Fowlers, especially the Doctor, didn't like it. - -I hadn't known her long before I began to notice something that -interested me. A telephone girl sees so many people and hears such a lot -of confidential things on the wire, that she gets to know more than most -about what I suppose you'd call human nature. It's a study that's always -attracted me and in Miss Sylvia's case there was a double attraction--I -was curious about her for myself and I was curious about her because of -Jack Reddy. - -What I noticed was that she was so different with men to what she was -with women--affable to both, but it was another kind of affability. I've -seen considerably many girls trying to throw their harpoons into men and -doing it too, but they were in the booby class beside Miss Sylvia. She -was what the novelists call a coquette, but she was that dainty and sly -about it that I don't believe any of the victims knew it. It wasn't what -she said, either; more the way she looked and the soft, sweet manner she -had, as if she thought more of the chap she was talking to than anybody -else in the world. She'd be that way to one in my exchange and the next -day I'd see her just the same with another in the drugstore. - -It made me uneasy. Even if the man you love doesn't love you, you don't -want to see him fooled. But I said nothing--I'm the close sort--and it -wasn't till I came to be friends with Anne Hennessey that I heard the -inside facts about the family at Mapleshade. - -Anne Hennessey was a Canadian and a fine girl. She was a lady and had a -lady's job--seventy-five a month and her own bathroom--and being the -real thing she didn't put on any airs, but when she liked me made right -up to me and we soon were pals. After work hours I'd sometimes go up to -her at Mapleshade or she'd come down to me over the Elite. - -I remember it was in my room one spring evening--me lying on the bed and -Anne sitting by the open window--that she began to talk about the -Fowlers. She was not one to carry tales, but I could see she had -something on her mind and for the first time she loosened up. I was -picking over a box of chocolates and I didn't give her a hint how keen I -was to hear, acting like the candies had the best part of my attention. -She began by saying the Doctor and Miss Sylvia didn't get on well. - -"That's just like a novel," I answered, "the heroine's stepfather's -always her natural enemy." - -"He's not that in this case," said Anne--she speaks English fine, like -the teachers in the High--"I'm sure he means well by her, but they can't -get on at all, they're always quarreling." - -"There's many a gilded home hides a tragedy. What do they fight about?" - -"Things she does he disapproves of. She's very spoiled and self-willed. -No one's ever controlled her and she resents it from him." - -"What's he disapprove of?" - -Anne didn't answer right off, looking thoughtful out of the window. Then -she said slow as if she was considering her words: - -"I'm going to tell you, Molly, because I know you're no gossip and can -be trusted, and the truth is, I'm worried. I don't like the situation up -at Mapleshade." - -I swung my feet on to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed, -nibbling at a chocolate almond. - -"Here's where I get dumb," I said, sort of casual to encourage her. - -"Sylvia Hesketh's a girl that needs a strong hand over her and there's -no one has it. Her father's dead, her mother--poor Mrs. Fowler's only a -grown-up baby ready to say black is white if her husband wants her -to--and Dr. Fowler's trying to do it and he's going about it all wrong. -You see," she said, turning to me very serious, "it's not only that -she's head-strong and extravagant but she's an incorrigible flirt." - -"Is there a place in the back of the book where you can find out what -incorrigible means?" I said. - -Anne smiled, but not as if she felt like it. - -"Uncontrollable, irrepressible. Her mother--Mrs. Fowler's ready to tell -me anything and everything--says she's always been like that. And, of -course, with her looks and her fortune the men are around her like flies -round honey." - -"Why does the Doctor mind that?" - -"I suppose he wouldn't mind if they just came to Mapleshade or Longwood. -But--that's what the quarreling's about--he's found out that she meets -them in town, goes to lunch and the matine with them." - -"Excuse me, but I've left my etiquette book on the piano. What's wrong -about going to the matine or to lunch?" - -"Nothing's really wrong. Mind you, Molly, I know Sylvia through and -through and there's no harm in her--it's just the bringing-up and the -spoiling and the admiration. But, of course, in her position, a girl -doesn't go about that way without a chaperone. The Doctor's perfectly -right to object." - -I was looking down, pretending to hunt over the box. - -"Who does she go with?" I said. - -"Oh, there are several. A man named Carisbrook----" I'd seen him often, -a swell guy in white spats and a high hat--"and a young lawyer called -Dunham and Ben Robinson, a Canadian like me. People see her with them -and tell the doctor and there's a row." - -I looked into the box as careful as if I was searching for a diamond. - -"Ain't Mr. Reddy one of the happy family?" I asked. "Ah, here's the last -almond!" - -"Oh, of course, young Reddy. I think it would be a good thing if she -married him. Everybody says he's a fine fellow, and I tell you now, -Molly, with Sylvia so willful and the doctor so domineering and Mrs. -Fowler being pulled to pieces between them, things at Mapleshade can't -go on long the way they are." - -That was in May. At the end of June the Fowlers went to Bar Harbor with -all their outfit for the summer. After that Jack Reddy didn't come into -Longwood much. I heard that he was spending a good deal of his time at -the bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, and I did see him a few times meeting -his company at the train--he had some week-end parties out there--and -bringing them back in the gray car. - -At the end of September the Fowlers came home. It was great weather, -clear and crisp, with the feel of frost in the air. Most everybody was -out of doors and I saw Sylvia often, sometimes on horseback, sometimes -driving her motor. She was prettier than ever for the change and seemed -like she couldn't stay in the house. I'd see her riding toward home in -the red light of the sunset, and as I walked back from work her car -often would flash past me, speeding through the early dark toward Maple -Lane. - -Anne said they'd had a fairly peaceful summer and she hoped they were -going to get on better. There had only been one row--that was about a -man who was up at Bar Harbor and had met Sylvia and paid her a good deal -of attention. The Doctor had been very angry as he disapproved of the -man--Cokesbury was his name. - -"Cokesbury!" I cut in surprised--we were in Anne's room that -evening--"why, he belongs round here." - -Anne had heard that and wanted to know what I knew about him, which I'll -write down in this place as it seems to fit in and has to be told -somewhere. - -When I first came to Longwood, Mr. and Mrs. Cokesbury were living on -their estate, Cokesbury Lodge, about twenty-five miles from us, near -Azalea. They had been in France for a year previous to that, then come -back and taken up their residence in Mr. Cokesbury's country seat, and -it was shortly after that Mrs. Cokesbury died there, leaving three -children. For a while the widower stayed on with nurses and governesses -to look after the poor motherless kids. Then, the eldest boy taking sick -and nearly dying, he decided to send them to his wife's parents, who had -wanted them since Mrs. Cokesbury's death. - -So the establishment at the Lodge was broken up and Mr. Cokesbury went -to live in town. There were rumors that the house was to be sold, but in -the spring Sands, the Pullman conductor, told me that Mr. Cokesbury had -been down several times, staying over Sunday and had said he had given -up the idea of selling the place. He told Sands he couldn't get his -price for it and what was the sense of selling at a loss, especially -when he could come out there and get a breath of country air when he was -scorched up with the city heat? - -I'd passed the house one day in August when I was on an auto ride with -some friends. It was a big, rambling place with a lot of dismal-looking -pines around it, about five miles from Azalea and with no near -neighbors. Mr. Cokesbury only kept one car--he'd had several when his -wife was there--and used to drive himself down from the Lodge to the -station, leave his car in the Azalea garage, and drive himself back the -next time he came. He had no servants or caretaker, which he didn't -need, as, after Mrs. Cokesbury's death, all the valuable things had been -taken out of the house and sent to town for storage. - -It gave me a jar to hear that Sylvia Hesketh--who, in my mind, was as -good as engaged to Jack Reddy--would have anything to do with him. I'd -never seen him, but I'd heard a lot that wasn't to his credit. He hadn't -been good to his wife--everybody said she was a real lady--but was the -gay, wild kind, and not young, either. Anne said he was forty if he was -a day. When I asked her what Sylvia could see in an old gink like that, -she just shrugged up her shoulders and said, who could tell--Sylvia was -made that way. She was like some woman whose name I can't remember who -sat on a rock and sang to the sailors till they got crazy and jumped -into the water. - -My head was full of these things one glorious afternoon toward the end -of October when--it being my holiday--I started out for a walk through -the woods. The woods cover the hills behind the village and they're -grand, miles and miles of them. But wait! There was a little thing that -happened, by the way, that's worth telling, for it gave me a -premonition--is that the word? Or, maybe, I'd better say connected up -with what was in my mind. - -I was walking slow down Main Street when opposite the postoffice I saw -all the loafers and most of the tradespeople lined up in a ring staring -at a bunch of those dago acrobats that go about the State all summer -doing stunts on a bit of carpet. I'd seen them often--chaps in dirty -pink tights walking on their hands and rolling round in knots--and I -wouldn't have stopped but I got a glimpse of little Mick Donahue -stumping round the outside trying to squeeze in and trying not to cry -because he couldn't. So I stopped and hoisted him up for a good view, -telling the men in front to break a way for the kid to see. - -There was a dago scraping on a fiddle and while the acrobats were -performing on their carpet, a big bear with a little, brown, -shriveled-up man holding it by a chain, was dancing. And when I got my -first look at that bear, in spite of all my worry I burst out laughing, -for, dancing away there solemn and slow, it was the dead image of Dr. -Fowler. - -You'd have laughed yourself if you'd seen it--that is, if you'd known -the Doctor. There was something so like him in its expression--sort of -gloomy and thoughtful--and its little eyes set up high in its head and -looking angry at the crowd as if it despised them. When its master -jerked the chain and shouted something in a foreign lingo it hitched up -its lip like it was trying to smile, and that sideways grin, as if it -didn't feel at all pleasant, was just the way the Doctor'd smile when he -came into the Exchange and gave me a number. - -It fascinated me and I stood staring with little Mick sitting on my arm, -just loving it all, his dirty little fist clasped round a penny. Then -the music stopped and one of the acrobats came round with a hat and -little Mick gave a great sigh as if he was coming out of a dream. "If -you hadn't come, Molly, I'd have missed it," he said, looking into my -face in that sweet wistful way sickly kids have, "and it's the last time -they'll be round this year." - -I kissed him and put him down and told the men as I squeezed out to keep -him in the front or they'd hear from me. Then I walked off toward the -woods thinking. - -It was a funny idea I'd got into my head. I'd once read in a paper that -when people looked like animals they resembled the animals in their -dispositions--and I was wondering was Dr. Fowler like a bear, grouchy -and when you crossed him savage. Maybe it was because I'd been so -worried, but it gave me a kind of chill. My thoughts went back to -Mapleshade and I got one of those queer glimpses (like a curtain was -lifted for a second and you could see things in the future) of trouble -there--something dark--I don't know how to explain it, but it was as if -I got a new line on the Doctor, as if the bear had made me see through -the surface clear into him. - -I tried to shake it off for I wanted to enjoy my afternoon in the woods. -They are beautiful at that season, the trees full of colored leaves, and -all quiet except for the rustlings of little animals round the roots. -There's a road that winds along under the branches, and trails, soft -under foot with fallen leaves and moss, that you can follow for miles. - -I was coming down one of these, making no more noise than the squirrels, -when just before it crossed the road I saw something and stopped. There, -sitting side by side on a log, were Sylvia Hesketh and a man. Close to -them, run off to the side, was a motor and near it tied to a tree a -horse with a lady's saddle. Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a -picture, her eyes on the ground and slapping softly with her whip on the -side of her boot. The man was leaning toward her, talking low and -earnest and staring hard into her face. - - -[Illustration: _Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture_] - - -To my knowledge I'd never seen him before, and it gave me a start--me -saying, surprised to myself, "Hullo! here's another one?" He was a big, -powerful chap, with a square, healthy looking face and wide shoulders on -him like a prize fighter. He was dressed in a loose coat and -knickerbockers and as he talked he had his hands spread out, one on each -knee, great brown hands with hair on them. I was close enough to see -that, but he was speaking so low and I was so scared that they'd see me -and think I was spying, that I didn't hear what he was saying. The only -one that saw me was the horse. It looked up sudden with its ears -pricked, staring surprised with its soft gentle eyes. - -I stole away like a robber, not making a speck of noise. All the joy I'd -been taking in the walk under the colored leaves was gone. I felt kind -of shriveled up inside--the way you feel when someone you love is sick. -I couldn't bear to think that Jack Reddy was giving his heart to a girl -who'd meet another man out in the woods and listen to him so coy and yet -so interested. - -As far as I can remember, that was a little over a month from the fatal -day. All the rest of October and through the first part of November -things went along quiet and peaceful. And then, suddenly, everything -came together--quick like a blow. - - - - -III - - -For two days it had been raining, heavy straight rain. From my window at -Galway's I could see the fields round the village full of pools and -zigzags of water as if they'd been covered with a shiny gray veil that -was suddenly pulled off and had caught in the stubble and been torn to -rags. Saturday morning the weather broke. But the sky was still overcast -and the air had that sort of warm, muggy breathlessness that comes after -rain. That was November the twentieth. - -It was eleven o'clock and I was sitting at the switchboard looking out -at the streets, all puddles and ruts, when I got a call from the -Dalzells'--a place near the Junction--for Mapleshade. - -Now you needn't get preachy and tell me it's against the rules to -listen--suspension and maybe discharge. I know that better than most. -Didn't the roof over my head and the food in my mouth depend on me doing -my work according to orders? But the fact is that at this time I was -keyed up so high I'd got past being cautious. When a call came for -Mapleshade I _listened_, listened hard, with all my ears. What did I -expect to hear? I don't know exactly. It might have been Jack Reddy and -it might have been Sylvia--oh, never mind what it was--just say I was -curious and let it go at that. - -So I lifted up the cam and took in the conversation. - -It was a woman's voice--Mrs. Dalzell's, I knew it well--and Dr. -Fowler's. Hers was trembly and excited: - -"Oh, Dr. Fowler, is that you? It's Mrs. Dalzell, yes, near the Junction. -My husband's very sick. We've had Dr. Graham and he says it's -appendicitis and there ought to be an operation--now, as soon as -possible. _Do_ you hear me?" - -Then Dr. Fowler, very calm and polite: - -"Perfectly, madam." - -"Oh, I'm so glad--I've been so _terribly_ worried. It's so unexpected. -Mr. Dalzell's never had so much as a _cramp_ before and now----" - -"Just wait a minute, Mrs. Dalzell," came the Doctor. "Let me understand. -Graham recommends an operation, you say?" - -"Yes, Dr. Fowler, as soon as possible; something awful may happen if -it's not done. And Dr. Graham suggested you if you'd be so kind. I know -it's a favor but I _must_ have the best for my husband. _Won't_ you -come? Please, to oblige me." - -Dr. Fowler asked some questions which I needn't put down and said he'd -come and if necessary operate. Then they talked about the best way for -him to get there, the Doctor wanting to know if the main line to the -Junction wouldn't be the quickest. But Mrs. Dalzell said she'd been -consulting the time tables and there'd be no train from Longwood to the -Junction before two and if he wouldn't mind and would come in his auto -by the Firehill Road he'd get there several hours sooner. He agreed to -that and it wasn't fifteen minutes after he'd hung up that I saw him -swing past my window in his car, driving himself. - -Later on in the afternoon I got another call from the Dalzells' for -Mapleshade and heard the Doctor tell Mrs. Fowler that the operation had -been a serious one and that he would stay there for the night and -probably all the next day. - -Before that second call, about two hours after the first one, there came -another message for Mapleshade that before a week was out was in most -every paper in the country and that lifted me right into the middle of -the Hesketh mystery. - -It was near one o'clock, an hour when work's slack round Longwood, -everybody being either at their dinner or getting ready for it. The call -was from a public pay station and was in a man's voice--a voice I didn't -know, but that, because of my curiosity, I listened to as sharp as if it -was my lover's asking me to marry him. - -The man wanted to see Miss Sylvia and, after a short wait, I heard her -answer, very gay and cordial and evidently knowing him at once without -any questions. If she'd said one word to show who he was things -afterward would have been very different, but there wasn't a single -phrase that you could identify him by--all anyone could have caught was -that they seemed to know each other very well. - -He began by telling her it was a long time since he'd seen her and -wanting to know if she'd come to town on Monday and take lunch with him -at Sherry's and afterward go to a concert. - -"Monday," she said very slow and soft, "the day after to-morrow? No, I -can't make any engagement for Monday." - -"Why not?" he asked. - -She didn't answer right off and when she did, though her voice was so -sweet, there was something sly and secret about it. - -"I've something else to do." - -"Can't you postpone it?" - -She laughed at that, a little soft laugh that came bubbling through her -words: - -"No, I'm afraid not." - -"Must be something very interesting." - -"Um--maybe so." - -"You're very mysterious--can't I be told what it is?" - -"Why should you be told?" - -That riled him, I could hear it in his voice. - -"As a friend, or if I don't come under that head, as a fellow who's got -the frosty mit and wants to know why." - -"I don't think that's any reason. I have no engagement with you and I -have with--someone else." - -"Just tell me one thing--is it a man or a woman?" - -She began to laugh again, and if I'd been the man at the other end of -the wire that laugh would have made me wild. - -"Which do you think?" she asked. - -"I don't think, I _know_," and _I_ knew that he was mad. - -"Well, if you know," she said as sweet as pie, "I needn't tell you any -more. I'll say good-bye." - -"No," he shouted, "don't hang up--wait. What do you want to torment me -for?" Then he got sort of coaxing, "It isn't kind to treat a fellow this -way. Can't you tell me who it is?" - -"No, that's a secret. You can't know a thing till I choose to tell you -and I don't choose now." - -"If I come over Sunday afternoon will you see me?" - -"What time?" - -"Any time you say--I'm your humble slave, as you know." - -"I'm going out about seven." - -"Where?" - -"That's another secret." - -I think a child listening to that conversation would have seen he was -getting madder every minute and yet he was so afraid she'd cut him off -that he had to keep it under and talk pleasant. - -"Look here," he said, "I've something I want to say to you awfully. If I -run over in my car and get there round six-thirty, can you see me for a -few minutes?" - -She didn't answer at once. Then she said slow as if she was undecided: - -"Not at the house." - -"I didn't mean at the house. Say in Maple Lane, by the gate. I won't -keep you more than five or ten minutes." - -"Six-thirty's rather late." - -"Well, any time you say." - -"Can't you be there exactly at six-fifteen?" - -"If that's a condition." - -"It is. If you're late you won't find me. I'll be gone"--she began to -laugh again--"taking my secret with me." - -"I'll be there on the dot." - -"Very well, then, you can come--at the gate just as the clock marks one -quarter after six. And, maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you the secret. -Good-bye until then--try not to be too curious. It's a bad habit and -I've seen signs of it in you lately. Good-bye." - -Before he could say another word she'd disconnected. - -I leaned back in my chair thinking it over. What was she up to? What was -the secret? And who was the man? "Run over in his car"--that looked like -someone from one of the big estates. How many of them _had_ she buzzing -round her? - -And then, for all I was so downhearted, I couldn't help smiling to think -of those two supposing they were talking so secluded and an East Side -tenement girl taking it all in. Little did I guess then that me breaking -the rules that way, instead of destroying me was going to----But that -doesn't come in here. - -And now I come to Sunday the twenty-first, a date I'll never forget. - -It seemed to me afterward that Nature knew of the tragedy and prepared -for it. The weather was duller and grayer than it had been on Saturday, -not a breath of air stirring and the sky all mottled over with clouds, -dark and heavy looking. A full moon was due and as I went to the -Exchange I thought of the sweethearts that had dates to walk out in the -moonlight and how disappointed they'd be. - -Things weren't cheerful at the Exchange either. I found Minnie Trail, -the night operator, as white as a ghost, saying she felt as if one of -her sick headaches was coming on and if it did would I stay on over -time? I knew those headaches--they ran along sometimes till eight or -nine. I told her to go right home to bed and I'd hold the fort till she -was able to relieve me. We often did turns like that, one for the other. -It's one of the advantages of being in a small country office--no one -picks on you for acting human. - -About ten I had a call from Anne Hennessey. "Have you got anything on -for this evening, Molly?" - -"I have not. This is Longwood, not gay Paree." - -"Then I'll come round to Galways, about seven and we'll go to the Gilt -Edge for supper. I want to talk to you." - -The Gilt Edge Lunch was where I took my meals, a nice clean little joint -close to the office. But I didn't know when I'd get my supper that -night, so I called back: - -"That's all right, sister, but come to the Exchange. Minnie's head's on -the blink and I'll stay on here late. Anything up?" - -"Yes. I don't want to talk about it over the wire. There's been another -row here--yesterday morning. It's horrible; I can't stand it. I'll tell -you more this evening. So long." - -I put my elbows on the table and sat forward thinking. If you'd asked me -a year ago what I wanted most in the world I'd have said money. But I'd -learnt considerable since then. "Money don't do it," I said to myself. -"Look at the Fowlers with their jewels and their millions scrapping till -even the housekeeper on a fancy salary with a private bath can't stand -it." - -And there came up in my mind the memory of the East Side tenement where -I was raised. I thought of my poor father, most killed with work, and my -mother eking things out, doing housecleaning and never a hard word to -each other or to me. - -The night settled down early, black, dark and very still. At seven Anne -Hennessey came in and sat down by the radiator, which was making queer -noises with the heat coming up. Supper time's like dinner--few calls--so -I turned round in my chair, ready for a good talk, and asked about the -trouble at Mapleshade. - -"Oh, it was another quarrel yesterday morning at breakfast and with -Harper, the butler, hearing every word. He said it was the worst they'd -ever had. He's a self-respecting, high-class servant and was shocked." - -"Sylvia and the Doctor again?" - -"Yes, and poor Mrs. Fowler crying behind the coffee pot." - -"The same old subject?" - -"Oh, of course. It's young Reddy this time. Sylvia's been out a good -deal this autumn in her car; several times she's been gone nearly the -whole day. When the Doctor questioned her she'd either be evasive or -sulky. On Friday someone told him they'd seen her far up on the turnpike -with Jack Reddy in his racer." - -I fired up, I couldn't help it. - -"Why should he be mad about that? Isn't Mr. Reddy good enough for her?" - -"_I_ think he is. I told you before I thought the best thing she could -do would be to marry him. But----" she looked round to see that no one -was coming in----"don't say a word of what I'm going to tell you. I have -no right to repeat what I hear as an employee but I'm worried and don't -know what's the best thing to do. Mrs. Fowler has as good as told me -that her husband's lost all his money and it's Sylvia's that's running -Mapleshade. And what _I_ think is that the Doctor doesn't want her to -marry _anyone_. It isn't her he minds losing; it's thirty thousand a -year." - -"But when she comes of age she can do what she wants and if he makes it -so disagreeable she won't want to live there." - -"That's two years off yet. He may recoup himself in that time." - -"Oh, I see. But he can't do any good by fighting with her." - -"Molly, you're a wise little woman. _Of course_ he can't, but he doesn't -know it. He treats that hot-headed, high-spirited girl like a child of -five. Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade." - -I thought of the telephone message I'd overheard the day before and it -came to me suddenly what "the secret" might be. Could Sylvia have been -planning to run away? I didn't say anything--it's natural to me and you -get trained along those lines in the telephone business--and I sat -turning it over in my mind as Anne went on. - -"I'd leave to-morrow only I'm so sorry for Mrs. Fowler. She's as -helpless as a baby and seems to cling to me. The other day she told me -about her first marriage--how her husband didn't care for her but was -crazy about Sylvia--that's why he left her almost all his money." - -I wasn't listening much, still thinking about "the secret." If she _was_ -running away was she going alone or with Jack Reddy? My eyes were fixed -on the window and I saw, without noticing particular, the down train -from the city draw into the station, and then Jim Donahue run along the -platform swinging a lantern. As if I was in a dream I could hear Anne: - -"I call it an unjust will--only two hundred thousand dollars to his wife -and five millions to his daughter. But if Sylvia dies first, all the -money goes back to Mrs. Fowler." - -The train pulled out, snorting like a big animal. Jim disappeared, then -presently I saw him open the depot door and come slouching across the -street. I knew he was headed for the Exchange, thinking Minnie Trail was -there, he being a widower with a crush on Minnie. - -He came in and, after he'd got over the shock of seeing me, turned to -Anne and said: - -"I just been putting your young lady on the train." - -Anne gave a start and stared at him. - -"Miss Sylvia?" she said. - -"That's her," said Jim, warming his coat tails at the radiator. - -I could see Anne was awful surprised and was trying to hide it. - -"Who was she with?" she asked. - -"No one. She went up alone and said she was going to be away for a few -days. Where's she going?" - -Anne gave me a look that said, "Keep your mouth shut," and turned quiet -and innocent to Jim. "Just for a visit to friends. She's always visiting -people in New York and Philadelphia." - -Jim stayed round a while gabbing with us, and then went back to the -station. When the door shut on him we stared at each other with our eyes -as round as marbles. - -"Oh, Molly," Anne said, almost in a whisper, "it's just what I've been -afraid of." - -"You think she's lighting out?" - -"Yes--don't you see, the Doctor being at the Dalzells' has given her the -chance." - -"Where would she go to?" - -"How do I know? Heaven send she hasn't done anything foolish. But this -morning she sent Virginie, that French woman, up to the village for -something--on Sunday when all the shops are shut. The housemaid told me -they'd been trying to find out what it was and Virginie wouldn't tell. -Oh, dear, _could_ she have gone off with someone?" - -We were talking it over in low voices when a call came. It was from -Mapleshade to the Dalzells'. As I made the connection I whispered to -Anne what it was and she whispered back, "Listen." - -I did. It was from Mrs. Fowler, all breathless and almost crying. She -asked for the Doctor and when he came burst out: - -"Oh, Dan, something's happened--something dreadful. Sylvia's run away." - -I could hear the Doctor's voice, small and distant but quite clear: - -"Go slow now, Connie, it's hard to hear you. Did you say _Sylvia'd run -away_?" - -Then Mrs. Fowler said, trying to speak slower: - -"Yes, with Jack Reddy. We've been hunting for her and we've just found a -letter from him in her desk. Do you hear--her desk, in the top drawer? -It told her to meet him at seven in the Lane and go with him in his car -to Bloomington." - -"Bloomington? That's a hundred and fifty miles off." - -"I can't help how far off it is. That's where the letter said he was -going to take her. It said they'd go by the turnpike to Bloomington and -be married there. And we can't find Virginie--they've evidently taken -her with them." - -"I see--by the turnpike, did you say?" - -"Yes. Can't you go up there and meet them and bring her back?" - -"Yes--keep cool now, I'll head them off. What time did you say they -left?" - -"The letter said he'd meet her in the Lane at seven and it's a little -after eight now. Have you time to get up there and catch them?" - -"Time?--to burn. On a night like this Reddy can't get round to the part -of the pike where I'll strike it under three and a half to four hours." - -"But can you go--can you leave your case?" - -"Yes--Dalzell's improving. Graham can attend to it. Now don't get -excited, I'll have her back some time to-night. And not a word to -anybody. We don't want this to get about. We'll have to shut the mouth -of that fool of a French woman, but I'll see to that later. Don't see -anyone. Go to your room and say nothing." - -Just as the message was finished Minnie Trail came in. I made the record -of it and then got up asking her, as natural as you please, how she -felt. Anne did the same and you'd never have thought to hear us -sympathizing with her that we were just bursting to get outside. - -When we did we walked slow down the street, me telling her what I'd -heard. All the time I was speaking I was thinking of Sylvia and Jack -Reddy tearing away through that still, black night, flying along the -pale line of the road, flashing past the lights of farms and country -houses, swinging down between the rolling hills and out by the open -fields, till they'd see the glow of Bloomington low down in the sky. - -It was Anne who brought me back to where I was. She suddenly stopped -short, staring in front of her and then turned to me: - -"Why, how can she be eloping with Reddy by the turnpike when Jim Donahue -saw her get on the train?" - - - - -IV - - -When I come to the next day I can't make my story plain if I only tell -what I saw and heard. I didn't even pick up the most important message -in the tragedy. It came at half-past nine that night through the Corona -Exchange and was sent from a pay station so there was no record of it, -only Jack Reddy's word--but I'm going too fast; that belongs later. - -What I've got to do is to piece things together as I got them from the -gossip in the village, from the inquest, and from the New York papers. -All I ask of you is to remember that I'm up against a stunt that's new -to me and that I'm trying to get it over as clear as I can. - -The best way is for me to put down first Sylvia's movements on that -tragic Sunday. - -About five in the afternoon Sylvia and Mrs. Fowler had tea in the -library. When that was over--about half-past--Sylvia went away, saying -she was going to her room to write letters, and her mother retired to -hers for the nap she always took before dinner. What happened between -then and the time when Mrs. Fowler sent the message to the Doctor I -heard from Anne Hennessey. It was this way: - -They had dinner late at Mapleshade--half-past seven--and when Sylvia -didn't come down Mrs. Fowler sent up Harper to call her. He came back -saying she wasn't in her room, and Mrs. Fowler, getting uneasy, went up -herself, sending Harper to find Virginie Dupont. It wasn't long before -they discovered that neither Sylvia nor Virginie were in the house. - -When she realized this Mrs. Fowler was terribly upset. Sylvia's room was -in confusion, the bureau drawers pulled out, the closet doors open. Anne -not being there, Harper, who was scared at Mrs. Fowler's excitement, -called Nora Magee, the chambermaid. She was a smart girl and saw pretty -quickly that Sylvia had evidently left. The toilet things were gone from -the dresser; the jewelry case was open and empty, only for a few old -pieces of no great value. It was part of Nora's job to do up the room -and she knew where Sylvia's Hudson seal coat hung in one of the closets. -A glance showed her that was gone, also a gold-fitted bag that the -Doctor had given his stepdaughter on her birthday. - -All the servants knew of the quarreling and its cause and while Mrs. -Fowler was moaning and hunting about helplessly, Nora went to the desk -and opened it. There, lying careless as if it had been thrown in in a -hurry, was Jack Reddy's letter. She gave a glance at it and handed it to -Mrs. Fowler. With the letter in her hand Mrs. Fowler ran downstairs and -telephoned to the Doctor. - -The poor lady was in a terrible way and when Anne got back she had to -sit with her, trying to quiet her till the Doctor came back. That wasn't -till nearly two in the morning, when he reached home, dead beat, saying -he'd come round the turnpike from the Riven Rock Road and seen no sign -of either Sylvia or Jack Reddy. - -No one at Mapleshade saw Sylvia leave the house, no one in Longwood saw -her pass through the village, yet, two and a half hours from the time -she had made the date with Mr. Reddy, she was seen again, over a hundred -miles from her home, in the last place anyone would have expected to -find her. - -Way up on the turnpike, two miles from Cresset's Crossing, there's a -sort of roadhouse where the farm hands spend their evenings and -automobilists stop for drinks and gasoline. It's got a shady reputation, -being frequented by a rough class of people and once there was a dago--a -laborer on Cresset's Farm--killed there in a drunken row. It's called -the Wayside Arbor, which doesn't fit, sounding innocent and rural, -though in the back there is a trellis with grapes growing over it and -tables set out under it in warm weather. - -At this season it's a dreary looking spot, an old frame cottage a few -yards back from the road, with a broken-down piazza and a door painted -green leading into the bar. Along the top of the piazza goes the sign -"Wayside Arbor," with advertisements for some kind of beer at each end -of it, and in the window there's more advertisements for whisky and -crackers and soft drinks. Nailed to one of the piazza posts is a public -telephone sign standing out very prominent. - -At the time of the Hesketh mystery I'd only seen it once, one day in the -summer when I was out in a hired car with Mrs. Galway and two gentlemen -friends from New York. We'd been to Bloomington by train and were -motoring back and stopped to get some beer. But we ladies, not liking -the looks of the place, wouldn't go in and had our beer brought out to -us by the proprietor, Jake Hines, a tough-looking customer in a shirt -without a collar and one of his suspenders broken. - -It's very lonesome round there. The nearest house is Cresset's, a half -mile away across the fields. Back of it and all round is Cresset's land, -some of it planted in crops and then strips of woods, making the country -in summer look lovely with the dark and the light green. - -Sunday evening there were only two people in the Wayside Arbor bar, -Hines and his servant, Tecla Rabine, a Bohemian woman. Mrs. Hines was -upstairs in the room above in bed with a cold. There was a fire burning -in the stove, as a good many of Hines's customers were the dagoes that -work at Cresset's and the other farms and they liked the place warm. -Hines was reading the paper and Tecla Rabine was cleaning up the bar -before she went upstairs, she having a toothache and wanting to get off -to bed. - -At the inquest Hines swore that he heard no sound of a car or of -wheels--which, he said, he would have noticed, as that generally meant -business--when there was a step on the piazza, the door opened and a -lady came in. He didn't know who she was but saw right off she wasn't -the kind that you'd expect to see in his place. She had on a long dark -fur coat, a close-fitting plush hat with a Shetland veil pushed up round -the brim, and looked pale, and, he thought, scared. It was Sylvia -Hesketh, but he didn't know that till afterward. - -She asked him right off if she could use his telephone and he pointed to -the booth in the corner. She went in and closed the door and Hines -stepped to the window and looked out to see if there was a car or a -carriage that he hadn't heard, the mud making the road soft. But there -was nothing there. Before he was through looking he heard the booth door -open and turning back saw her come out. He said she wasn't five minutes -sending her message. - -That telephone message was the most mysterious one in the case. It was -transmitted through the Corona Exchange to Firehill and there was no one -in the world who heard it but Jack Reddy. I'm going to put it down here, -copied from the newspaper reports of the inquest: - - Oh, Jack, is that you? It's Sylvia. Thank Heavens you're there. - I'm in trouble, I want you. I've done something dreadful. I'll - tell you when I see you. I'll explain everything and you won't - be angry. Come and get me--start now, this minute. Come up the - Firehill Road to the Turnpike and I'll be there waiting, where - the roads meet. Don't ask any questions now. When you hear - you'll understand. And don't let anyone know--the servants or - anyone. You've got to keep it quiet, it's vitally important, for - my sake. Come, come quick. - -That was all. Before he could ask her a question she'd disconnected. -And, naturally, he made no effort to find out where the call had come -from, being in such a hurry to get to her--Sylvia who was in trouble and -wanted him to come. - -When she came out of the booth she carried a small purse in her hand and -Hines then noticed that she had only one glove on--the left--and that -her right hand was scratched in several places. Thinking she looked cold -he asked her if she would have something to drink and she said no, then -pushed back her cuff and looked at a bracelet watch set in diamonds and -sapphires that she wore on her wrist. - -"Twenty minutes to ten," she said. "I'll wait here for a little while if -you don't mind." - -She went over to the stove, pulled up a chair and sat down, spreading -her hands out to the heat, and when they were warm, opening her coat -collar, and turning it back from her neck. Both Hines and Tecla Rabine -noticed that her feet were muddy and that there were twigs and dead -leaves caught in the edge of her skirt. As she didn't seem inclined to -say anything, Hines, who admitted that he was ready to burst with -curiosity, began to question her, trying to find out where she'd come -from and what she was waiting for. - -"You come a long way, I guess," he said. - -She just nodded. - -"From Bloomington maybe?" he asked. - -"No, the other direction--toward Longwood." - -"Car broken down?" he said next, and she answered sort of indifferent, - -"Yes, it's down the road." - -"Maybe I might go and lend a hand," he suggested and she answered quick -to that: - -"No, it's not necessary. They can fix it themselves," then she added, -after a minute, "I've telephoned for someone to come for me and if the -car's really broken we can tow it back." - -That seemed so straight and natural that Hines began to get less -curious, still he wanted to know who she was and tried to find out. - -"You come a long ride if you come from Longwood," he said. - -But he didn't get any satisfaction, for she answered: - -"Is it a long way there?" - -"About a hundred and eighteen miles by the turnpike--a good bit shorter -by the Firehill Road, but that's pretty bad after these rains. - -"Most of the roads _are_ bad, I suppose," she said, as if she wasn't -thinking of her words. - -They were silent for a bit, then he tried again: - -"What's broke in your auto?" - -And she answered that sharp as if he annoyed her and she was setting him -back in his place: - -"My good man, I haven't the least idea. That's the chauffeur's business, -not mine." - -He asked her some more questions but he couldn't get anything out of -her. He said she treated him sort of haughty as if she wanted him to -stop. So after a while he said no more, but sat by the bar pretending to -read his paper. Tecla Rabine came and went, tidying up for the night and -none of them said a word. - -A little before ten she got up and buttoned her coat, saying she was -going. Hines was surprised and asked her if she wouldn't wait there for -the auto, and she said no, she'd walk up the road and meet it. - -He asked her which way it was coming and she said: "By the Firehill -Road. How far is that from here?" - -He told her about a quarter of a mile and she answered that she'd just -about time to get there and catch it as it came into the turnpike. - -Hines urged her to stay but she said no, she was cramped with sitting -and needed a little walk; it was early yet and there was nothing to be -afraid of. She bid him good night very cordial and pleasant and went -out. - -He stood in the doorway watching her as far as he could see, then told -Tecla, whose toothache was bad, to go to bed. After she'd gone he locked -up, went upstairs to his wife and told her about the strange lady. His -wife said he'd done wrong to let her go, it wasn't right for a person -like that to be alone on such a solitary road, especially with some of -the farm hands, queer foreigners, no better than animals. - -She worked upon his feelings till she got him nervous and he was going -to get a lantern and start out when he heard the sound of an auto horn -in the distance. He stepped to the window and watched and presently saw -a big car with one lamp dark coming at a great clip down from the -Firehill Road direction. The moon had come out a short while before, so -that if he'd looked he could have seen the people in the car, but -supposing it was the one the lady was waiting for, he turned from the -window, and, thinking no more about it, went to bed. - -Before he was off to sleep he heard another auto horn and the whirr of a -car passing. He couldn't say how long after this was, as he was half -asleep. - -How long he'd slept he didn't know--it really was between four and five -in the morning--when he was roused by a great battering at the door and -a sound of voices. He jumped up just as he was, ran to the window and -opened it. There in the road he could see plain--the clouds were gone, -the moon sailing clear and high--a motor and some people all talking -very excited, and one voice, a woman's, saying over and over, "Oh, how -horrible--how horrible!" - -He took them for a party of merry-makers, half drunk and wanting more, -and called down fierce and savage: - -"What in thunder are you doing there?" - -One of them, a man standing on the steps of the piazza, looked up at him -and said: - -"There's a murdered woman up the road here, that's all." - -As he ran to the place with the men--there were two of them--they told -him how they were on a motor trip with their wives and that night were -going from Bloomington to Huntley. The moon being so fine they were -going slow, otherwise they never would have found the body, which was -lying by the roadside. A pile of brushwood had been thrown over it, but -one hand had fallen out beyond the branches and one of the women had -seen it, white in the moonlight. - -They had unfastened an auto lamp and it was standing on the ground -beside her. Hines lifted it and looked at her. She lay partly on her -side, her coat loosely drawn round her. The right arm was flung out as -if when the body stiffened it might have slipped down from a position -across the chest. As he held the lantern close he saw below the hat, -pulled down on her head, with the torn rags of veil still clinging to -it, a thin line of blood running down to where the pearl necklace -rested, untouched, round her throat. - -It was Sylvia Hesketh, her skull fractured by a blow that had cracked -her head like an egg shell. - - - - -V - - -There were so many puzzling "leads" and so much that was inexplicable -and mysterious in the Hesketh case that it'll be easier to follow if, in -this chapter, I put down what the other people, who were either suspects -or important witnesses, did on that Sunday. - -Some of it may not be interesting, but it's necessary to know if you're -going to get a clear understanding of a case that baffled the police and -pretty nearly.... There I go again. But it's awfully hard when you're -not used to it to keep things in their right order. - -I've told how Jim Donahue said he put Sylvia on the train for the -Junction that night at seven-thirty. Both Jim and the ticket agent said -they'd seen her and Jim had spoken to her. She carried a hand bag, wore -a long dark fur coat and a small close-fitting hat that showed her hair. -Both men also noticed in her hand the gold mesh purse with a diamond -monogram that she always carried. Over her face was tied a black figured -veil that hid her features, but there was no mistaking the hair, the -voice, or the gold mesh purse. - -Sands, the Pullman conductor, said this same woman rode down in his -train to the Junction, where she got off. Clark, the station agent at -the Junction, saw her step from the car to the platform. After that he -lost track of her as he was busy with the branch line train which left -at eight-forty-five and was the last one up that night. No woman went on -it, there were only two passengers, both men. - -The Doctor didn't make his whole story public till the inquest. They -said afterward the police knew it, but it was his policy to say little -and keep quiet in Mapleshade. What we in the village did know--partly -from the papers, partly from people--was that after the message from -Mrs. Fowler saying Sylvia had eloped, he told Mrs. Dalzell he would have -to leave, having been called away to an important case. When the -Dalzells' chauffeur brought his car round he asked the man several -questions about the shortest way to get to the turnpike. The chauffeur -told him that the best traveling would be by the Riven Rock Road, which -he would have to go to the Junction to get. The Doctor left the -Dalzells' at a little after eight, alone in his car. - -He reached the Junction about eight-thirty-five, a few minutes after the -train from Longwood had arrived. On the platform he spoke to Clark, -asking him how to get to the Riven Rock Road. Clark gave him the -directions, then saw him disappear round the station building. Neither -Clark nor anyone at the Junction--there were very few there at that -hour--saw him leave in his car, though they heard the honk of the auto -horn. - -But it was Jack Reddy's movements that everybody was most interested in. -There was no secret about them. - -Sunday at lunch he told Gilsey that he was going away for a trip for a -few days. If he stayed longer than he expected he'd wire back for his -things, but, as it was, he'd only want his small auto trunk, which he'd -take with him. When Mrs. Gilsey was packing this he joked her about -having a good time while he was gone, and she told him that, as there'd -be no dinner that night, she and Gilsey'd go over to a neighbor's, take -supper there and spend the evening. After that he asked Casey, the -chauffeur, to have the racing car brought round at five, to see that the -tank was full, a footwarmer in it and the heaviest rugs and a drum of -gasoline, as he was going on a long trip. - -At five he left Firehill in the racer. At a quarter to seven two boys -saw him pass the Longwood Station in the direction of Maple Lane. He -said he came back through the outskirts of the village at seven-thirty, -but no one could be found who had seen him. - -After he left Firehill the Gilseys cleared up and walked across the -fields to the Jaycocks' farm, where they spent the evening, coming home -at ten and finding the house dark and quiet. Casey went to another -neighbor's, where he stayed till midnight, playing cards. - -He slept over the garage, and about four in the morning--he looked at -his watch afterward--was awakened by a sound down below in the garage. -He listened and made sure that someone was trying to roll the doors back -very slow and with as little noise as possible. Casey's a bold, nervy -boy, and he reached for his revolver and crept barefooted to the head of -the stairs. On the top step he stooped down and looked through the -banisters, and saw against the big square of the open doors a man -standing, with a car behind him shining in the moonlight. - -He thought it was a burglar, so, with his revolver up and ready, he -called: - -"Hello, there. What are you doing?" - -The man gave a great start, and then he heard Mr. Reddy's voice: - -"Oh, Casey, did I wake you? I've come back unexpectedly. Help me get -this car in." - -They ran the car in, and, when Casey went to tell how he thought it was -a burglar and was going to shoot, he noticed that Mr. Reddy hardly -listened to him, but was gruff and short. All he said was that he'd -changed his mind about the trip, and then unstrapped his trunk from the -back and turned to go. In the doorway he stopped as if he'd had a sudden -thought, and said over his shoulder: - -"You don't want to mention this in Longwood. I'm getting a little sick -of the gossip there over my affairs." - -Casey went back to bed and in the morning, when he looked at the car, -found it was caked with mud, even the wind-guard spattered. At seven he -crossed over to the house for his breakfast and told the Gilseys that -Mr. Reddy was back. They were surprised, but decided, as he'd been out -so late, they'd not disturb him till he rang for his breakfast. - -Monday morning was clear and sharp, the first real frost of the season. -All the time I was dressing I was thinking about the elopement and how -queer it was Mrs. Fowler saying they'd gone by turnpike and Jim Donahue -saying he'd seen Sylvia leave on the train. I worked it out that they'd -made some change of plans at the last moment. But the _way_ they'd -eloped didn't matter to me. Small things like that didn't cut any ice -when I was all tormented wondering if it was for the best that my hero -should marry a wild girl who no one could control. - -I hadn't been long at the switchboard, and was sitting sideways in my -chair looking out of the window when I saw Dr. Fowler's auto drive up -with the Doctor and a strange man in it. I twirled round quick and was -the business-like operator. I'll bet no one would have thought that the -girl sitting so calm and indifferent in that swivel chair was just -boiling with excitement and curiosity. - -The Doctor looked bad, yellow as wax, with his eyes sunk and inflamed. -He didn't take any notice of me beside a fierce sort of look and a -gruff, - -"Give me Corona 1-4-2." - -That was Firehill. I jacked in and the Doctor went into the booth and -shut the door. The strange man stood with his hands behind him, looking -out of the window. I didn't know then that he was a detective, and I -don't think anyone ever would have guessed it. If you'd asked me I'd -have said he looked more like a clerk at the ribbon counter. But that's -what he was, Walter Mills by name, engaged that morning, as we afterward -knew, by the Doctor. - -Watching him with one eye I leaned forward very cautiously, lifted up -the cam and listened in on the conversation: - -"Is this Gilsey?" - -Then Gilsey's nice old voice, "Yes, sir. Who is it?" - -The Doctor's was quick and hard: - -"Never mind that--it doesn't matter. Do you happen to know where Mr. -Reddy is?" - -My heart gave a big jump--he hadn't caught them! They'd got away and -been married! - -"Yes, sir, Mr. Reddy's here." - -There was just a minute's pause before the Doctor answered. In that -minute all sorts of ideas went flashing through my head the way they say -you see things before you drown. Then came the Doctor's voice with a -curious sort of quietness in it. - -"_There_, at Firehill?" - -"Yes, sir. Can I take any message? Mr. Reddy was out very late last -night and isn't up yet." - -The Doctor answered that very cordially, all the hurry and hardness -gone. - -"Oh, that's all right. I'll not disturb him. No, I won't bother with a -message. I'll call up later. Thanks very much. Good-bye." - -I dropped back in my chair, tapping with a pencil on the corner of the -drawer and looking sideways at the Doctor as he came out of the booth. -He had a queer look, his eyes keen and bright, and there was some color -in his face. The strange man turned round, and the Doctor gave him a -glance sharp as a razor, but all he said was: "Come on, Mills," and they -went out and mounted into the car. - -When the door banged on them I drew a deep breath and flattened out -against the chair back. They _hadn't_ eloped! - -Gee, it was a relief! Not because of myself. Honest to God, that's -straight. I knew I couldn't have him any more than I could have had the -Kohinoor diamond. It was because I _knew_--deep down where you feel the -truth--that Sylvia Hesketh wasn't the girl for him to marry. - -That was about half-past eight. It was after ten when a message came for -Mapleshade that made the world turn upside down and left me white and -sick. It was from the Coroner and said that Sylvia Hesketh had been -found that morning on the turnpike, murdered. - -Poor Mrs. Fowler took it! - -Anne Hennessey told me afterward that she heard her scream on the other -side of the house. I heard it, too, and it raised _my_ hair--and then a -lot of words coming thin and shrill along the wire. "Sylvia, my -daughter--dead--murdered?" It was awful, I hate to think of it. - -Nora and Anne ran at the sound and found Mrs. Fowler all wild and -screaming, with the receiver hanging down. I could hear them, a babble -of tiny little voices as if I had a line on some part of Purgatory where -the spirits were crying and wailing. - -Suddenly it stopped--somebody had hung up. I waited, shaking there like -a leaf and feeling like I'd a blow in the stomach. Then Mapleshade -called and I heard Anne's voice, distinct but broken as if she'd been -running. - -"Molly, is that you? Do you by any chance know if the Doctor's in the -village?" - -"He was here a little while ago with a man calling up Firehill. Anne, I -heard--it can't be true." - -"Oh, it is--it is--I can't talk now. I've _got_ to find him. Give me -Firehill. He may have gone there. Quick, for God's sake!" - -I gave it and heard her tell a man at the other end of the line. - -I'll go on from here and tell what happened at Firehill. I've pieced it -out from the testimony at the inquest and from what the Gilseys -afterward told in the village. - -The Doctor and Mills went straight out there from the Exchange. When -they arrived Gilsey told him Mr. Reddy wasn't up yet, but he'd call him. -The Doctor, however, said the matter was urgent and they couldn't lose a -minute, so the three of them went upstairs together and Gilsey knocked -at the door. After he'd knocked twice a sleepy voice called out, "Come -in," and Gilsey opened the door. - -It led into a sitting-room with a bedroom opening off it. On a sofa just -opposite the door was Jack Reddy, dressed and stretched out as if he'd -been asleep. - -At first he saw no one but Gilsey and sat up with a start, saying -sharply: - -"What's the matter? Does anyone want me?" - -Gilsey said, "Yes, two gentlemen to see you," and stepped to one side to -let the Doctor and Mills enter. - -When Reddy saw the Doctor he jumped to his feet and stood looking at -him. He didn't say "Good morning" or any sort of greeting, but was -silent, as if he was holding himself still, waiting to hear what the -Doctor was going to say. - -He hadn't to wait long. The Doctor, in the doorway, went right to the -point. - -"Mr. Reddy," said he, "where's my daughter?" - -Reddy answered in a quiet, composed voice: - -"I don't know, Dr. Fowler." - -"You do!" shouted the Doctor. "You ran away with her last night. What -have you done with her?" - -Reddy said in the same dignified way: - -"I haven't done anything. I know nothing about her. I haven't any more -idea than you where she is." - -At that the Doctor got beside himself. He shouted out furiously: - -"You have, you d----d liar, and I'll get it out of you," and he made a -lunge at Reddy to seize him. But Mills jumped in and grabbed his arm. -Holding it he said, trying to quiet down the Doctor: - -"Just wait a minute, Dr. Fowler. Maybe when Mr. Reddy sees that we -understand the situation, he'll be willing to explain." Then he turned -to Reddy: "There's no good prevaricating. Your letter to Miss Hesketh -has been found. Now we're all agreed that we don't want any talk or -scandal about this. If you want to get out of the affair without trouble -to yourself and others you'd better tell the truth. Where is she?" - -"Who the devil are you?" Reddy cried out suddenly, as mad as the Doctor, -and before Mills could answer, the branch telephone on the desk rang. - -Reddy gave a loud exclamation and made a jump for it. But Mills got -before him and caught him. He struggled to get away till the Doctor -seized him on the other side. They fought for a moment, and then got him -back against the door, all the time the telephone ringing like mad. As -they wrestled with him Mills called over his shoulder to Gilsey: - -"Answer that telephone, quick." - -Gilsey, scared most out of his wits, ran to the phone and took down the -receiver. Anne Hennessey was at the other end with her awful message. - -When he got it Gilsey gave a cry like he was stabbed, and turned to Mr. -Reddy, pinioned against the door. - -"Good Lord, have mercy, Mr. Jack," he gasped out. "Miss Hesketh's dead. -She's murdered--on the turnpike--murdered last night!" - -The Doctor dropped Reddy, tore the instrument out of Gilsey's hand and -took the rest of the message. - -Reddy turned the color of ashes. There wasn't any need to hold him. He -fell back against the door with his jaw dropped and his eyes staring -like a man in a trance. Gilsey thought he was going to die and was for -running to him, crying out, "Oh, Mr. Jack, don't look that way." But -Mills caught the old servant by the arm and held him back, watching -Reddy as sharp as a ferret. - -The Doctor turned from the phone and said: "It's true. Miss Hesketh's -been murdered." - -There was a dead silence. The click of the receiver falling into its -hook was the only sound. The three other men--the Doctor as white as -death, too--stood staring at Reddy. And then, seeing those three faces, -he burst out like he was crazy: - -"No--she's not--she can't be! I was there; I went the moment I got her -message. I was on the turnpike where she said she'd be. I was up and -down there most of the night. And--and----" he stopped suddenly and put -his hands over his face, groaning, "Oh, my God, Sylvia--why didn't you -tell me?" - -He lurched forward and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face, -moaning like an animal in pain. - - - - -VI - - -Longwood was stunned. By noon everybody knew it and there was no more -business that day. The people stood in groups, talking in whispers as if -they were at a funeral. And in the afternoon it _was_ like a funeral, -the body coming back by train and being taken from the depot to -Mapleshade in one of the Doctor's farm wagons. It lay under a sheet and -as the wagon passed through the crowd you couldn't hear a sound, except -for a woman crying here and there. - -Then it was as if a spring that held the people dumb and still was -loosed and the excitement burst up. I never saw anything like it. It -seemed like every village up and down the line had emptied itself into -Longwood. Farmers and laborers and loafers swarmed along the streets, -the rich came in motors, tearing to Mapleshade, and the police were -everywhere, as if they'd sprung out of the ground. - -By afternoon the reporters came pouring in from town. The Inn was full -up with them and they were buzzing round my exchange like flies. Some of -them tried to get hold of me and that night had the nerve to come -knocking at Mrs. Galway's side door, demanding the telephone girl. But, -believe me, I sat tight and said nothing--nothing to them. The police -were after me mighty quick, and there was a sance over Corwin's Drug -Store when I felt like I was being put to the third degree. I told them -all I knew, job or no job, for I guessed right off that that talk I'd -overheard on the phone might be an important clew. They kept it close. -It wasn't till after the inquest that the press got it. - -Before the inquest every sort of rumor was flying about, and the papers -were full of crazy stories, not half of them true. I'd read about places -and people I knew as well as my own face in the mirror, and they'd sound -like a dime novel, so colored up and twisted round the oldest inhabitant -wouldn't have recognized them. - -To get at the facts was a job, but, knowing who was reliable and who -wasn't, I questioned and ferreted and, I guess, before I was done I had -them pretty straight. - -Sylvia had been killed by a blow on the side of her head--a terrible -blow. A sheriff's deputy I know told me that in all his experience he -had seen nothing worse. Her hat had evidently shielded the scalp. It was -pulled well down over her head, the long pin bent but still thrust -through it. Where she had been hit the plush was torn but not the thick -interlining, and her hair, all loosened, was hanging down against her -neck. There was a wound--not deep, more like a tearing of the skin, on -the lower part of her cheek. It was agreed that she had been struck only -once by some heavy implement that had a sharp or jagged edge. Though the -woods and fields had been thoroughly searched nothing had been -discovered that could have dealt the blow. Whatever he had used the -murderer had either successfully hidden it or taken it away with him. -The deputy told me it looked to him as if it might have been some -farming tool like a spade, or even a heavy branch broken from a tree. -The way the body was arranged, the coat drawn smoothly together, the -branches completely covering her, showed that the murderer had taken -time to conceal his crime, though why he had not drawn the body back -into the thick growth of bushes was a point that puzzled everybody. - -It was impossible to trace any footprints, as the automobile party and -Hines had trodden the earth about her into a muddy mass, and the grass -along the edge was too thick and springy to hold any impression. - -Close behind the place where she lay twigs of the screening trees were -snapped and bent as if her assailant had broken through them. - -There were people who said Hines would have been arrested on the spot if -robbery had been added to murder. But the jewelry was all on her, more -than he said he had noticed when she was in the Wayside Arbor. The pearl -necklace alone was worth twenty thousand dollars, and just below it, -clasping her gown over the chest, was a diamond cross, an old ornament -of her mother's, made of the finest Brazilian stones. In the pocket of -her coat was a purse with forty-eight dollars in it. So right at the -start the theory of robbery was abandoned. - -Another inexplicable thing was the disappearance of the French maid, -Virginia Dupont. Jack Reddy denied any knowledge of her. He said Sylvia -had never mentioned bringing her with them and he didn't think intended -to do so. The Mapleshade people thought differently, all declaring that -Sylvia depended on her and took her wherever she went. One of the -mysteries about the woman that was quickly cleared up was the walk she -had taken to the village on Sunday morning. This was to meet Mr. Reddy -and take from him the letter for Sylvia which had been found in the -desk. - -I know from what I heard that the police were keen to find her, but she -had dropped out of sight without leaving a trace. No one at Mapleshade -knew anything about her or her connections. She was not liked in the -house or the village and had made no friends. On her free Sundays she'd -go to town and when she returned say very little about where she'd been. -A search of her rooms showed nothing, except that she seemed to have -left her clothes behind her. She was last seen at Mapleshade by Nora -Magee, who, at half-past five on Sunday, met her on the third floor -stairs. Nora was off for a walk to the village with Harper and was in a -hurry. She asked Virginie if she was going out and Virginie said no, she -felt sick and was going up to lie down till she'd be wanted to help Miss -Sylvia dress for dinner. - -If you ask me was anyone suspected at this stage I'd answer "yes," but -people were afraid to say who. There was talk about Hines on the street -and in the postoffice, but it was only when you were close shut in your -own room or walking quiet up a side street that the person with you -would whisper the Doctor's name. Nobody dared say it aloud, but there -wasn't a soul in Longwood who didn't know about the quarreling at -Mapleshade, whose was the money that ran it, and the will that left -everything to Mrs. Fowler if her daughter died. - -But no arrests were made. Everything was waiting on the inquest, and we -all heard that there were important facts--already known to the -police--which would not be made public till then. - -Wednesday afternoon they held the inquest at Mapleshade. The authorities -had rounded up a bunch of witnesses, I among them. The work in the -Exchange had piled up so we'd had to send a hurry call for help to -headquarters and I left the office in charge of a new girl, Katie -Reilly, Irish, a tall, gawky thing, who was going to work with us -hereafter on split hours. - -Going down Maple Lane it was like a target club outing or a political -picnic, except for the solemn faces. I saw Hines and his party, and the -railway men, and a lot of queer guys that I took to be the jury. Halfway -there a gang of reporters passed me, talking loud, and swinging along in -their big overcoats. Near the black pine the toot of a horn made me -stand back and Jack Reddy's roadster scudded by, he driving, with Casey -beside him, and the two old Gilseys, pale and peaked in the back seat. - -They held the inquest in the dining-room, with the coroner sitting at -one end of the long shiny table and the jury grouped round the other. -Take it from me, it was a gloomy sight. The day outside was cold and -cloudy, and through the French windows that looked out on the lawns, the -light came still and gray, making the faces look paler than they already -were. It was a grand, beautiful room with a carved stone fireplace where -logs were burning. Back against the walls were sideboards with silver -dishes on them and hand-painted portraits hung on the walls. - -But the thing you couldn't help looking at--and that made all the -splendor just nothing--were Sylvia's clothes hanging over the back of a -chair, and on a little table near them her hat and veil, the one glove -she had had on, and the heap of jewelry. All those fine garments and the -precious stones worth a fortune seemed so pitiful and useless now. - -We were awful silent at first, a crowd of people sitting along the -walls, staring straight ahead or looking on the ground. Now and then -someone would move uneasily and make a rustle, but there were moments so -still you could hear the fire snapping and the scratching of the -reporters' pencils. They were just behind me, bunched up at a table in -front of the window. When the Doctor came in everyone was as quiet as -death and the eyes on him were like the eyes of images, so fixed and -steady. Mrs. Fowler was not present--they sent for her later--but Nora -and Anne were there as pale as ghosts. - -The Coroner opened up by telling about how and where the deceased had -been found, the position, the surroundings, etc., etc., and then called -Dr. Graham, who was the county physician and had made the autopsy. - -A good deal of what he said I didn't understand--it was to prove that -death resulted from a fracture of the skull. He could not state the -exact hour of dissolution, but said it was in the earlier part of the -night, some time before twelve. He described the condition of the scalp -which had been partially protected by the hat, thick as it was with a -plush outside and a heavy interlining. This was held up and then given -to the jury to examine. I saw it plainly as they passed it from hand to -hand--a small dark automobile hat, with a tear in one side and some -shreds of black Shetland veil hanging to its edge. She bore no other -marks of violence save a few small scratches on her right hand. She had -evidently been attacked unexpectedly and had had no time to fight or -struggle. - -The automobilists who had found the body came next. Only the men were -present--two nice-looking gentlemen--the ladies having been excused. -They told what I have already written, one of them making the creeps go -down your spine, describing how his wife said she saw the hand in the -moonlight, and how he walked back, laughing, and pulled off the -brushwood. - -After that Mrs. Fowler came, all swathed up in black and looking like a -haggard old woman. The Coroner spoke very kind to her. When she got to -the quarrel between Sylvia and the Doctor her voice began to tremble and -she could hardly go on. It was pitiful to see but she had to tell it, -and about the other quarrels too. Then she pulled herself together and -told about going up to Sylvia's room and finding the letter. - -The Coroner stopped her there and taking a folded paper from the table -beside him said it was the letter and read it out to us. It was dated -Firehill, Nov. 21st. - - "_Dearest_: - - "All right. This evening at seven by the pine. We'll go in my - racer to Bloomington and be married there by Fiske, the man I - told you about. It'll be a long ride but at the end we'll find - happiness waiting for us. Don't disappoint me--don't do what you - did the other time. Believe in my love and trust yourself to - me--_Jack_." - -In the silence that followed you could hear the fire falling together -with a little soft rustle. All the eyes turned as if they were on pivots -and looked at Jack Reddy--all but mine. I kept them on Mrs. Fowler and -never moved them till she was led, bent and sobbing, out of the room. - -Nora Magee was the next, and I heard them say afterward made a good -witness. The coroner asked her--and Anne when her turn came--very -particular about the jewelry, what was gone, how many pieces and such -questions. And then it came out that nobody--not even Mrs. Fowler--knew -exactly what Sylvia had. She was all the time buying new ornaments or -having her old ones reset and the only person who kept track of her -possessions was Virginie Dupont. All any of them could be sure of was -that the jewel box was empty, and the toilet articles, fitted bag, and -gold mesh purse were gone. - -Hines was called after that. He was all slicked up in his store clothes -and looked very different to what he had that day in the summer. Though -anyone could see he was scared blue, the perspiration on his forehead -and his big, knotty hands twiddling at his tie and his watch chain; he -told his story very clear and straightforward. I think everyone was -impressed by it and by Mrs. Hines, who followed him. She was a miserable -looking little rat of a woman, with inflamed eyes and a long drooping -nose, but she corroborated all he said, and--anyway, to me--it sounded -true. - -Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, followed, and when she walked over -to sit in the chair, keyed up as I was, I came near laughing. She was a -large, fat woman with a good-humored red face and little twinkling eyes, -and she sure was a sight, bulging out of a black cloth suit that was the -fashion when Columbus landed. On her head was a fancy straw hat with one -mangy feather sticking straight up at the back, and the last touch was -her face, one side still swollen out from her toothache, and looking for -all the world as if she had a quid in her cheek. - -Though she spoke in a queer, foreign dialect, she gave her testimony -very well and she told something that no one--I don't think even the -police--had heard before. - -While Hines was locking up she went to her room but couldn't sleep -because of the pain of her toothache. - -"Ach," she said, spreading her hand out near her cheek, "it was out so -far--swole out, and, oh, my God--_pain_!" - -"Never mind your toothache," said the Coroner--"keep to the subject." - -"How do I hear noises if my toothache doesn't make me to wake?" she -asked, giving him a sort of indignant look. - -Somebody laughed, a kind of choked giggle, and I heard one of those -fresh write-up chaps behind me whisper: - -"This is the comic relief." - -"Oh, you heard noises--what kind of noises?" - -"The scream," she said. - -"You heard a scream?" - -"Yes--one scream--far away, up toward Cresset's Crossing. I go crazy -with the pain and after Mr. Hines is come upstairs I go down to the -kitchen to make----" she stopped, looking up in the air--"what you call -him?"--she put her hand flat on the side of her face--"for here, to stop -the pain." - -"Do you mean a poultice?" - -She grinned all over and nodded. - -"Yes, that's him. I make hot water on the gas, and then, way off, I hear -a scream." - -"What time was that?" - -"The kitchen clock says ten minutes past ten." - -"What did you do?" - -She looked surprised. - -"I make the--you know the name--for my ache." - -"Didn't you go out and investigate--even go to the door?" - -She shook her head and gave a sort of good-humored laugh as if she was -explaining things to a child. - -"Go out. For why? If I go out for screams I go out when the dagoes -fight, and when the automobiles be pass--up and down all night, often -drunken and making noises;" she shrugged her shoulders sort of careless; -"I no be bothered with screams." - -"Did you go to bed?" - -"I do. I make the medicine for my swole up face and go upstairs." - -"Did you hear any more screams?" - -"No--there are no more. If there are I would have hear them, for I can't -sleep ever all night. All I hear is automobiles--many automobiles -passing up and down and maybe--two, three, four times--the horns -sounding." - -The Coroner asked her a few more questions, principally about Hines' -movements, and her answers, if you could get over the lingo, were all -clear and in line with what Hines had said. - -The railway men followed her, Sands and Clark and Jim Donahue. Jim was -as nervous as a cat, holding his hat in his hands and twisting it round -like a plate he was drying. He told about the woman he put on the -seven-thirty train on Sunday night. - -"Where did you first see this woman?" he was asked. - -"On the platform, just before the train came in. She came down along it, -out of the dark." - -"Can you swear it was Miss Hesketh?" - -Jim didn't think he could swear because he couldn't see her face plain, -it being covered with a figured black veil. But he never thought of it -being anyone else. - -"Why did you think it was she?" - -"Because it looked like her. It was her coat and her gold purse and I'd -know her hair anywhere. And when I spoke to her and said: 'Good evening, -Miss Hesketh, going to leave us?' it was her voice that answered: 'Yes, -Jim, I'm going away for a few days.'" - -"Did you have any more conversation with her?" - -"No, because the train came along then. She got in and I handed her her -bag and said 'Good night.'" - -When he was asked to describe the bag, he said he hadn't noticed it -except that it was a medium sized bag, he thought, dark colored. - -Then he was shown the clothes--that was heart-rending. The Coroner held -them up, the long fur coat, the little plush hat, and the one glove. He -thought they were the same but it was hard to tell, the platform being -so dark--anyway, it was them sort of clothes the lady had on, and though -he couldn't be sure of the glove he had noticed that her gloves were -light colored. - -Sands, the Pullman conductor, and Clark, from the Junction, testified -that they'd seen the same woman on the train and at the Junction. Sands -particularly noticed the gold mesh purse because she took her ticket out -of it. He addressed her as Miss Hesketh and she had answered him, but -only to say "Good evening." - -Then came the Firehill servants. The two old Gilseys were dreadfully -upset. Mrs. Gilsey cried and poor old David kept hesitating and looking -at Mr. Reddy, but the stamp of truth was on every word they said. Casey -followed them, telling what I've already written. - -When Mr. Reddy was called a sort of stir went over the people. Everybody -was curious to hear his story, as we'd only got bits of it, most of them -wild rumors. And there wasn't a soul in Longwood that didn't grieve for -him, plunged down at the moment when he thought he was most happy into -such an awful tragedy. As he sat down in the chair opposite the Coroner, -the room was as still as a tomb, even the reporters behind me not making -so much as the scratch of a pen. - -He looked gray and pinched, his eyes burnt out like a person's who -hasn't slept for nights. You could see he was nervous, for he kept -crossing and uncrossing his knees, and he didn't give his evidence -nearly so clear and continued as the newspapers had it. He'd stop every -now and then as if he didn't remember or as if he was thinking of the -best way to express himself. - -He began by telling how he and Sylvia had arranged to go in his car to -Bloomington, and there be married by his friend Fiske, an Episcopal -clergyman. The Coroner asked him if Fiske expected them and he said no, -he hadn't had time to let him know as the elopement was decided on -hurriedly. - -"Why was the decision hurried?" the Coroner asked and he answered low, -as if he was reluctant to say it. - -"Because Miss Hesketh had a violent quarrel with her stepfather on -Saturday morning. It was not till after that that she made up her mind -she would go with me." - -"Did you know at the time what that quarrel was about?" - -His face got a dull red and he said low. - -"Yes, she told me of it in a letter she wrote me immediately afterward." - -Then he told how on Saturday night he had received a special delivery -letter from her, telling of the quarrel and agreeing to the elopement. -That letter he had destroyed. He answered it the next morning, she -having directed him to bring it in himself and deliver it to Virginie, -who would meet him opposite Corwin's drugstore. This he did, the letter -being the one already in evidence. - -The Coroner asked him to explain the sentence which said "Don't -disappoint me--don't do what you did the other time." He looked straight -in front of him and answered: - -"We had made a plan to elope once before and she had backed out." - -"Do you know why?" - -"It was too--too unusual--too unconventional. When it came to the -scandal of an elopement she hung back." - -"Is it your opinion that the quarrel with Dr. Fowler made her agree the -second time?" - -"I know nothing about that." - -Then he told of leaving Firehill, coming into Longwood, and going down -Maple Lane. - -"I reached there a few minutes before seven and ran down to the pine -tree where I was to meet her. I drew up to one side of the road and -waited. During the time I waited--half an hour--I neither saw nor heard -anybody. At half-past seven I decided she had changed her mind again and -left." - -"You didn't go to the house?" - -"No--I was not welcome at the house. She had told me not to go there." - -"You were in the habit of seeing her somewhere else, though?" - -His face got red again and you could see he had to make an effort not to -get angry. - -"After I had heard from Miss Hesketh and seen from Dr. Fowler's manner -that I was not wanted at Mapleshade, I saw her at intervals. Once or -twice we went for walks in the woods, and a few times, perhaps three or -four, I met her on the turnpike and took her for a drive in my car." - -He then went on to tell how he drove back to Firehill, reaching there a -little after nine. The place was empty and he went up to his room. He -didn't know how long he'd been there when the telephone rang. It was the -mysterious message from her. - -He repeated it slowly, evidently trying to give it word for word. You -could have heard a pin drop when he ended. - -"Did you attempt to question her on the phone?" - -"No, it all went too quick and I was too astonished." - -"Did you get the impression that she was in any grave danger?" - -"No, I never thought of that. She was very rash and impulsive and I -thought she'd done some foolhardy thing and had turned to me as the one -person on whom she could rely." - -"What do you mean by foolhardy?" - -He gave a shrug and threw out his hands. - -"The sort of thing a child might do--some silly, thoughtless action. She -was full of spirit and daring; you never could be sure of what she -mightn't try. I didn't think of any definite thing. I ran to the garage -and got out my car and went northward up the Firehill Road. It was -terrible traveling, and I should say it took me nearly three-quarters of -an hour to make the distance. When I was nearing the pike I sounded my -horn to let her know I was coming. - -"Just before I got there the clouds had broken and the moon come out. -The whole landscape was flooded with light, and I made no doubt I'd see -her as soon as I turned into the pike. But she wasn't there. I slowed up -and waited, looking up and down, for I'd no idea which way she was -coming, but there wasn't a sign of her. As far as I could see, the road -was lifeless and deserted. Then I ran up and down--a mile or two either -way--but there was no one to be seen." - -"Did you hear any sounds in the underbrush--footsteps, breaking of -twigs?" - -"I heard nothing. The place was as still as the grave. I made longer -runs up and down, looking along both sides and now and then waiting and -sounding the auto horn." - -"Did you stop at any of the farms or cottages and make inquiries?" - -"No. I didn't do that because I had no thought of her being in any real -danger and because she'd cautioned me against letting anyone know. After -I'd searched the main road thoroughly for several miles and gone up -several branch roads I began to think she'd played a joke on me." - -"Do you mean fooled you?" - -"Yes--the whole thing began to look that way. Her not being at the -rendezvous in Maple Lane and then phoning me to meet her at a place, -which, when I came to think of it, it was nearly impossible for her to -reach in that space of time. It seemed the only reasonable -explanation--and it was the sort of thing she might do. When I got the -idea in my head it grew and," he looked down on the floor, his voice -dropping low as if it was hard for him to speak, "I got blazing mad." - -For a moment it seemed like he couldn't go on. In that moment I thought -of how he must be feeling, remembering his rage against her while all -the time she was lying cold and dead by the road. - -"I was too angry to go home," he went on, "and not thinking much what I -did, I let the car out and went up and down--I don't know how far--I -don't remember--miles and miles." - -"According to Mr. Casey it was half-past four when you came back to the -garage." - -"I daresay; I didn't notice the time." - -"You were from 9:30 to 4:30 on the road?" - -"Yes." - -"You spent those seven hours going up and down the turnpike and the -intersecting roads?" - -"Yes, but at first I waited--for half hours at a time in different -places." - -He looked straight at the Coroner as he said that, a deep steady look, -more quiet and intent than he'd done since he started. I think it would -have seemed to most people as if he was telling the absolute truth and -wanted to impress it. But when a girl feels about a man as I did about -him, she can see below the surface, and there was something about the -expression of his face, about the tone of his voice, that made me think -for the first time he was holding something back. - -Then he went on and told about going home and falling asleep on the -sofa, and about the doctor and Mills coming. - -"When I saw the Doctor my first thought was that I must keep quiet till -I found out what had happened. When he asked me where his daughter was I -was startled as I realized she wasn't at home. But, even then, I hadn't -any idea of serious trouble and I was determined to hold my tongue till -I knew more than I did. - -"The ring of the telephone gave me a shock. I had been expecting to get -a call from her and instinctively I gave a jump for it. By that time I -was sure she'd got into some silly scrape and I wasn't going to have her -stepfather finding out and starting another quarrel. They," he nodded -his head at the Doctor and Mills, "caught on at once and made a rush for -me. - -"After that----" he lifted his hands and let them drop on his knees--"it -was just as they've said. I was paralyzed. I don't know what I said. I -only felt she'd been in danger and called on me and I'd failed her. I -think for a few moments I was crazy." - -His voice got so husky he could hardly speak and he bent his head down, -looking at his hands. I guess every face in the room was turned to him -but mine. I couldn't look at him but sat like a dummy, picking at my -gloves, and inside, in my heart, I felt like I was crying. In the -silence I heard one of the reporters whisper: - -"Gee--poor chap! that's tough!" - -He was asked some more questions, principally about what Sylvia had told -him of the quarrels with her stepfather. You could see he was careful in -his answers. According to what he said she'd only alluded to them in a -general way as making the life at Mapleshade very uncomfortable. - -He was just getting up when I saw one of the jurors pass a slip of paper -across the table to the Coroner. He looked at it, then, as Mr. Reddy was -moving away, asked him to wait a minute; there was another question--had -he stopped anywhere during Sunday night to get gasoline for his car? - -Mr. Reddy turned back and said very simply: - -"No, I had an extra drum in the car." - -"You used that?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you do with the drum?" - -"Threw it into the bushes somewhere along the road." - -"Do you know the place?" - -He gave a sort of smile and shook his head. - -"No, I don't remember. I don't know where I filled the tank. When it was -done I pitched the drum back into the trees--somewhere along the -turnpike." - -Several more of us came after that, I among them. But the real sensation -of the day was the Doctor's evidence, which I'll keep for the next -chapter. - - - - -VII - - -The Doctor was as calm and matter-of-fact as if he were giving a lecture -to a class of students. He looked much better than he did that morning -in the Exchange; rested and with a good color. As he settled himself in -the chair, I heard one of the reporters whisper: - -"I wouldn't call that the mug of a murderer." - -I looked over my shoulder right at the one who had spoken, a young chap -with a round, rosy, innocent sort of face like a kid's and yellow hair -standing up over his head as thick as sheep's wool. I'd seen him several -times in the Exchange and knew his name was Babbitts and that the other -fellows called him "Soapy." When he caught my eye he winked, and you -couldn't be mad because it was like a big pink baby winking at you. - -The Doctor told his story more straight and continuous than any of the -others. It went along so clear from point to point, that the coroner -didn't have to ask so many questions, and when he did the doctor was -always ready with his answer. It sounded to me as if he'd thought out -every detail, worked it up just right to get the best effect. He began -with Saturday morning, when he'd got the call to go to the Dalzells'. - -"An operation was performed early that afternoon and I stayed during the -night and all the next day, going out on Sunday morning at ten for an -hour's ride in my motor. I had decided to remain Sunday night -too--though the patient was out of danger--when at about eight I -received a telephone message from my wife saying Miss Hesketh had run -away with Jack Reddy. Hearing from her that their route would be by the -turnpike to Bloomington I made up my mind that my best course was to -strike the turnpike and intercept them." - -"You disapproved of their marriage?" - -"Decidedly. Miss Hesketh was too young to know her own mind. Mr. Reddy -was not the husband I would have chosen for her--not to mention the -distress it would have caused Mrs. Fowler to have her daughter marry in -that manner. My desire to keep the escapade secret made me tell Mrs. -Dalzell a falsehood--that I was called away on an important case. - -"The Dalzells' chauffeur told me that the road from their place to the -turnpike was impassable for motors. The best route for me would be to go -to the Junction, where I could strike the Riven Rock Road, which came -out on the turnpike about a mile from Cresset's Crossing. I had plenty -of time, as the distance young Reddy would have to travel before he -reached that point was nearly a hundred and twenty miles. - -"I arrived at the Junction as the train for Philadelphia was drawing -out. I spoke to Clark, the station agent, about the road, and, after -getting the directions, walked round the depot to the back platform, -where my car stood. As I passed the door of the waiting-room it suddenly -opened and a woman came out." - -He stopped--just for a moment--as if to let the people get the effect of -his words. A rustle went over the room, but he looked as if he didn't -notice it and went on as calm and natural as if he was telling us a -fiction story. - -"I probably wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't given a suppressed -cry and cowered back in the doorway. That made me look at her and, to my -amazement, I saw it was Miss Hesketh's maid, Virginie Dupont." - -Nobody expected it. If he'd wanted to spring a sensation he'd done it. -We were all leaning forward with our mouths open. - -"The moment I saw her I remembered that my wife had told me the woman -had gone with Miss Hesketh. One glance into the waiting-room told me she -was alone and I turned on her and told her I knew of the elopement and -asked her what she was doing there. She was evidently terrified by my -unexpected appearance, but seeing she was caught, she confessed that she -knew all about it, in fact, that she had been instructed by Miss Hesketh -to go to Philadelphia by the branch line, take a room in the -Bellevue-Stratford, and wait there till her mistress appeared. - -"I was enraged and let her see it, pushing her round to the car and -ordering her into the back seat. I vaguely noticed that she carried a -bag and wrap over her arm. She tried to excuse herself but I shut her up -and took my seat at the wheel. There was no one on the platform as we -went out. - -"It took me over an hour to negotiate the distance between the Junction -and the turnpike. The road was in a fearful condition. We ran into chuck -holes and through water nearly to the hubs. Once the right front wheel -dropping into a washout, the lamp struck a stump and was so shattered it -had to be put out. My attention was concentrated on the path, especially -after we left the open country and entered a thick wood, where, with one -lamp out of commission, I had to almost feel my way. - -"I said not a word to the woman nor she to me. It was not till I was -once again in the open that I turned to speak to her and saw she was -gone." - -"Gone!" said one of the jury--a raw-boned, bearded old man like a -farmer--so interested, he spoke right out. - -"Yes, gone. I guessed in a moment what she had done. Either when I had -stopped to put out the lamp or in one of the pauses while I was feeling -my way through the wood she had slipped out and run. It would have been -easy for her to hide in the dark of the trees. I glanced into the -tonneau and saw that the things she had carried, the bag and the wrap, -were also missing. She had been frightened and made her escape. -Unfortunately, in the shock and horror of the next day the whole matter -slipped my mind and she had time to complete her getaway, probably by -the branch line early Sunday morning." - -The Coroner here explained that inquiries had since been made at the -branch line stations for the woman but nobody had been found who had -seen her. - -"I had no time to go back and look for her, and, anyway, it would have -been useless, as she could have hidden from a sheriff's posse in the -wood. Besides, my whole interest was focused on reaching the turnpike. I -could see it before me, a long winding line between the dark edges of -small trees. I turned into it and let the car out. Though the road has -many turns I could have seen the lamps of a motor some distance ahead -and I ran fast, looking neither to the right nor left but watching for -approaching lights. On my ride back I met only a few vehicles, several -farmers' wagons and the car of Dr. Pease, the Longwood practitioner. - -"I reached home about two and went at once to my wife's room. She was in -a hysterical state and I stayed with her an hour or so trying to quiet -her. When she was better I retired to my own apartment and at seven -called up Walter Mills, a detective in New York, telling him to come to -Longwood as soon as he could. By this time I was uneasy, not that I had -any suspicion of a real tragedy, but the disappearance of Miss Hesketh -alarmed me. I met Mills at the train and told him the situation and that -I intended telephoning to Fiske at Bloomington, thinking they might have -reached there by some other way. It was his suggestion that before any -step was taken which might make the matter public, it would be well to -communicate with Firehill and see if the servants knew anything. I did -this and to my amazement learned that Reddy was there." - -That is all of the Doctor's testimony that I need put down as the rest -of it you know. - -It left us in a sort of mixed-up surprise. No one could have told it -better, no one could have been more sure about it or more quiet and -natural. _But_--it seems like I ought to write that word in the biggest -letters to give the idea of how it stood out in my mind. - -Of all the stories it was the strangest and it was so _awfully_ pat. I -don't know how you feel about it, reading it as I've written it here, -but I can say for myself, listening and watching that man tell it, I -couldn't seem to believe it. - -It was near to evening, the room getting dusk and the fire showing up -large and bright when the jury brought in their verdict: "The deceased -met her death at the hands of a person or persons unknown." - -I walked back up Maple Lane. The night was setting in cold and frosty. -The clouds had drawn off, the air was clear as crystal and full of the -sounds of motor horns. Big and little cars passed me, jouncing over the -ruts and swinging round the bend where the pine stood. I was looking up -at it, black like a skeleton against the glow in the West, when a step -came up behind me and a voice said: - -"You're a good witness, Miss Morganthau." - -It was that fresh kid Babbitts and I wasn't sorry to have him join me as -I was feeling as if I'd been sitting in a tomb. He was serious too, not -a wink about him now, his eyes on the ground, his hands dug down in the -pockets of his overcoat. - -"A strange case, isn't it?" he said. - -"Awful strange," I answered. - -"If it wasn't for your story of that man on the 'phone I think they'd -arrest Dr. Fowler to-night." - -"Didn't you believe what he said?" - -I wasn't going to give away my thoughts any more than I'd been willing -to give away what I heard on the wire. And it seemed that he was the -same, for he answered slow and thoughtful: - -"I'm not saying what I believe or don't believe, or maybe it's better if -I say I'm not ready yet to believe or disbelieve anything,"--then he -looked up at the sky, red behind the trees, and spoke easy and careless: -"They say Miss Hesketh had a good many admirers." - -"Do they?" was all he got out of me. - -That made him laugh, jolly and boyish. - -"Oh, you needn't keep your guard up now. Your stuff'll be in the papers -to-morrow, and, take it from me, that fellow that sent the message is -going to get a jar." - -"The man I listened to?" - -"Sure. He hasn't got the ghost of an idea anyone overheard him. Can't -you imagine how he'll feel when he opens his paper and sees that a smart -little hello girl was tapping the wire?" - -It's funny, but I'd never thought of it that way. Why, he'd get a shock -like dynamite! It got hold of me so that I didn't speak for a spell, -thinking of that man reading his paper to-morrow--over his coffee or -maybe going down in the L--and suddenly seeing printed out in black and -white what he thought no one in the world knew except himself and that -poor dead girl. Babbitts went on talking, me listening with one -ear--which comes natural to an operator. - -"We've been rounding up all the men that were after her--not that they -were backward with their alibis--only too glad to be of service, thank -you! Carisbrook was at Aiken, a lawyer named Dunham was up state trying -a case; Robinson, a chap in a bank, was spending the week-end on Long -Island. There was only one of them near here--man named Cokesbury. Do -you know him?" - -Both my ears got busy. - -"Cokesbury," I said, sort of startled, "was Cokesbury at the Lodge last -week?" - -"He was and I know just what he did." - -"What did he do?" - -He laughed out as gay as you please, for he saw he'd got me just where -he wanted. - -"When I've tried to find out things from you you've turned me down." - -"Aw, go on," I said coaxing, "don't you know by experience I'm no -talking machine to give out every word that's said to me." - -"I believe you," he answered, "and it'll be good for your character for -me to set a generous example. Cokesbury was at the Lodge from last -Saturday on the one-ten train to last Monday on the eight-twenty." - -"Gee!" I said, soft to myself. - -"You can quell those rising hopes," he replied. "He wasn't the man you -heard." - -"How do you know?" - -"Because hearing that he was a friend of Miss Hesketh's, I spent part of -yesterday at Azalea and found that Mr. Cokesbury can prove as good an -alibi as any of them." - -"Did you see him?" - -"No, he wasn't there and if he had been I wouldn't have bothered with -him. I saw someone much better--Miner, the man who owns the Azalea -Garage, where Cokesbury puts up his car. It appears that the trip before -last Cokesbury broke his axle and had to have his car towed down to the -garage and left there to be mended. When he came down Saturday he -expected it to be done and when it wasn't, got in a rage and raised the -devil of a row. He had to go out to his place in one of Miner's cars -which left him there and went back for him Monday morning." - -"Then he had no auto on Sunday." - -"Miss Morganthau will take the head of the class," then he said, low, as -if to someone beside him: "She's our prize pupil but we don't say it -before her face for fear of making her proud," then back to me as solemn -as a priest in the pulpit, "That is the situation reduced to its lowest -terms--he had no car." - -"Well that ends _him_," I said. - -"So it seems to me. In fact Cokesbury gets the gate. I won't hide from -you now that I went to Azalea because I'd heard a rumor of that talk on -the phone and thought I'd do a little private sleuthing on my own. -Didn't know but what I was destined to be the Baby Grand Burns." - -"And nothing's come of it." - -"Nothing, except that it drops Cokesbury out with a thud that's dull and -sickening for me, but you can bet your best hat it's just the opposite -for him." - -"Well, I guess yes," I said and walked along wondering to myself whose -voice that _could_ have been. - - - - -VIII - - -After the inquest there was no more question about who was suspected. It -was as if every finger in Longwood was raised and pointed to Mapleshade. -The cautious people didn't say it plain--especially the shop-keepers who -were afraid of losing custom--but those who had nothing to gain by -keeping still came out with it flatfooted. - -It wasn't only that nobody liked the Doctor, or believed his story, it -was because the people were wild at what had been done. They wanted to -find the murderer and put him behind bars and seeing that things pointed -more clearly to Dr. Fowler than to anybody else they pitched on him. All -the gossip about the quarreling came out blacker than ever. The papers -were full of it and the other worse stories, about Sylvia's allowance -and the will of her father. There wasn't a bit of dirty linen in the -Fowler household that wasn't washed and hung out on the line for the -public to gape at, and some of it was dirtier when they'd got through -washing than it had been before. - -There were those who didn't scruple to say that the whole tragedy was a -frame-up between Virginie Dupont and the Doctor. If you talked sensible -to them and asked them how Virginie could have got word to him that -Sylvia was running away, they'd just push that to one side, saying it -could be explained some way, everything wasn't known yet--but one thing -you _could_ be sure of--the one person who knew the whereabouts of that -French woman was Dr. Daniel Fowler. - -I believe there were some days after the inquest when, if there'd been -an anarchist or agitator to stand on the postoffice steps and yell that -Dr. Fowler ought to be jailed, a crowd would have gathered, gone down to -Mapleshade, and demanded him. - -Fortunately there was no one of that kind around, and he stayed quiet in -his home, not even coming to the village. Two days after the inquest I -saw Anne and she said he and Mrs. Fowler hadn't been out of the -house--that they were in a state of siege what with reporters and the -police and morbid cranks who hung round the grounds looking up at the -windows. - -That same evening I stayed over time in the Exchange, lending a hand. -The work was something awful, and Katie Reilly, the new girl, was most -snowed under and on the way to lose her head. I wanted to see her -through and I wanted the credit of the office kept up, but it's also -true that I wanted to be on the job myself and hear all that was -passing. Believe me, it was hard to quiet down in my bedroom at night -after eight hours at the switchboard right in the thick of the -excitement. Besides, I'd got to know the reporters pretty well and it -was fun making them think I could give them leads and then guying them. - -I liked Babbitts the best, but there were three others that weren't bad -as men go. One was Jones, a tall thin chap like an actor, with long -black hair hanging down to his collar, and Freddy Jasper, who was -English and talked with an awful swell dialect, and a sallow-skinned, -consumpted-looking guy called Yerrington who belonged on a paper as -yellow as his face and always went round with a cigarette hanging from -his lip like it was stuck on with glue. - -It was nearly eight and work was slacking off when I started to go home. -What with the jump I'd been on and listening to the gabbing round the -door I'd forgotten my supper. It wasn't till I saw the Gilt Edge window -with a nice pile of apples stacked up round a pumpkin, that I remembered -I was hungry and walked over. There were only three people in the place, -Florrie Stein, the waitress, and a woman with a kid in the corner. - -I was just finishing my corn beef hash with a cup of coffee at my elbow -and stewed prunes on the line of promotion when Soapy and Jones and -Jasper came in and asked me if they could sit at my table. "Please -yourself," said I, "and you'll please me," for politeness is one of the -things I was bred up to, and they sat down, calling out their orders to -Florrie Stein. - -They naturally began talking about "the case"--it was all anybody talked -about just then--and for all I knew so much about it, I generally picked -up some new bits from them. So I went to the extravagance of three cents -worth of jelly roll, not because I wanted it, but because I could crumb -it up and eat it slow and not give away I was sitting on to listen. - -"We can talk before you, Miss Morganthau," said Babbitts, "because while -we all agree you're the belle of Longwood, we've found out by sad -experience you're a belle without a tongue." - -Florrie Stein, bringing the food then, they were silent till she'd set -it out, and when she'd drawn off to the cashier's desk, they started in -again. They were, so to speak, looking over Hines as a suspect. - -"No, Hines won't fit," said Babbitts. "The presence of the jewelry on -the body eliminates him. They've dug up his record and though the place -he ran wasn't to be recommended for Sunday school picnics, the man -himself seems to have been fairly decent." - -"It's odd about the bag--the fitted bag and the jewelry gone from the -room," said Jasper. - -"The police have an idea that Virginie Dupont could tell something of -them." - -"Theft?" - -"Theft on the side." - -"Oh, pshaw!" said Jones, "what's the good of complicating things? If -theft was committed it was a frame-up, part of a plot." - -"You believe in this idea they've got in the village that Fowler and the -French woman worked together?" - -"I do--to my mind the murderer's marked as plain as Cain after he was -branded on the brow or wherever it was." - -Then Jasper spoke up. He's a nice quiet chap, not as fresh as the -others. "Let's hear what you base that assertion on." - -Jones forgot his supper and twisted round sideways in his chair, looking -thoughtful up at the cornice: - -"As I understand it, in a murder two things are necessary--a crime and a -corpse; and in a murderer one, a motive. Now we have all three--the -motive especially strong. If Miss Hesketh married, her stepfather lost -his home and the money he had been living on, so he tried to stop her -from marrying. Saturday night he heard that his efforts had failed. I -fancy that on Sunday morning when he went for that auto drive he stopped -at some village--not as yet located--and communicated with Virginie -Dupont, who was in his pay. She, too, went out that morning, you may -remember." - -"There's a good deal of surmise about this," said Babbitts. - -Jones gave him a scornful look. - -"If the links in the chain were perfect Dr. Fowler'd be eating his -dinner to-night in Bloomington Jail." - -"How do you account for Miss Hesketh--presupposing it was she--being on -the train instead of the turnpike?" said Jasper. - -"A change of plans," Jones answered calmly, "also not yet satisfactorily -cleared up. To continue: Sometime on Sunday the Doctor conceived the -plan of ridding himself of all his cares--his troublesome stepdaughter, -the disturbance of his home and his financial distress. _How_," he -turned and looked solemnly at us, fate played so well into his hands I -can't yet explain--the main point is that it did. He met Miss Hesketh at -the Junction, either by threats, persuasion or coercion made her enter -his auto and carried her up the road to the turnpike. - -"And now," said Babbitts, leaning his arms on the table, "we come to her -appearance in the Wayside Arbor." - -"We do," Jones replied, nodding his head. "You may remember that both -Hines and his servant said there were twigs and leaves on the edge of -her skirt and that her boots were muddy. Traces of this were still -visible in her clothes when they found her body. She _did_ get out of -the automobile, but not so far from the turnpike as he said. Either he -and she had some fierce quarrel and she ran from him in rage or terror, -or he may have told the truth and she slipped out at the turn from the -Riven Rock Road without his knowledge. Anyway she got away from him and -ran for the only light she saw. There she telephoned Reddy, withholding -the main facts from him, perhaps merely to save time, but cautioning him -against letting anyone know of the message. That, as I see it, was a -natural feminine desire to guard against gossip. When she thought Reddy -was due she started out to meet him--and instead met the Doctor." - -"Who'd been hanging about for a half-hour on the roadside?" - -"Precisely. He killed her, concealed the body, and went home." - -"Just a minute," said Yerrington--"what did he kill her with? The weapon -used is a disputed point. Many think it was a farm implement. Did he go -across lots to Cresset's and arm himself with a convenient spade or rake -for the fatherly purpose of slaying his stepdaughter?" - -But you couldn't phase Jones, he said as calm as a May morning: - -"He _could_ have done that. But I don't think he did. He didn't need it. -The tool box of the car was nearer to hand. A large-sized auto wrench is -a pretty formidable weapon, and a tire wrench--did you ever see one? One -well-aimed blow of that would crush in the head of a negro." - -"Gentlemen, the evidence is all in," said Babbitts. - -"Your case might hold water," said Jasper, "if it wasn't as full of -holes as a sieve. Why, you can make out as good a one for almost -anybody." - -"Who, for example?" Jones asked. - -"Well--take Reddy." - -"Jack Reddy?" I said that, sitting up suddenly and staring at them with -a piece of jelly roll halfway to my mouth. - -"He's as good as another," said Jasper, and then he added sort of -dreamy: "I believe I could work up quite a convincing case against -Reddy, allowing for a hole here and there. But our illustrious friend -here admits holes at this stage." - -"Fire away," said Babbitts. "Give it to us, holes and all." - -"Well--off the bat here it is. You may remember that no one saw him -coming back from Maple Lane that night. There is no one, therefore, to -deny that he may have had Miss Hesketh in the car with him. Instead of -going back to Firehill, as he says he did, he followed his original plan -of taking her by the turnpike." - -"Right at the start I challenge that," said Babbitts. "She appeared at -the Wayside Arbor at nine-thirty. The date in Maple Lane was for seven. -Supposing she kept it and was on time--which is a stretch of the -imagination--he would have had to travel one hundred and eighteen miles -in two hours and a half." - -"He could have done it." - -"On a black, dark night? nearly forty-eight miles an hour?" - -"You forget he knew the road and was driving a high-powered racing car. -It's improbable but not impossible." - -"I count that as a hole, but go on." - -"Now in this hypothetical case we'll suppose that as that car flew over -the miles the man and the woman in it had high words?" - -"Hold on," said Jones, holding out his fork--"that's too big a hole. -They were lovers eloping, not an old married couple." - -"I'll explain that later. The high words inflamed and enraged the man to -the point of murder and he conceived a horrible plan. As they neared the -Wayside Arbor he told the woman something was wrong with the car and -sent her to the place ostensibly to telephone, really to establish her -presence there at a time when, had she been with him, she could hardly -have got that far." - -I jumped in there. I knew it was only fooling, but even so I didn't like -hearing Mr. Reddy talked about that way. - -"Who did he send her to telephone to, Mr. Jasper--himself?" - -Babbitts laughed and jerked his head toward me. - -"Listen to our little belle sounding the curfew on Jasper." - -But Mr. Jasper was ready. - -"He could have done that, knowing his house was empty. Hines, you -remember, said she wasn't five minutes in the booth. We've only Reddy's -word for that message. We don't even know if she got a connection. I -telephoned out to the Corona operator Saturday and she answered that -there was no record of the message and she herself remembered nothing -about it." - -"But Sylvia," I said--"she told Hines she was expecting someone to come -for her." - -"Sylvia was eloping. Mightn't she have told Hines--who was curious and -intrusive--what wasn't true?" - -A sort of hush fell on us all. Babbitts's face and Jones's, from being -just amused, were intent and interested. - -"Go ahead, Jasper," said Babbitts, "if this isn't buying the baby a -frock it's good yarning." - -Jasper went on. - -"Her story of the broken automobile _she_ believed to be true. But she -didn't want Hines to know who she was or what she was up to, so she -invented the person coming to take her home. Why she sat so long there -talking is--I'll admit--a hole, but I said in the beginning there would -be some. The end is just like the end of Jones's case. She went back to -Reddy and he killed her with, as our friend has suggested, one of the -auto tools. Very soon after it would have been as that Bohemian--what's -her name?--heard the scream at ten-ten." - -"That's all very well," said Jones, "but before we go further I'd like -you to furnish us with a motive." - -"Nothing easier--jealousy." - -"Jealousy!" I said, sudden and sharp. - -"Jealousy in its most violent form. The lady in this case was a peculiar -type--a natural born siren. She had made the man jealous, furiously -jealous. _That_ was the reason of the high words in the motor." - -"Who was he jealous of?" It was I again who asked that. - -Jasper turned round and looked at me with a smile. - -"Why, Miss Morganthau," he said, "_you_ gave us the clue to that. He was -jealous of the man who made the date you heard on the phone. Don't you -see," he said, turning to the others, "_that_ man kept his date and -Reddy came and found him there." - -I can't tell what it was that fell on us and made us sit so still for a -minute. All of us knew it was just a joke, but--for me, anyway--it was -as if a cloud had settled on the room. Babbitts sat smoking a cigarette -and staring at the rings he was making with his eyes screwed up. -Presently, when Jones spoke, his voice had a sound like his pride was -taken down. - -"A great deal better than I expected, but it's simply riddled with -holes." - -Before Jasper could answer the door opened and Yerrington came in. The -cigarette was hanging off his lip and as he said "Good evening" to me it -wobbled but clung on. Then he pulled out a chair, sat down and, looking -at the other three with a gleam in his eye, said: - -"A little while ago Dr. Fowler's chauffeur in dusting out his car found -the gold mesh purse squeezed down between the back and the cushion." - - - - -IX - - -The finding of the gold purse established the fact that part, anyway, of -the Doctor's story was true--the woman who had gone down to the junction -and then disappeared _had_ disappeared in his auto. Was she Sylvia -Hesketh? - -The general verdict was yes--Sylvia Hesketh, for some unknown reason, -running away from her lover and her home. All the world knew now that -she was wild and unstable, a girl that might take any whim into her head -and act on the spur of the moment. There were theories to burn why she -should have thrown down Reddy and slipped away alone, but those that -knew her said she was a law unto herself and let it go at that. - -The morning after that supper in the Gilt Edge, Anne came in to do the -marketing and stopped at the Exchange. The room was empty but even so I -had to whisper: - -"Are they going to arrest the Doctor?" - -"He's waiting," she whispered back. - -"What do you make of it?" - -"What I always have. I think the woman was Virginie. I think she took -Sylvia's things and lit out on her own account." - -"What does Mrs. Fowler say?" - -"She's going to offer a reward for the murderer. That's her way of -answering. This last seems to have roused her. She knows now it's going -to be a fight for her husband's liberty, perhaps his life. She's -employing Mills and some other detectives and she keeps in close touch -with them." - -The next day the reward was made public. It was in all the papers and -nailed up at the depot and in the post office, the words printed in -black, staring letters: - - TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD! - - TO ANYONE DISCOVERING THE MURDERER OF THE LATE SYLVIA HESKETH, - THIS SUM WILL BE PAID BY HER MOTHER, CONSTANCE GREY FOWLER, - MAPLESHADE, NEW JERSEY. - -Late that afternoon Babbitts came into the office. He was staying at the -Longwood Inn, but it was the first time that day I'd seen him and after -our supper together I'd begun to feel real chummy with him. Contrary to -his usual custom he was short and preoccupied, giving me a number -without more words and then banging shut the door of the booth. It got -me a little riled and seeing he wasn't wasting any manners I didn't see -why I should, so I lifted the cam and quietly listened in. Not that I -expected to hear anything very private. The number he'd given was his -paper. - -The chap at the other end had a way of grunting, "I got you," no matter -what was said. I'd heard _him_ before and he had a most unnatural sort -of patience about him, as if his spirit was broken forever taking -messages off a wire. - -"Say," says Babbitts, "I got a new lead--up country near Hines' place. I -been there all morning. There's a farm up that way. Cresset's"--he -spelled the name and the other one did his usual stunt--"Good people, -years on the soil, self-respecting, stand high. Their house is about -half a mile across woods and fields from the Wayside Arbor, lonely with -a bad bit of road leading up from the pike. Do you hear?" - -"Get on," said the voice. - -"I stopped in there and had a sance with Mrs. Cresset, nice woman, fat -with a white apron. I said I was a tourist thirsting for a drink of -milk." - -The other one seemed to rouse up. "Did you thirst that bad?" - -"For information--and I got it. She's been scared of the notoriety and -has held back something which seems important. Her husband's been prying -her up to the point of going to the District Attorney and she's agreed, -but tried it on me first. Do you hear?" - -"I got you." - -"The night of the murder, about nine, a man knocked at her door saying -he'd lost his way and wanting to know where he was, and how to get to -the turnpike. She spoke to him from an upper window and couldn't see his -face, the night being dark. All she could make out was that he was large -and wore an overcoat. He told her his auto was in the road back of him -and he'd got mixed up in the country lanes. The thing's funny, as there -are very few roads that side of the pike." - -"Hold on--what's that about pike?" - -Babbitts repeated it and went on: - -"Doesn't appear to have been in the least drunk--perfectly sober and -spoke like a gentleman. She gave him the direction and here's what -caught me--describes his voice as very deep, rich and pleasant, almost -the same words the Longwood telephone girl used to describe the voice -she overheard speaking to Miss Hesketh Saturday noon." - -"Any more?" - -"Impossible to identify man but says she'd know the voice again. He -thanked her very politely--she couldn't lay enough stress on how good -his manners were--and she heard him walk away, splashing through the -mud." - -There were a few ending-up sentences that gave me time to pull out a -novel and settle down over it. I seemed so buried in it that when -Babbitts put down his money I never raised my eyes, just swept the coin -into the drawer and turned a page. He didn't move, leaning against the -switchboard and not saying a word. With him standing there so close I -got nervous and had to look up, and as soon as I did it he made a motion -with his hand for me to lift my headpiece. - -"If two heads are better than one," he said, "two ears must be; and the -words I am about to utter should be fully heard to be appreciated." - -Of course I thought he was going to tell me what he'd found out at -Cresset's. It made me feel proud, being confided in by a newspaper man, -and I pushed up my headpiece, all smiling and ready to be smart and -helpful. He didn't smile back but looked and spoke as solemn as an -undertaker. - -"Miss Morganthau, yours is a very sedentary occupation." - -Believe me I got a jolt. - -"If you're asking me to violate the rules for that," I answered, "you're -taking more upon yourself than I'll overlook from a child reporter with -a head of hair like the Fair Circassian in Barnum & Bailey's." - -"I speak only as one concerned for your health. A walk after business -hours should be the invariable practice of those whose work forbids -exercise." - -"Thank you for your interest," says I, very haughty, "but it's well to -look at home before we search abroad. The man who spends all his time -riding in autos at the expense of the Press would be better employed -exercising his own limbs than directing those of others. So start right -along and walk quick." - -He didn't budge, but says slow and thoughtful: - -"Your remarks, Miss Morganthau, are always to the point. I'm going to -take a walk this evening--say about seven-thirty." - -"I hope you'll enjoy it," says I. "As for me, I'm going straight home to -rest. I need it, what with my work and the ginks that stand round here -taking up my time and running the risk of getting me fired"--the door -handle clicked. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man coming in. -"Which way?" I says in a whisper. - -"Down Maple Lane," he whispers back, and I was in front of my board with -my headpiece in place when the man came in. - -We walked up and down Maple Lane for an hour, and it may amuse you to -know that what that simple guy wanted was to tell me to listen to every -voice on my wires. - -I looked at him calm and pitiful. _Me_, that had been listening till, if -your ears grow with exercise, mine ought to have been long enough to tie -in a true lover's knot on top of my head! - -There's a wonderful innocence about men in some ways. It makes you feel -sorry for them, like they were helpless children. - -Then he capped the climax by telling me about Mrs. Cresset that -morning--hadn't thought I'd heard a word. And as he told it, believing -so honest that I didn't know, I began to feel kind of cheap as if I'd -lied to someone who couldn't have thought I'd do such a thing. I didn't -tell him the truth--I was too ashamed--but I made a vow no matter how -sly I was to the others I'd be on the square with Babbitts. And I'll say -right here that I've made good resolutions and broken them, but that one -I've kept. - -There's a little hill part way along the Lane where the road slopes down -toward the entrance of Mapleshade. We stopped here and looked back at -the house lying long and dark among its dark trees. The sky was bright -with stars and by their light you could see the black patches of the -woods and here and there a paler stretch where the land was bare and -open. It was all shadowy and gloomy except where the windows shone out -in bright orange squares. I pointed out to Babbitts where Sylvia's -windows were, not a light in them; and then, at the end of the wing, -four or five in a row that belonged to Mrs. Fowler's suite. Her -sitting-room was one of them where Anne had told me she and the Doctor -always sat in the evenings. - -"They're there now," I said. "What do you suppose they're doing?" - -"Search me," said Babbitts, "I can't answer for another man, but if I -was in the Doctor's shoes I'd be pacing up and down, with my Circassian -Beauty hair turning white while you waited." - -"Yes," I said, nodding. "I'll bet that's what he's doing. I can see -them, surrounded by their riches, jumping every time there's a knock on -the door, thinking that the summons has come." - -And that shows you how you never can tell. For at that hour in that room -the Doctor and Mrs. Fowler were talking to Walter Mills, who had just -come from Philadelphia, bringing them the first ray of hope they'd had -since the tragedy. It was in the form of a diamond and ruby lavalliere -that he had found the day before in a pawn shop and that Mrs. Fowler had -identified as Sylvia's. - -Four days later a piece of news ran like wildfire through Longwood: -Virginie Dupont had been arrested and brought to Bloomington. - -They put her in jail there and it didn't take any third degree to get -the truth out of her. She made a clean breast of it, for she was caught -with the goods, all the lost jewelry being found in the place where she -was hiding. It sent her to the penitentiary, and her lover, too, for -whom--anyway she said so--she had robbed Sylvia's Hesketh's room on the -night that Sylvia Hesketh disappeared. - -If her story threw no light on the murder it exonerated the Doctor, for -it fitted at every point with what he had said. - -I'll write it down here, not in her words, but as I got it from the -papers. - -For some time she had been planning to rob Sylvia, but was waiting for a -good opportunity. This came, when the Doctor, being out of the house, -she discovered that an elopement was on foot. She had read Sylvia's -letters, which were thrown carelessly about, and knew of the affair with -Jack Reddy, and when on Sunday morning she was sent to the village to -get a letter from Reddy she guessed what it was. Before giving it to -Sylvia she went to her own room, opened the envelope with steam from a -kettle, and read it. Then she knew that her chance had come. - -When evening drew on she hung about the halls and saw Sylvia leave at a -few minutes past six, carrying the fitted bag. The coast being clear, -she went to her room, took an old black bag of her own and stole back. -It was while she was getting this bag that the idea came to her of -impersonating her mistress, as in that way she could steal some clothes. -She secured the jewelry in a pocket hanging from her waist, took some -false hair that Sylvia wore when the weather was damp, and covered her -head with it, and selected a little automobile hat of which there were -several, over all tying a figured black lace veil. - -What she particularly wanted was a new Hudson seal coat that had been -delivered a few days before. No one but herself and Miss Hesketh knew of -this coat as there had been so much quarreling about Sylvia's -extravagance, that the girl often bought clothes without telling. After -putting it on she filled her bag with things from the bureau drawers, -and just as she was leaving saw the gold mesh purse on the dresser and -snatched it up. - -All this was done like lightning and she thinks she left the house not -more than twenty or twenty-five minutes after Sylvia. To catch the train -she had to hurry and she ran up Maple Lane behind the hedge. She was -nearing the village when she heard the whirr of an auto and through the -hedge saw the two big headlights of a car, coming slowly down the Lane. -For a moment she paused, peeking through the branches and made out that -there was only one person in it, Jack Reddy. - -She reached the station only a few minutes before the train came in. As -she had a ticket, she stood at the dark end of the platform, not moving -into the light till the engine was drawing near. Then Jim Donahue saw -her and came up, addressing her as Miss Hesketh. She had often tried to -imitate Sylvia's voice and accent which she thought very elegant, and -she did so now, speaking carefully and seeing that Jim had no doubt of -her identity. On the ride to the Junction she had only murmured "Good -evening" to Sands, being afraid to say more. - -At the Junction she was going to get off, take the branch line to -Hazelmere and transfer there to the Philadelphia Express. In the women's -waiting-room, which would probably be deserted at that hour, she -intended taking off Sylvia's coat and hair and reappearing as the modest -and insignificant lady's maid. She had thought this out in the -afternoon, deciding that Sylvia would probably communicate with her -mother in the morning and that the theft would then be discovered. -Inquiries started for the woman who had been seen on the train would -lead to nothing, as that woman would have dropped out of sight at the -Junction. - -Everything worked without a hitch. The waiting-room was empty and she -had ample time to take off the hair and put it in the bag, hang the coat -over her arm with the lining turned out, and even pinch the small, soft -hat into another shape. No one would have thought the woman who went -into the waiting-room was the woman who came out. - -And then came the first mishap--as she opened the door she stepped -almost into Dr. Fowler. She was terror stricken, but even then neither -her luck nor her wits left her, for almost the first sentence he uttered -showed her that he knew of the elopement and gave her a lead what to -say. She must have been a pretty nervy woman the way she jumped at that -lead. Right off the bat she invented the story about being sent by -Sylvia to Philadelphia--to wait there at the Bellevue-Stratford. - -The Doctor was furious and ordered her into his auto. There was nothing -for it but to obey and in she got, sitting in the back. As she was -stepping up, he close beside her, she remembered the gold mesh purse -plain in her hand. Like a flash she bent forward and jammed it down -between the back and seat. - -The ride up the Riven Rock Road was just as the Doctor described it. It -was after the lamp had been broken and he was back in the car starting -it up, that she slipped out. She was determined to get away with all her -loot and took the bag and coat with her, but between the hurry and fear -of the moment forgot the purse. - -She wandered through the woods till she saw a small scattering of lights -which she took for one of the branch line stations. When the dawn came -she had lost some of her nerve and felt it was too risky to carry the -extra things. So she hid them at the root of a tree, took off the hat, -tying the veil over her head, and walked across the fields to the -station. As it was Monday morning there were a lot of laborers, men and -women, on the platform. She mingled with them, looking like them in her -muddy clothes and tied up head, and got away to Hazelmere without being -noticed. - -She was feeling safe in her furnished room in Philadelphia when she read -of the murder in the papers. That scared her almost to death and she lay -as close as a rabbit in a burrow, afraid to go out and cooking her food -on a gas ring. It was the man she had stolen for who gave her away. When -she refused to raise money on the jewels, he stole the lavalliere and -pawned it. - -Under the trees where she said she'd left them, the police found the -coat and hat. Beside them was the bag stuffed full of lingerie, gloves -and silk stockings, and with the false hair crowded down into the inside -pocket. - -Besides clearing the Doctor her confession threw light on two important -points--one that Sylvia had left the house at a little after six, and -the other that Reddy had been at the meeting place at the time he said. - - - - -X - - -After the excitement of the French woman's arrest there was a sort of -lull. For a few days people thought we were going to move right on and -lay our hands on the murderer. But outside of proving that the Doctor -wasn't the guilty one the crime was no nearer a solution than it had -been the day it happened. Though there was still a good deal of talk -about it, it began to die down in the public interest and it was then -that the papers got to calling it "The Hesketh Mystery" in place of "The -Hesketh Murder." - -The reporters left the Inn and went back to live in town, coming in -every few days to snoop around for any new items that might have turned -up. Babbitts came oftener than the others and stayed later, and he and I -had several more walks. We were getting to be like partners in some kind -of secret business, meeting after dark, and pacing along the roads round -the village, with the stars shining overhead and the ground hard and -crumbly under our feet. - -If you'd met us you'd have set us down for a pair of lovers, walking -side by side under the dark of the trees. But if you'd followed along -and listened you'd have got cured of that romantic notion mighty quick. -Our flirtation was all about evidence, and leads, and clues--not so much -as a compliment or a baby stare from start to finish. I don't believe if -you'd asked Babbitts he could have told you whether my eyes were brown -or blue, and as for me--outside his being a nice kid he didn't figure -out any more important than the weathervane on the Methodist Church. - -It was "the case" that drew us together like a magnet drawing nails. -We'd speculate about it, look at it all round as if it was something we -had hold of in our hands. I guess it was the mysteriousness of it that -attracted him, and the reward, too. There was more in it for me as you -know--but he never got a hint of _that_. - -It was one evening, nearly four weeks after the murder that he gave me a -shock--not meaning to, of course, for even then I'd found out he was the -kind that wouldn't hurt a fly. We were talking of Jack Reddy, who we'd -seen that evening in the village, the first time since the inquest. - -"You know," said Babbitts, "it's queer but I keep thinking of that yarn -of Jasper's, that evening in the Gilt Edge." - -I drew away like he'd stuck a pin into me. - -"Why do you think about _that_?" I asked loud and sharp. - -"Why," he said, slow as if he was considering, "I suppose because it was -so plausible. And I've been wondering if many other people have thought -of it." - -"I guess they have," I answered kind of fierce; "there's fools enough in -the world, God knows, to think of anything. I make no doubt there's -people who've tried to work out that _I_ did it, the reward tempting -them to lies and sin." - -Babbitts looked at me surprised. - -"What's there to get mad about?" he asked. "I'm not for a moment -suggesting that Reddy really had any hand in it. Why, he could no more -have killed that girl than _I_ could kill _you_." - -I simmered down--it was awful sweet the way he said it. - -"Then you oughtn't to be casting suspicions on an innocent man," I said, -still grouchy. - -"Oh, you're such a little pepper pot. Do you think for a moment I'd say -this to anybody but you. Look at me!" I looked into his eyes, clear as a -baby's in the starlight. "If you believe I'm the sort of fellow who'd -put a slur on Reddy I wonder you'll come out this way and walk with me." - -I smiled, I couldn't help it, and Babbitts, seeing I was all right -again, tucked his hand inside my arm and we walked on, very friendly. -Being ignorant of the true state of my feelings, he went straight back -to the subject. - -"Now understand that I mean nothing against Reddy and that I've never -said this to a soul but you, but ever since the inquest there's been one -thing that's puzzled me--the length of time he was out that night." - -"He explained that," I said. - -"I know he did, and everybody's accepted his explanation. But seven -hours in a high-powered racing car! He could have gone to Philadelphia, -taken in a show and come back." - -"But he told all about it," I insisted. - -"He did," said Babbitts, "but I'll tell you something, Miss -Morganthau--between ourselves not to go an inch farther--Reddy's story -impressed me as the undiluted truth till he got to _that_ part of it." - -"What do you mean?" I said, low, and being afraid I was going to tremble -I pulled my arm away from him. - -"This--I was watching him very close, and when he began to talk about -that night ride, some sort of change came over him. It was very subtle, -I never heard anyone speak of it, but it seemed to me as if he was -making an effort to give an impression of frankness. The rest of his -testimony had the hesitating, natural tone of a man who is nervous and -maybe uncertain of his facts, but when he came to that he--well, he -looked to me as if he was internally bracing himself, as if he was on -dangerous ground and knew it." - -If I'd been able to speak as well as that those were exactly the words I -would have used. I cleared my throat before I answered. - -"Looks like to me, Mr. Babbitts, that you ought to be writing novels -instead of press stories." - -"Oh, no," he said careless, "but, you see, I've been on a number of -cases like this and a fellow gets observant. It's queer--the whole -thing. If that French woman's evidence is to be trusted Miss Hesketh -_did_ leave the house early to keep that date with the Voice Man." - -I didn't say a word, looking straight before me at the lights of -Longwood through the trees. Babbitts, with his hands in his pockets -swinging along beside me, went on: - -"That's what's made me think of Jasper's hypothetical case. Do you -remember? He said Reddy'd come down to the meeting place, found Miss -Hesketh with the other man and got into a Berserker rage. Say what you -like, it does work out." - -When he bid me good night at Mrs. Galway's side door he wanted to know -why I was so silent? Even if I'd wanted to give a reason I hadn't one to -give. Don't you believe for a minute I was really worried--it was just -that I hated anyone even to yarn that way about Jack Reddy. Poor--me--if -I'd known then what was coming! - -It began to come two days later, the first shadow that was going to -darken and spread till--but I'm going on too quick. - -I'd just had my lunch, put away my box and swept off the crumbs, when I -got a call for the depot from the Rifle Run Camp. That's a summer -resort, way up in the hills beyond Hochalaga Lake. The voice, with a -brogue on it as rich as butter, was Pat Donahue's, Jim's eldest son, a -sort of idle scamp, who'd gone up to the camp to work last summer and -had stayed on because there was nothing to do--at least that's what Jim -said. - -I made the connection and listened in, not because I was expecting -anything worth hearing, but because I wasn't taking any chances. I guess -Pat Donahue was the last person anyone would expect to come jumping into -the middle of the Hesketh mystery--but that's what he did, with both -feet, hard. - -I didn't pay much attention at first and then a sentence caught my ear -and I grew still as a statue, my eyes staring straight in front, even -breathing carefully as if they could hear. - -It was Pat's voice, the voice answering Jim's at the Depot: - -"Me and Bridger was in to Hochalaga Lake yesterday forenoon, fishin' -through the ice. Can you hear me, Paw?" - -"Fine. Are you payin' for a call to tell me you're that idle you have to -play at fishin'?" - -"Jest you listen close and hear me before you come back. I seen in the -papers that Miss Hesketh that was murdered had one glove lost. Do you -mind what the one that wasn't lost looked like?" - -"Sure I do--why shouldn't I? Didn't I see it at the inquest?" - -"Will you be answering me instead of tellin' me what you saw?" - -"Ain't I doin' it? It was a left-hand glove, light gray with three pearl -buttons and a furrener's name stamped in the inside." - -"Well, then, I got the feller to it--right hand. I found it on the wharf -at the lake, in front of the bungalow. Seeing that there's ten thousand -dollars reward offered, I thought I'd be a blowin' in the price of a -call to tell you, though it's so ungrateful ye are for the news I'm -sorry I done it. But I'll not bother you no more, for it's in to the -District Attorney I'll be goin' with the evidence." - -That was what he did, that very afternoon. By the next day everybody in -Longwood knew how Pat Donahue had found Sylvia Hesketh's missing glove -on the wharf just in front of the Reddy bungalow. There was a person who -didn't close an eye that night, and I guess you know what her name was. - -Gee, those were awful days that followed! When I think of them now I can -feel a sort of sinking come back on me and my face gets stiff like it -was made of leather and couldn't limber up for a smile. Each morning I'd -get up scared sick of what I was going to hear that day, and each -evening I'd go to bed filled with a darkness as black as the night -outside. - -I couldn't believe it and yet--well, I'll tell you and you can judge for -yourself. - -The police went out to Hochalaga and made a thorough examination of the -house and its surroundings. - -The bungalow stood at one end of the lake right on the shore, with a -little wharf jutting out in front of it into the water. The door opened -into a big living-room, furnished very pretty and comfortable with green -madras curtains at the windows, a green art rug on the floor, and wicker -chairs with green denim cushions. At one side was a big brick fireplace -with a copper kettle hanging on a crane and over in a corner was a desk -with a telephone on it. Along the walls were bookcases full of books and -in the center was a table with chairs drawn up at either side of it. - -The police noticed right off that it didn't have the damp, musty feel of -a place shut up through a long spell of rain. The air was cold and dry -and they could scent the odor of wood fires and a slight faint smell of -cigar smoke. Then they saw that the fireplace was piled high with ashes -and that several cigarette ends were scattered on the hearth. On the -center table was a shaded lamp and near it a match box with burnt -matches strewn round on the floor. The desk drawer was open and the -papers inside all tossed and littered about as if someone had gone -through them in a hurry. Two armchairs stood on either side of the table -and another was in front of the fireplace. All over the floor were earth -stains as if muddy feet had been walking about. There were no signs that -the place had been broken into--windows and doors were locked and the -locks in good condition. - -Outside against the wall of the house they found a pile of broken china, -what seemed to be the remains of a tea set. It was not till the search -was nearly ended that one of the men, studying the grass along the -roadside for traces of footprints, came on a gasoline drum hidden among -the bushes. - -But that wasn't the worst--leading up the road to within a few yards of -the wharf were the tracks of auto wheels. At the time when these tracks -were made the road was deep in mud which, about the wharf, had evidently -been a regular pool. The driver of the motor had stopped his car at the -edge of this, got out and walked through it to the bungalow. Clear as if -they had been cast in plaster his footprints went from where the ruts -ended to the edge of the wharf. There, just at the corner of the planks, -three small, pointed footprints met them--a woman's. Either the man had -carried the woman or she had picked her way along the grass by the -roadside, and joining him on the planks had made a step or two into the -soft earth. On the wharf the prints were lost in a broken caking of mud. -The man's went back to the car, close to where they had come from it, -and they returned as they had come--alone. - -Jack Reddy's shoes fitted the large prints and Sylvia Hesketh's the -small ones! - -It came on Longwood with an awful shock. The faces of the people were -all dull and dazed looking, as if they were knocked half silly by a -blow. They couldn't believe it--and yet there it was! The papers printed -terrible headlines--"The Earth gives up a Murderer's Secret"--and "Jack -Frost versus Jack Reddy." There were imaginary accounts of how Mr. Reddy -could have done it, and Jasper, in his paper, had a long article worked -out like the story he'd told us that night in the Gilt Edge, but with -all the holes filled up. Everything was against Mr. Reddy, even the -telephone message that Sylvia had sent him from the Wayside Arbor -couldn't be traced. The Corona operator could remember nothing about it -and there was no record--only Jack Reddy's word and nobody believed it. - -They had him up before the District Attorney and his examination was -published in the papers. I can't put it all down--it's not -necessary--but it was bad. After I read it I sat still in my room, -feeling seasick and my face in the glass frightened me. - -When they asked him if he had been at the bungalow that night he said he -had, he had gone there after he had given up his hunt for Sylvia. - -"Why didn't you say this at the inquest?" was asked. - -He answered "that he hadn't thought it was necessary--that----" then he -stopped as if he wasn't sure and after a moment or two said: "I didn't -see that it threw any light on the murder, as I was alone." - -"You wished to conceal the fact that you were there, then?" - -To that he answered sharp: - -"I did not--but I saw no reason to give my movements in detail, as they -were of no importance." - -"Why did you go there?" - -"I was angry and excited and it was a place where I could be quiet." - -Asked how long he had been in the bungalow he said he wasn't sure--it -might have been an hour or two. He had lit the fire and sat in front of -it thinking and smoking cigarettes. - -"Didn't you hunt in the desk for something?" - -He answered with a sort of shrug as if he'd forgotten. - -"Oh, yes--I was hunting for a bill I thought I left there." - -To the questions about Sylvia--whether she had been there with him--he -answered almost violently that she had not, that he had not seen her -there or anywhere else that night. - -"Did you notice any footprints in the mud when you came?" - -"I did not." - -"There were no evidences on the wharf or in the house of anyone having -been there before you?" - -"None. The bungalow was locked and undisturbed." - -Then they switched off on to the gasoline drum and asked him if he had -filled the tank there and he said he might have but he didn't remember. - -"Was it dark when you left the place?" - -"No--very bright moonlight." - -"You remember that?" - -"Yes. I recollect thinking the ride back would be easier than the ride -up in the dark." - -"Why did you say at the inquest that you filled the tank somewhere on -the turnpike?" - -"I suppose I thought I had. In the angry and excited state I was in -small things made no impression on me. I had no clear memory of where -I'd done it." - -All the papers agreed that his testimony was unsatisfactory and made -much of his manner, which, under an effort to be calm, showed a -spasmodic, nervous violence. - -A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail to -await indictment by the Grand Jury. - - -[Illustration: _A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to -Bloomington jail_] - - -That night--shall I ever forget it! I heard the sounds in the street -dying away and then the silence, the deep, lovely silence that comes -over the village at midnight. And in it I could hear my heart beating, -and as I lay with my eyes wide open, I could see on the darkness like a -picture drawn in fire, Jack Reddy in the electric chair. - - - - -XI - - -Looking back now I can remember dressing the next morning, all trembly -and with my hands damp, and my face in the glass, white and pinched like -an East Side baby's in a hot wave. But there wasn't anything trembly -about the thinking part of me. That was working better than it had ever -worked before. It seemed to be made of steel springs going swift and -sure like an engine that went independent of the rest of my machinery. - -And, thank God, it did work that way, for it had thought of something! - -The idea came on me in the second part of the night, flashed out of the -dark like a wireless. I'd been wondering about the man who made the -telephone date with Sylvia--the Unknown Voice they'd got to calling him. -People thought as Jasper had said, that Reddy had found her with this -man and there had been a terrible scene. But whatever had happened the -Unknown Voice was the clew to the mystery. The police had tried to -locate him, tried and failed. Now _I_ was going to hunt for him. - -My plan was perfectly simple. From what I had seen myself and heard from -Anne Hennessey I was sure I knew every lover that Sylvia had had. I was -going to call each one of them up on the phone and listen to their -voices, and I wasn't going to tell a soul about it. Everybody would -say--just as you say as you read this--"but all those men gave -satisfactory alibis." I knew that as well as anyone, but it didn't cut -any ice with me, I didn't care what they'd proved. I was going to hear -their voices and see for myself. If I was successful, then I'd tell -Babbitts and have him advise me what to do. I'd heard Jack Reddy had -retained Mr. Wilbur Whitney, the great criminal lawyer, but I wouldn't -have known whether to go to him or the police or the District Attorney -and if I did it at all I wanted to do it right. - -Now that there were three of us in the Exchange my holiday had been -changed to Monday, and I made up my mind not to put my plan into -execution till that day. I didn't want to be hurried, or confused, by -possible interruptions, and also I wanted to hear the voices at short -range and could do that better from the city. I telephoned over to -Babbitts that I'd be in town Monday to do some shopping, and he made a -date to meet me at the entrance of the Knickerbocker Hotel and dine with -me at some joint near Times Square. - -Monday morning I was up bright and early and dressed myself in my best -clothes. From the telephone book I got the numbers of the four men who -were known to have been Sylvia's lovers and admirers--Carisbrook, -Robinson, Dunham and Cokesbury. I had found out from Anne what their -businesses were and I had no trouble in locating them. With the slip of -paper in my purse I took the ten-twenty train and was in town before -midday. - -On the way over I worked out what I'd say to each of them. I was going -to ask Carisbrook, who was a soft, dressed-up guy, if he knew where -Mazie Lorraine, a manicure who'd once been in the Waldorf, had moved to. -It was nervy but I wanted to give him a dig, he having put on airs and -treated me like a doormat. Robinson was easy--he had a common name and -I'd got the wrong man. Excuse _me_, please, awful sorry. Dunham was a -lawyer and I was a dressmaker that a customer wouldn't pay. And -Cokesbury was easy, too--I'd heard Cokesbury Lodge was for rent and was -looking for a country place. - -I got Carisbrook first and he was as mad as a hornet. - -"I don't know what you're talking about. _Manicure_? I don't know any -manicure called Lorraine or anything else. I've never been manicured in -the Waldorf--or any other hotel--in the city. The woman is a liar----" -and so forth and so on, sputtering and fizzing along the wire. I had -hard work not to laugh and in the middle of it I hung up, for he had a -thin, high squeak on him like an old maid scared by a mouse. - -Robinson was a sport, I liked _him_ fine: - -"Don't apologize. It's the penalty of being called Robinson. Still -there's a bright side to every cloud. It might have been Smith, you -know." - -It wasn't Robinson. He talked with a dialect that sounded like Jasper's, -English, I guess. - -Dunham was very smooth and awful hard to get rid of. He kept on asking -questions and I had to think quick and speak unnaturally intelligent. In -the middle of it--I'd got what I wanted--I said it was too complicated -to tell over the phone and I'd be in to-morrow at two and my name was -Mrs. Pendleton. - -It wasn't Dunham. - -When I tackled Cokesbury I ran into the first snag. I tried his office -and a real pleasant young man (you get to know a young voice from an old -one) asked me what I wanted. I said business, and he answered: - -"What is the nature of your business, Madam?" - -"I'd rather tell that to Mr. Cokesbury," I said. - -"Mr. Cokesbury doesn't like to be interrupted in the office. If you'll -tell me what you want to see him about----" - -"Say, young feller," said I, in a cool, classy way, "suppose we stop -this pleasant little talk, and you trot into Mr. Cokesbury and say a -lady's waiting on the wire." - -"Very well," he answered, calm and cheerful, "I'll do just as you say." - -There was a wait and then he was back. - -"Mr. Cokesbury says it's impossible for him to come to the phone and -will you kindly tell me what your business is." - -"I guess I'll have to wait till he's not so busy," I answered, languid, -like I've heard ladies when they're mad and don't want to show it, and I -hung up. - -Afterward I saw I'd made a mistake, for, when I called up two hours -later that polite guy was still on the job and handed me the same line -of talk. - -I went into a drugstore and looked up Cokesbury--Edward L., residence. -It was in the East Fifties and at six I tried him there. - -I drew a man that I guess was a servant: - -"Is Mr. Cokesbury home?" - -"Who is it?" - -"That doesn't matter. I want to know if he's home." - -"I don't know, ma'am. Will you please give me your name?" - -"Say, you're not taking the census or compiling a new directory, you're -answering the phone. Tell Mr. Cokesbury a party wants to see him on -business." - -"I have orders, ma'am, not to bother Mr. Cokesbury with messages unless -I know who they're from," said the voice, and then I knew he _was_ -there. - -"I'm sure he'll come if you say it's a _lady_," I said, sort of coaxing -and sweet. - -"I'll try, ma'am," said the voice, and I could hear the echo of his feet -as he walked off. - -Presently he was back. - -"Beg pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Cokesbury says he can't possibly come and -please to give me the message." - -By that time I was getting mad. - -"You ought to get double pay, for you seem to be a District Messenger -boy as well as a butler. If it's not too much trouble would you mind -telling me what Mr. Cokesbury's friends do when they want a word with -him over the phone?" - -"They tell the butler who they are and what they want, ma'am. That's the -orders in this house. Good-bye." - -When Babbitts and I were sitting at a table in a little dago joint near -Broadway, I couldn't help but tell him what I'd been doing. - -He looked at me with his eyes as big as half-dollars and then began to -laugh. - -"Well, what do you make of that? Spending your holiday and your nickels -rounding up a lot of men that rounded themselves up weeks ago." - -"I want to get that voice." - -"But everyone of them have proved that voice couldn't be theirs." - -"Maybe they did," said I, "but I want to know it myself." - -"Listen to her," he said, looking round the table as if a crowd was -collected, "calmly brushing aside the police, the detectives, the might -of the law and the strong arm of the press." - -"And anything else that stands round trying to discourage me." - -"Far be it from me to discourage you in any eccentricity that may -develop. But there's no need in following up Cokesbury, for we know that -he was marooned in Cokesbury Lodge." - -"I don't care what we know. The only things I believe are the things I -see myself." - -"Thomas!" he said, laughing, and I didn't see any sense in his calling -me that, but he often said things I wasn't on to. "Do you intend to camp -on his trail all night?" - -"I do," I answered. "As soon as you get through lapping up that red ink -I'm going to go to the nearest pay station and ring up Edward L., -residence." - -"I'll toddle along," he said. "Anything goes with me that adds to the -entertainment of Mary McKenna Morganthau." - -He held up his glass as if he was drinking a toast, and something about -the look of him--I don't know what--made me get all embarrassed. It -never happened before and it took me so by surprise I blushed and was -glad I'd dropped my gloves on the floor so I could bend down and hide -how red my face was. - -I tried Edward L., residence, at a drug store on Broadway and again I -drew that butler gink, who was sort of sassy and hung up quick. Then we -walked along and I could see that Babbitts was getting interested. - -"Tell you what," he said, "that servant knows you. I'll make the -connection, say I want to see Cokesbury on business, and if I get him, -hand on the receiver to you." - -We fixed it that way, went into a hotel, and I stood at the door of the -booth while Babbitts got the house. Standing at his elbow I could see he -was up against the same proposition as I had been. He finally had to say -he wanted to see Mr. Cokesbury about renting Cokesbury Lodge. - -He turned to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and said: - -"He's there and he won't come." - -"Has the servant gone to get him?" - -"Yes. He wouldn't say whether his boss was home or not, but his -willingness to take the message gave him away. Now stand close and if -it's a new voice I won't say a word, just get up and let you slide into -my place." He started and turned back to the instrument. "Yes. What?" I -could see a look of surprise come over his face. "Soon? You don't -know--in a few days. Hasn't any idea of renting. Thanks. That's -all--good-bye." - -He hung up and turned to me: - -"It was the servant. Cokesbury hasn't any intention of renting and is -leaving for Europe." - -"For Europe!" I cried out. "_When?_" - -"The man didn't know exactly. He said he thought in a few days." - -We walked down the street silent and thoughtful. The only feeling I had -at first was disappointment. I didn't get the whole thing clear as -Babbitts did. It came on him all in a minute, he told me afterward. - -We were on Broadway as light as day with the signs and people walking by -us and crowding in between us as if they were hurrying to catch trains. -I felt Babbitts' hand go round my arm, steering me into a side street. -It was darker there and there were only a few passers-by. We slackened -up and still with his hand around my arm, he bent his face down toward -my ear and said low, as if he was afraid someone was listening: - -"Kiddo, are you on?" - -"To what?" - -"Cokesbury. Don't you get it? He won't answer the phone." - -"Do you mean he won't answer at all?" - -"Not unless it's someone he knows. He's got his clerks in the office -holding the fort and his servants at home." - -We were just under a lamp and I stopped with my mouth falling open, for -sudden, like a flash of light, it came to me. - -"Soapy!" I gasped and wheeled round on him. His face bent down toward -me, was intent like a hunting dog's when it sees a bird, his eyes, -bright and fixed, looking straight into mine. - -"You've made the first real discovery in this case, Molly Morganthau. -Cokesbury's scared, d----d scared, so scared he's lost his nerve and is -lighting out to Europe." - -We walked round into Bryant Park and sat down on a bench. We were so -excited we didn't notice anything--that I'd grabbed Babbitt's hand and -kept hold of it, that it was freezing cold, that we'd got on a bench -with a drunk all huddled up on the other end. We were as certain as if -he'd confessed it that Cokesbury was the Unknown Voice and that he'd -killed Sylvia Hesketh. We just brushed his alibi aside as if he'd never -made one and planned how I was to hear him before he got away to Europe. -We laid plots there in the dark, sitting close together to keep warm, -with the drunk all lopped over and muttering to himself on the seat -beside us. - -When Babbitts left me at the Ferry we'd fixed it that he was to call me -up the next day and tell me what he'd done in town and I was to tell him -what I'd accomplished at my end of the line. - -The next morning I tried Cokesbury's office with the same results. At -one Babbitts called me and said he'd tried twice to get him as a test -and been told that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't down to-day and his whereabouts -were unknown. By inquiries at the steamship offices he'd found that Our -Suspect--that's what we called him on the wire--had taken passage on the -_Caronia_ for the following Saturday. That was four days off--four days -to hear the man who wouldn't answer the phone. - -That afternoon I had an idea, called up Anne Hennessey and asked her to -meet me at the Gilt Edge for supper. She came and afterward in my room -at Galway's I told her--I had to, but she's true-blue and I knew it--and -she agreed to help. She was to come to the Exchange the next morning, -call up Cokesbury and say she was Mrs. Fowler, who wanted to bid him -good-bye before he left. While she spoke--imitating Mrs. Fowler--I was -to listen. We did it--though she'd have lost her job if she'd been found -out--and I heard the clerk tell her that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't in his -office, that he didn't know where she could find him, and that it was -very little use trying to get him on the phone as he was so much -occupied prior to his departure. - -When Anne came out of the booth I was crying. I guess I never before in -my life had my nerves as strung up as they were then. - -It wasn't long after that that I had a call from Babbitts. He'd been -able to do nothing. When he heard of my last attempt he said: - -"He's not answering any calls at all now. His own mother couldn't get -him. It's no use trying that line any more. We've got to think up some -other way." - -That was Wednesday--I had only three days. Three days and I hadn't an -idea how to do it. Three days and Jack Reddy was waiting indictment in -Bloomington jail. We couldn't stop Cokesbury going or get anybody else -to stop him unless we could light on something more definite than a -hello girl's suspicions. - - - - -XII - - -Thursday afternoon I was sitting in the Exchange, feeling as if the -bottom had fallen out of the world. I hadn't given up yet--I'm not the -giving-up kind--but I _couldn't_ think of anything else to do. I'd -tossed on my bed all night thinking, I'd dressed thinking, I'd tried to -eat thinking, I'd put in the plugs and made the connections -thinking--and nothing would come. - -Two days more--two days more--two days more--those three words kept -going through my head as if they were strung on an endless chain. - -And then--isn't it always that way in life? Just when you're ready to -throw up the sponge and say you're beaten, Bang--it comes! - -It came in the shape of a New York call for Azalea. - -Like a dream, for I was pretty nearly all in, I could hear the -operator's voice: - -"That you, Longwood? Give me Azalea, 383." - -And then me answering: - -"All right. Azalea 383. Wait a minute." - -I plugged in and heard that queer grating sound as if the wires were -rubbing against each other: - -"Hello, New York. All right for Azalea 383." - -And then a woman's voice, clear and small. - -"Here's your party. Just a minute. There you are--Azalea 383." - -Then a man's voice far away as if it might be in Mars: - -"Hello, is that Azalea 383?" - -"Yep--the Azalea Garage," that was close and plain. - -"This is Mr. Cokesbury's butler----" Believe _me_, I came to life. -"Cokesbury, Cokesbury of Cokesbury Lodge--get it?" - -"Yep." - -"I've a message for Miner--the manager." - -"Fire away, I'm Miner." - -"He wants to know if you found a raincoat in that auto he had from you -last time he was down? _Raincoat_, waterproof. Do you hear?" - -"Yes sir, I hear perfect. We've got it and I'd 'a' sent it back but I -thought he'd be down again any time and it was just as well to keep it -here." - -"That's all right. The coat doesn't matter--but he's lost a key that -does. Thinks maybe he left it in the pocket. Have you found any key?" - -"I haven't looked. Hold the wire while I see?" - -There was a pause while I prayed no one would come in or call up. My -prayer was answered. There was nothing to interrupt when I heard the -garage man's voice again: - -"The key's there." - -"Good work! Mr. Cokesbury's had the house here upside down looking for -it. He wants you to do it up careful and give it to Sands the Pullman -conductor on the six-twenty to-night. I'll come across and get it off -him at Jersey City." - -"All right. Will I send the raincoat along, too?" - -"No, he don't want that. He's goin' to Europe Saturday and I guess he's -calculating to buy a new one. Thanks for your trouble. Good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - -I dropped the cam, sat tight, and thought. People kept coming in and out -and calls came flashing along the wires and I worked swift and steady -like an operator that's got no thought but for what's before her. - -But my mind was working like a steam engine underneath. How could I get -him--how could I get him? It was as if I had two brains, one on the top -that went mechanical like a watch and one below that was doing the real -business. - -Before the afternoon was over I'd decided on a line of action. - -I called up Katie Reilly and asked her if she'd relieve me at -five-thirty instead of six--that I'd an invitation to go down to a party -at Jersey City and I was keen to get there early. She agreed and at six -I was on the platform of the station waiting for the New York train. - -I took a seat in the common coach and at Azalea watched from the window -and saw a man on the platform give Sands a packet. I knew Sands well and -when he passed back through my car nodded to him and he stopped and -stood in the aisle talking. - -It wasn't long before I said, careless: - -"I hear Cokesbury Lodge is for rent." - -"I ain't heard it," said Sands, "but I ain't surprised. Now he's sent -his family away he don't want a house that size on his hands." - -"Has he been down lately?" - -"No--not for--lemme see--it's several weeks. Yes--the last time was the -Sunday before Sylvia Hesketh's murder." - -I knew all that but it doesn't do to jump at what you're after too -quick. - -"Lucky for him he could prove his car was on the blink that time," I -said, looking languid out of the window. - -"Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking -distance. But no one ever'd suspicion Cokesbury. He ain't the murderin' -kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he's goin' to Europe." - -"Is he now? Where'd you hear that?" - -"From Miner, that runs the Azalea Garage. He come down to the station -just now and gave me a package. Something Cokesbury left in the motor -the last time he was down. I'm to hand it over to his servant at Jersey -City." - -"Is it love letters that he don't want to leave behind?" - -"No, I guess he's careful of them. Here it is," he drew out of his -breast pocket an envelope with Cokesbury's name and address written on -it and held it out to me. "That ain't no love letter." - -I pinched it. - -"It's a key. It may open the desk where the love letters are kept." - -"I guess he's too fly to keep any dangerous papers like that around." - -"Yes," I says, "they might set the house on fire." - -"Well, ain't you the sassy kid," says he and then the train slowing up -for a station he walked on up the aisle. - -In the Jersey City depot I went like a streak for the Telephone -Exchange. My one chance was to catch him at dinner and I gave the -operator the number of his house. When she pointed to the booth I was -trembling like a leaf. - -The voice that answered me was a woman's--Irish--the cook's, I guess. -She began right off: "Yes, this is Mr. Cokesbury's residence, but you -can't see him." - -"Wait," I almost screamed, scared that she was going to disconnect, -"this is important. It's about a key I've just found. If Mr. Cokesbury's -there tell him a lady wants to see him about a key she picked up a few -minutes ago on the New Jersey train." - -"All right. Hold the wire." - -I knew he'd come. My heart was beating so I had to hold it hard with my -free hand and I had to bite my lips to make them limber. But, honest to -God, when I heard him--clear and distinct right in my ear--I thought I -was going to faint. For at last I'd got the Voice! - -"What's this about finding a key?" he said gruff and sharp. - -"Am I speaking to Mr. Cokesbury?" - -"You are. Who is it?" - -"No one you know, sir. I've just come in from Philadelphia and on the -Pullman step I found a package which seems to have a key in it. I -noticed that it was addressed to you and I looked you up in the -telephone book and am phoning now from Jersey City." - -He was very cordial then. His voice was the same deep, pleasant one he'd -used to Sylvia. - -"That's very kind of you and very thoughtful. I can't thank you enough. -The package was given to the Pullman conductor and he's evidently -dropped it." - -"Then shall I give it to the Pullman conductor now?" - -"If you'll be so kind. My servant's gone over there to get it. Just hand -it to the conductor--a tall, thin man, whose name is Sands." - -"I'll do it right off. Ain't it lucky I found it?" - -"Very. I'm deeply grateful. It would have put me to the greatest -inconvenience if it had been lost. I'd like to know to whom I'm -indebted." - -"Oh, that don't need to bother you. I'm just a passenger traveling down -on the train. Awful glad I could be of any service. Good-bye." - -I waited a minute till I got my heart quieted down, then took a call for -Babbitts' paper. Luck was with me all round that night, for he was -there. I couldn't tell him everything--I was afraid--but I told him -enough to show him I'd landed Cokesbury and he answered to come across -to town and he'd meet me at the Ferry. I caught a boat as it pulled out -of the slip and at the other side he was waiting for me. - -"Come on," he said, putting his hand through my arm and walking quick -for the street, "I got a taxi here. We'll charge it up to the defense." - -I got in, supposing he was going to take me somewhere to dinner, but he -wasn't. When I heard where we were bound I was sort of scared--it was to -Wilbur Whitney's house, Jack Reddy's lawyer. - -"He's expecting us," Babbitts explained. "I called him up right after -I'd heard from you. You see, Kiddo, we don't want to lose a minute for -we can't stop Cokesbury going unless we got something to stop him for." - -Mr. Whitney's house was a big, grand mansion just off Fifth Avenue. A -butler let us in and without waiting to hear who we were showed us into -a room with lights in bunches along the walls, small spindly gold chairs -and sofas, and a floor that shone like glass between elegant soft rugs. -There was some class to it and Babbitts and I looked like a pair of -tramps sitting side by side on two of the gold chairs. I was nervous but -Babbitts kept me up, telling me Mr. Whitney was a delightful gentleman -and was going to jump for all I had to say. Then we heard steps coming -down the stairs--two people--and I swallowed hard being dry in the -mouth, what with fright and having had no supper. - -Mr. Whitney was the real thing. He was a big man, with a square jaw and -eyes deep in under thick eyebrows. He spoke so easy and friendly that -you forgot how awful sharp and keen those eyes were and how they watched -you all the time you were talking. A young man came with him--a real -classy chap--that he introduced to me as his son, George. - -They couldn't have acted more cordial to me and Babbitts if we'd been -the King and Queen of Spain. When they sat down and asked me to tell -them what I knew I loosened up quite natural and told the whole story. - -The young man sat sideways on the gold sofa, smoking a cigarette and -looking into the air with his eyes narrowed up as if he was spying at -something a long ways off. Mr. Whitney was sort of slouched down in an -easy chair with his hands--white as a woman's--hanging over the arms. -Now and then he'd ask me a question--always begging my pardon for -interrupting--and though they were so calm and quiet I could feel, as if -it was in the air, that they were concentrated close on every word I -said. - -When I got through Mr. Whitney said, very cheerful, as if I'd been -telling some yarn in a story book: - -"That's very interesting, Miss Morganthau, and very well told. Quite a -narrative gift, eh George?" and he looked at his son. - -"First-class story," said George, and as careless as you please flicked -off his cigarette ashes on the rug. - -Mr. Whitney leaned forward clasping his big white hands between his -knees and looking into my face, half-smiling but with something terrible -keen behind the smile. - -"How can you be so sure of the voice, Miss Morganthau? I don't know -whether on the phone I could recognize the voice of my own son here." - -"You get that way in my work," I answered. "Your ear gets trained for -voices." - -"You're absolutely certain," said young Mr. Whitney, "that in that -message you overheard, the man spoke of coming to the meeting place in -his auto?" - -"Yes, sir, I'm certain he said that." - -He turned and looked at his father. - -"And investigations have shown he had no auto, he telephoned to no other -garage for one, he kept no horses, and to get there on his own feet, -would have had to walk through bad country roads a distance of -twenty-five miles." - -"Um," answered old Mr. Whitney as if he wasn't interested and then he -said to me: "In this message you heard to-day no suggestion was given of -what that key was the key of?" - -"No, sir. The man just said it was important and Mr. Cokesbury'd had the -house upside down looking for it." - -"Um," said Mr. Whitney again. "I rather fancy, Miss Morganthau, you've -done us a double service; in hunting for a voice, you've stumbled on a -key." - -Young Mr. Whitney laughed. - -"It's probably the key of his front door." - -"Perhaps," said his father, and looked down on the carpet as if he was -thinking. - -Then Babbitts spoke up: - -"Don't criminals, no matter how careful they are, often overlook some -small clew that maybe is the very thing that gives them away?" - -"Often," said Mr. Whitney. "In most crimes there's a curious lack of -attention to detail. The large matters are well conceived and skillfully -carried out. And then some minor point is neglected, sometimes -forgotten, sometimes not realized for its proper value." - -He got up and shook himself like a big bear and we all rose to our feet. -I was feeling pretty fine, not only the relief of having delivered the -goods, but proud of myself for getting through the interview so well. -Mr. Whitney added to it by saying: - -"You're a pretty smart girl, Miss Morganthau. _You_ don't know and _I_ -don't know yet the full value of the work you've done for me and my -client. But whatever the outcome may be you've shown an energy and -keenness of mind that is as surprising as it is unusual." - -I just swelled up with importance and didn't know what to say. Behind -Mr. Whitney I could see Babbitts' face, all beaming and grinning, and I -was so glad he was there to hear. And then--just when I was at the -top-notch of my pride--Mr. George Whitney, who'd been silent for a -while, said suddenly: - -"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Morganthau, I'd like to know what -lucky chance made you listen in to that conversation between Miss -Hesketh and the Unknown Man." - -Believe me I came down to earth with a thud. How could I tell them? Say -I listened to everything in the hope of hearing Jack Reddy talking to -Sylvia. I looked down on the floor, feeling my cheeks getting as red as -fire. - -"Go ahead," said Babbitts. "Don't be afraid to say anything." - -"We're as close here as the confessional," said old Mr. Whitney, smiling -at me like a father. - -I had to say something and took what seemed to me the most natural. - -"I'd heard Miss Hesketh was a great one for jollying up the men and I -wanted to hear how she did it." - -And they all--that means Babbitts, too--just burst out and _roared_. - -"Good for you, Miss Morganthau," said Mr. Whitney, and he put his hand -on my shoulder and gave it a shake. "Only I'll bet a hat you didn't need -any teaching." - -He turned to his son and said something about "the car being there," and -then back to me: - -"Now for a few days, Miss Morganthau, I'll expect you to be off duty in -a place accessible by telephone." - -"Off duty!" I exclaimed. "How can I do that?" - -He smiled in his easy way and said: - -"We'll attend to that, don't you worry about it. Go home and stay there -till you get a call from me. If anyone asks what's the matter say you're -ill and laid off for a few days. Don't bother about reporting at the -office; that'll be arranged. And I need hardly tell you not to speak a -word of what you've discovered or of this interview here to-night." - -"She won't," said Babbitts. "I'll go bail for that." - -He gave Mr. George Whitney Mrs. Galway's telephone number and then we -shook hands all round. I was just wondering what was the quickest way to -the Ferry when Mr. Whitney said: - -"The motor's waiting for you and I'm sure Mr. Babbitts will escort you -to the boat. Good night and remember--hold yourself ready for a call to -come to my office." - -The car waiting outside was Mr. Whitney's own. Gee, it was swell! A -footwarmer and a fur rug and a clock and a bottle of salts for me to -sniff at. I didn't tell Babbitts I'd had no dinner, for I was ashamed to -have the chauffeur stop at the kind of joints we patronize, and so I -bore the ache in my insides and tried to believe the footwarmer and the -salts made up for it. - - - - -XIII - - -At noon the next day--Friday--I was called to Mrs. Galway's phone. It -was Mr. George Whitney telling me to come over to the city at once. I -wasn't to bother about addresses or finding my way. I'd be met at the -Ferry and taken to Mr. Whitney's office in Broad Street--all I was to do -was to say nothing to anybody and come. - -I did both. - -At the Ferry a fine-looking chap came up to me, with his hat in his -hand, and asked me if I was Miss Morganthau. For a moment I was uneasy, -thinking maybe he was a masher, when he turned to a kind-faced elderly -woman beside him and said: - -"This is Mrs. Cresset, who's come over on the boat with you and is going -to Mr. Whitney's office, too." - -Then I knew it was all right and we three got into a taxi. On the way -across to Broad Street he told us what we were to do. It was nothing -much. All Mr. Whitney wanted of us was that we'd sit in the inner office -and listen to some gentleman talking in the next room. If we heard the -voice I'd got on the wire and Mrs. Cresset had heard the night of the -murder we were to say nothing, but sit perfectly still till we were -called. - -"If you recognize the voice make no sign or sound. All we ask of you is, -if you're not certain of the identification, to say so." - -The office was a great big place, rooms opening out of rooms, and a -switchboard with a girl at it, dressed very neat and not noticing us as -we passed her. Mr. George Whitney met us and took us into a room -furnished fine with leather armchairs and books all up the walls and a -wide window looking out over the roofs and skyscrapers. There was a door -at one side, and this he opened a crack and told Mrs. Cresset to sit -down close to it with me opposite. He cautioned us to be quiet and not -to move or even whisper till we were called. - -We sat there for a while with nothing happening. We could hear voices, -and now and then people walking and doors shutting, and once a bell -tinkled far off in the distance. Then suddenly I heard someone--Mr. -George Whitney, I think--say, "Show him in, the private office," and -heavy steps coming up the passage, past our door and into the next room, -then old Mr. Whitney's voice, very loud and cheerful. - -"Ah, Mr. Cokesbury, this is truly kind of you. I have to apologize for -taking up your time, just as you're leaving, too, but we hoped you might -help us in some minor points of this curious case." - -The voice that answered was Cokesbury's; I knew it well now. At the -sound of it Mrs. Cresset gave a start and leaned forward, her ear close -to the door. - -He was as cordial and hearty as if he was at a pink tea. - -"Only too glad to be of service, Mr. Whitney. If I had thought I could -be of any help I would have offered before. Fortunately for me--as you -probably know--I was held up in my place on the day of the murder. If my -car had been in working order I suppose I'd have been quite a prominent -figure in the case by now." - -He laughed out, a deep, rich sort of laugh, and it made my flesh creep -to think he could do it with that girl's death at his door. - -The talk went on for a bit, back and forth between them, Mr. Whitney -asking him some questions about the roads, the distances, and Miss -Hesketh's friends; he answering as calm and fluent as if he'd hardly -known her at all. - -In the middle of it the clerk who had met us at the Ferry came softly -in, and without a word, beckoned us to follow him through a door that -led into another room. We rose up as stealthily as burglars and stole -across the carpet without making so much as a creak or a rustle. When we -were in he shut the door, told us to wait there, and left us. We sat, -afraid to speak, staring at each other and wondering what was going to -happen next. In a few minutes the door opened and Mr. Whitney came in. - -"Well?" he said, turning to me, "are you as sure as you were over the -phone?" - -"Certain," I answered. "It's the man." - -He looked at Mrs. Cresset. - -"How about you, Mrs. Cresset? Remember, a mistake in a matter like this -is a pretty serious thing." - -Mrs. Cresset was as sure as I was. - -"I couldn't tell the man from Adam," she said, "but I knew his voice the -minute I heard it." - -"Very well. Now I want you to come into the private office. Don't be -frightened; nothing disagreeable's going to happen. All you have to do -is to answer simply and truthfully any questions I may put to you. Come -along." - -We followed him up the passage to the room where he'd been talking. -Sitting in a large chair by the desk was the man I'd seen that day in -the woods with Sylvia Hesketh. He didn't look so robust and hearty as he -had then; his skin was paler and his forehead lined; but I noticed his -large coarse hands with the hair on them--a murderer's hands--_they_ -were the same. - -When he saw us, walking in solemn behind Mr. Whitney, his face changed. -It's hard to explain how it looked, but it was as if the muscles -tightened up and the eyes got a fixed startled expression like you see -in the eyes of an animal you've come on sudden and scared. He rose to -his feet and I saw one of his hands close till the knuckles turned -white. Mr. George Whitney, who was standing near by, watched him like a -cat watching a mouse. - -Old Mr. Whitney spoke up as genial as if he was introducing us at a -party. - -"These ladies, Mr. Cokesbury, come from Longwood and its vicinity. Miss -Morganthau is one of the operators in the Telephone Exchange, and Mrs. -Cresset you've met before, I think, one night at Cresset's Farm." - -Mrs. Cresset bowed very polite and made as if she was going to shake -hands. But Cokesbury didn't meet her half or a quarter way. He turned to -the men and--I guess he did it without knowing--looked like lightning -from one to the other--a sort of wild glance. They never took their eyes -off him, and there was something awful about their stare, for all both -of them were behaving so pleasant. Under that stare he got as white as a -sheet, but he tried to put up a bluff. - -"Cresset," he said, "Cresset? There's some mistake. I never saw her -before in my life." - -"That's quite true," said Mr. Whitney, "you didn't see her nor she you. -If you remember it was very dark. But you spoke to her and she's willing -to swear that yours was the voice she heard. Aren't you, Mrs. Cresset?" - -"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Cresset, as solid and sure as the Bartholdi -statue. "This is the gentleman that asked me the way that night. I'd -know his voice among a thousand." - -"What night?" said Cokesbury. "I don't know what she's talking about." - -It was pitiful to see him trying to keep it up with his face gray and -his hands trembling. - -Mr. Whitney went on as if he didn't notice anything. - -"And Miss Morganthau here is also ready to swear to your voice as the -one she overheard on the phone Saturday, November the twentieth, in a -conversation with the late Miss Hesketh--a message you've probably seen -a good deal about in the papers." - -I saw one of those big, hairy hands make a grip at the back of the -armchair. I thought he was going to fall and couldn't take my eyes off -him till Mr. Whitney turned to me and said in that bland society way: - -"Perhaps you'll be so good, Miss Morganthau, as to tell Mr. Cokesbury of -your efforts during the past week to get him on the phone." - -I told him the whole thing and ended up with the story of how I fooled -him about the key. And, honest to God, though I thought I was talking to -a murderer, I was sorry for him. - -All the life seemed to leave him and he got as haggard as an old man, -with his lips shaking and the perspiration in beads on his forehead. -When I got through he suddenly gave a sort of groan, dropped back into -his chair and put his hands over his face. I was glad it was hidden, and -I was glad when Mr. Whitney turned to me and Mrs. Cresset and said quick -and commanding: - -"That'll do. You can go into the other room. Ring the bell, George." - -We huddled out into the passage where we met that spry clerk coming up -on the jump. He went into the office and shut the door, and we could -hear a murmur of voices, we standing up against the wall not knowing -what to do next. - -Presently the clerk came out again, rounded us up and sent us into the -room down the hall where Mr. Whitney had talked to us. He told us to -wait there for a minute, then lit out as if he was in a great hurry. We -stood stiff in the middle of the floor, expecting to hear the tramp of -policemen and then Cokesbury being dragged off to jail. But it was all -very still. I never supposed when you caught a criminal the proceedings -would be so natural and dignified. - -After a while the clerk came back. He said Mr. Whitney'd sent us his -thanks for our kindness in coming--I never saw people waste so many -words on politeness--and hoped we'd excuse him from thanking us in -person, but he was just now very busy. He warned us not to say a word to -anyone of what had transpired, and then a boy coming to the door and -saying, "It's here," he told us a taxi was waiting below to take us to -the Ferry. - -If we couldn't talk to anyone else we could to each other and I guess we -did more gabbing going down in the taxi and across in the boat than Mrs. -Cresset had done for years. She told me about the night when Cokesbury -had come to her house. It was wonderful to see how luck was with -him--the way it sometimes is with sinners. Usually at that hour she was -round in the kitchen and when he knocked would have opened the door and -seen his face in the lamplight. But she'd gone upstairs early as her -little daughter had a cold. - -To go back over the small things that happened would make you sure some -evil power was protecting him. That morning the little girl's cold -wasn't bad and she'd gone to school as usual. But at the schoolhouse she -heard that the dancing bear--the one I saw in Longwood which had been -performing along the pike on its way back to Bloomington--had been at -Jaycock's farm and might be round by Cresset's that afternoon. Like all -children, she was crazy about the bear, and after school hours she and a -chum slipped off and stood around in the damp, waiting. But the bear did -not show up and when she came home, crying with disappointment, the cold -was heavy on her. Her mother bundled her off to bed and went up early to -sit with her. Only for that, Cokesbury would probably have been landed -in jail weeks before, the State saved money and two innocent men saved -shame and suffering. - -"That's the way it is with the Devil's own," I said. "I guess he takes -care of them for a while; jollies them along the downward path." - -"It looks like that was the case," said Mrs. Cresset, her kind, rosy -face very solemn. "But the power of evil gets broke in the end. 'Murder -will out'--that's true if anything is. Think of that man feeling so safe -and every hour the cords tightening round him." - -"And _we_ did it," said I, awful proud. "We found the cords and then -pulled on them." - -"We did," says she. "I never thought to be the one to put a -fellow-creature behind bars, but I have and my conscience tells me I've -done right." - -My, but we both felt chesty! - -The next morning Babbitts phoned me to say he'd be over Sunday evening. -The information of "Our Suspect" would be given to the press Sunday -morning for the Monday papers and after it was in he'd come across and -tell me about it. - -Mr. Whitney had arranged for me not to go back to work till Tuesday and -though I suppose the rest was good for me, the strain of waiting wore on -me something dreadful. I kept wondering how Cokesbury had done it, and -how he was going to explain this and account for that. Most of Sunday I -lay on the bed trying to read a novel, but a great deal more interested -in the hands of the clock than I was in the printed pages. - -When it began to darken up for evening I told Mrs. Galway I was -expecting a gentleman caller and asked for the loan of the parlor. She's -a great one for love affairs and it always discouraged her that I had no -regular company. Now she thought I'd got a steady at last and wanted to -lend me her cameo pin, and decked up the parlor as if the minister was -coming to call, with the hand-painted leather cushion and the punch-work -tablecloth. - -Long before Babbitts was due I was sitting by the stove, burning bright -and clear, with the drop light throwing a glow over the center table. -Upstairs I could hear Mrs. Galway tramping round as she went to bed, -which was considerate of her as she was something of a night bird. When -I heard his knock at the side door, I gave a sort of squeal of -excitement and ran to let him in. - -"Well?" I said, grabbing his arm, too worked up to say good evening, -"has he confessed?" - -"Yes," he said, "he has and he's told an uncommon queer story." - -"He killed her?" - -"That's the queerest part of it," said Babbitts slowly, "he didn't." - - - - -XIV - - -Now I don't believe if I gave you twenty guesses you'd know what I did -when I heard those words--burst out crying. - -It wasn't because I wanted Cokesbury to be executed; it wasn't because I -wanted the reward; it wasn't even that I was so crazy to have Jack Reddy -exonerated--it was just because I was so disappointed--so _foiled_--that -I couldn't seem to bear it. - -I cried so hard I didn't know what I was doing, and I suppose that's the -reason I leaned on Babbitts' shoulder, it being the nearest thing handy. -He brought me to my senses, patting me on the arm and saying sort of -soothing as if he was comforting a child who'd broken her doll: - -"There, there--don't cry--it'll be all right soon. We'll get the right -man. Don't take it to heart that way." - -Then I began to laugh, for it did seem so comical--me crying because -Cokesbury wasn't a murderer, and Babbitts telling me not to take it to -heart as if I'd been disappointed in not seeing the electrocution. The -laughter and tears got mixed up together and I don't know where I'd have -landed if I hadn't seen he was getting frightened and wanted to call -Mrs. Galway. That pulled me up, and I got a hold on myself. In a few -minutes we were sitting side by side in front of the stove, the storm -over, all but a little hiccupy kind of sob, that came upon me unexpected -at intervals. - -For the next hour we sat there without moving while Babbitts told me -Cokesbury's story. - -I'll put down what he said as near his words as I can remember it. The -way he told it was better than any of the newspaper accounts, even his, -though he got a raise of salary for the way he'd handled it: - -"Cokesbury says he didn't kill Sylvia Hesketh and I believe him and so -do the Whitneys. Besides the corroborative evidence is absolutely -convincing. He's not a murderer but he's a coward--no good at all--and -that explains why he didn't come out after the crime and tell what he -knew. Instead he got in a panic, lost what little nerve he had, and was -skipping out to Europe when you nabbed him. - -"He was in love with Sylvia Hesketh, if you call that sort of thing -love. Anyway, instead of being simply what you might describe as a beau -of hers, he was mad about her. I fancy even she, poor girl, didn't -realize the passion she'd kindled, but was like a child playing with a -dynamite bomb. It appears she saw more of him than anybody guessed. -After the first flirtation at Bar Harbor, he came down to Cokesbury -Lodge nearly every Sunday and used to meet her in the woods and on the -side roads, and make dates with her for theaters and concerts in town. -He kept it quiet for he knew without being told that the Doctor wouldn't -stand for it. His hope was that, willful and unstable as he knew her to -be, he'd eventually win her by his persistence and devotion. - -"It was one of those situations that may end in nothing or may end as -this one did in a tragedy. The girl was foolhardy and flirtatious; the -man infatuated. Very quickly he got on to the fact that he was not the -only victim of her beauty and her wiles. He watched and questioned and -found out about the other men. Of them he soon saw that Reddy was the -favored one and a deadly jealousy seized him, for Reddy might have -attracted any woman. - -"When he tried to find out from her how she stood with Reddy he could -get no satisfaction. She'd tell him one thing one day and another the -next. She kept them all guessing, but it didn't mean to any of the -others what it meant to Cokesbury. All through October he spied and -queried, and learnt that she was meeting Reddy in his car and going off -for long jaunts with him. He says he was half mad with jealousy and -fear, but he hid it from her. - -"That's the way things were when he sent the phone message that you -caught. You sized him up just right. When she told him she had a date -that was a secret, he got a premonition of the truth, the way a man does -when his reason is under the dominion of his emotions. He felt certain -she was going off with Reddy, and the brakes that he'd kept down till -then were lifted. He determined he'd find out and if it was true stop -them if the skies fell. - -"And now here comes the queer part of the story. If anybody'd guessed it -a lot of things that were dark would have been as clear as daylight. He -_did_ keep the date you heard him make on the phone." - -"How could he? He had no car, or horse, or anything." - -"Only part of that's true--he had no car, or horse, but he _did_ have -something." - -"What?" - -"An aeroplane." - -I fell back staring at him. - -"An aeroplane--in Cokesbury Lodge?" - -"In the garage there. _That's_ why he wouldn't rent the house; _that's_ -why he kept going down over Sunday all summer. The year he was in France -he'd done a lot of flying and was fascinated by it. Before he left there -he was an expert aviator, but his wife hated it and it was one of their -grounds of dissension. After she died he had a machine brought down in -sections, set it up himself, and kept it in the garage. Not a soul knew -it. He only flew at night for he wanted it kept a secret." - -"Why--what for?" - -"Because--here's the best thing I've heard about him--he carried a heavy -life insurance policy secured to his children. Cokesbury's not a rich -man, though he has a good business, and if he died his children would -have had to live on what their mother left them, which wasn't much. If -it was known that he was aviating the policy would have been -invalidated, so he indulged his secret passion at night. The isolated -position of the house made it easy to escape detection and his machine -was equipped with a very silent muffler. No one had a glimmering of it, -not even Sylvia. - -"The phone message you heard was sent from the station at Jersey City -and when he sent it he _did_ intend coming to Mapleshade in his motor. -When he got to Azalea and found the car unmended in the garage he flew -into a rage, as he thought his plans were blocked. Alone in the Lodge, -ravaged by jealousy, he lost all caution and decided to take out the -aeroplane. - -"You remember that there was a moon that night, but that in the evening -the skies were clouded and the air breathless. The darkness and the -weather were on his side and he came down in a field about ten minutes -walk from the house, closing the cut-out as he descended. He was early -and hid himself among some trees where he could watch the front door. He -says it was while he was waiting there for her that the idea came to him -of frustrating an elopement by carrying her off. - -"He was laying round in his mind how he would get the truth from her, -when he saw her come out and gave a low whistle. She heard it and came -toward him. It was not till she was close to him and he could see the -outlines of her figure through the dark, that he made out a bag in her -hand. _Then_ he knew for certain she was going and decided on his -course. - -"In all his other dealings with her he had found her subtle and evasive. -Now, perhaps because for the first time in her life she had decided on a -positive action, she went straight to the point. Without any preamble -she told him what she was going to do and that within a half-hour Reddy -would be waiting for her in the Lane. - -"He showed no anger or surprise, apparently accepting the situation in -the most friendly spirit. He says he thought she was relieved, having -expected a scene with him. When he had disarmed her of her suspicions, -he told her of the airship and asked her if she wouldn't like to come up -for a spin before Reddy arrived. They had over half an hour and he could -take her for a short flight and would bring her down in ten or fifteen -minutes. - -"Everybody agrees that she was a bold, venturesome girl, and the idea -appealed to her, as she had never been up. They walked quickly through -the fields and bit of woodland to the aeroplane. She was in high spirits -as she tucked herself in; he could hear her laughter as he took his -seat, and then, closing the cut-out, they soared up. - -"They rose high--about two thousand feet, he thought--and then he headed -East. They were winging their way over Cokesbury Lodge on toward the -hills in the distance when Reddy must have sighted the lights of -Longwood as he came down the Firehill Road. - -"Cokesbury swears he had no intention of kidnapping her. He says he had -no definite idea of where he was going, that his plan was simply to get -her away from Reddy and put an end to the marriage. Personally, I don't -believe him. I think he had a perfectly clear idea of carrying her off -to Cokesbury Lodge, and that his chivalrous scheme was to put her into -such a compromising position she would be willing to marry him. Maybe -I'm wrong--I don't know. Anyway, he very soon saw you can't abduct a -high-spirited, hot-tempered girl against her will. - -"After about fifteen or twenty minutes he was conscious of her getting -uneasy and speaking to him--words that he couldn't hear but that he knew -to be at first startled questions, then angry commands. He shouted -replies, but the great machine kept steadily on its way, neither turning -nor dipping downward. Then she realized and broke into a fury, turning -upon him in the dark, putting her face close to his and screaming for -him to bring her down. The noise made it impossible to argue with her, -and fearful of what she might do, he held her off with his elbow, the -delicately balanced machine swaying as she seized his arm and shook it, -lunging up against him, her cries of rage rising above the thunder of -the screw. - -"Can't you imagine it? The big ship sailing through the night with the -lights of farms and little towns sliding by far below, and above the sky -muffled deep in black clouds. Poised between them the man and woman, -each gripped by a different passion--suspended there like two naked -souls in a sort of elemental battle of the sexes. - -"He admits he was scared and if he could have spoken to her would have -pacified her with all sorts of assurances. But speech was out of the -question, and when she made a sudden lunge across him for the wheel he -realized she would kill them both if he didn't bring her to earth. -Throwing her back with a blow of his elbow, he yelled that he was coming -down and as she felt the machine begin its glancing, downward glide she -fell back into her place, suddenly quiet, then leaned forward scanning -the country below them. - -"A momentary break of the clouds let a little light spill through and by -this he saw a bare, bold landscape darkened by woods, and with the gleam -of a large body of water to the right, showing against the blackness -like polished steel. He made a landing in an open space, an uncultivated -field with a hillock in the center covered with grass and surrounded by -trees. The water had drained off this and it was quite dry. - -"She was hardly out on the ground and he was preparing for an -explanation when to his surprise she curtly told him to follow her and -led the way along a ridge that skirted the lake. This, too, was dry, a -fact curiously in his favor, for their feet left no tracks, the grass -closing on the trail they swept through it. She did not address him -again till, the dim shape of a house appearing, he asked her if she was -going there and she answered in the same, curt way: Yes; she was cold. A -wharf jutted out in front of the house and in stepping from the grass to -the planks he made a motion to help her, but she started away from him -as if he was a snake, making two or three steps into the liquid mud that -ran up to the wharf's edge. It was then he thought she dropped the -glove. Once again on the planks she took a key from her purse, fitted it -in the lock and opened the door. - -"The room was pitch dark and Cokesbury stood in the doorway while she -went in. She moved about as if she was accustomed to the place, lit a -lamp, set a match to the fire already laid and gave him a copper kettle -to fill with water from the lake. When he came back with it the table -was set out with tea things and the fire was leaping up the chimney. She -hung the kettle on a crane, swung it over the flames and then, turning -to him, said: - -"'Do you know where you are?' He said he didn't and she answered: -'You're in Jack Reddy's bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, the place where I've -spent the happiest days of my life.' - -"He looked at her in amazement and she smiled scornfully back at him. -'You fool!' she said, 'to think you could come blundering in and stop me -from marrying the only man of all of you who's worth a heartbeat.' - -"She made tea and then motioned him to sit down by the table, taking a -seat at the other side. Facing each other in the lamplight they had a -conversation that put an end to all his dreams. For the first time in -his acquaintance with her he thought she spoke frankly. She told him of -her friendship with Reddy from the start, and how the Doctor's senseless -opposition had fanned a boy-and-girl flirtation into a passionate love -affair. - -"When the quarrels began at Mapleshade they found that they could meet -without fear of detection at the Lake, she going out there in her car -and he in his. She had her own key and often, during the autumn, she had -gone to the bungalow in the morning, Reddy had joined her and they had -spent the day together, canoeing and fishing on the lake, cooking a -picnic meal over the fire, and driving home in the afternoon, the racer -towing her car till they came to the turnpike. - -"Cokesbury says he thinks at first it was only the spirit of romance and -adventure which made her do such a rash thing, but that in the end -Reddy's devotion and chivalrous attitude made a deep impression on her -and she came as near loving him as she could any man. He says there is -no doubt that the meetings were perfectly innocent and that Reddy had -behaved from the start as a gentleman. - -"'Whether she really loved him or not,' he said, 'he'd taught her to -respect him.' - -"They talked for over an hour, taking the tea she had made and Cokesbury -smoking a cigar. He remembered leaving the butt in the saucer of his -cup. It was half-past eight when they rose to go. Sylvia put out the -lamp but the fire was still burning and the tea things were left on the -table. Cokesbury says he promised to take her home, that he saw his case -was hopeless, and he'd made up his mind to have done with her forever. - -"The sky was clouded over and it was as dark as a pocket when they went -back to the aeroplane. He had to direct the machine by guesswork, the -country black below him and the sky black above. He swears that he -intended to take her back to Mapleshade, and I believe him. No man--not -even a bad egg like Cokesbury--wants to run away with a woman who hands -out the line of talk that girl had in the bungalow. - -"Anyway, we've only his word for the statement that he completely lost -his bearings. He could see no lights and after making an exploratory -circle, realized he hadn't the slightest idea which way to go. To make -matters worse, he could hear from shouted remarks of hers that her -suspicions were on the alert and that she was ready to flare up again. -By this time there wasn't much of the lover left in him. According to -his own words he was as anxious to get her home again as she was to be -there. With his head clear and his blood cold he did not relish a second -flight with a woman fighting like a wildcat. - -"This was the situation--she, angry and disbelieving; he, scared and -unable to conciliate her--when the twinkle of a light caught his eye and -he decided to come down and ask his way. They dropped into a stretch of -grass land among fields, with the light shining some way off through a -screen of trees. Farther away, just a spark, he saw another light. He -told her to wait while he went to inquire, and walked off toward the one -that was nearest. - -"It was Cresset's Farm. There he had the interview with Mrs. Cresset, -telling her he had an auto in order to explain his presence. When he -went back he found that Sylvia had disappeared. At first he didn't know -what to do, realizing that if the story of their flight got abroad, -there would be the devil to pay. He was certain she had disbelieved him -and had taken the opportunity to get away from him. She was either -hiding or had gone for the second light. This being the most plausible, -he walked toward it--quite a distance across fields and through -woods--and brought up at a ramshackle roadhouse--the Wayside Arbor. - -"He stole round from the back to a side window and there, through a -crack in the shutter, looked in and saw Sylvia talking to Hines. He says -he stayed there for some minutes, afraid if he went in after her she -would make a scene and start a scandal. Then his eyes fell on the -telephone booth and he felt sure she had telephoned either to her own -home or to Reddy. Her air of waiting--she was sitting by the stove with -her feet on its lower edge--confirmed him in this and he decided to let -her alone. - -"He went back to the aeroplane, wondering what would be the outcome of -the whole crazy escapade. He says he felt confident of her cleverness to -hush the thing up, but he was uneasy. His discomfort wasn't lessened -when he found that she had left her bag in the machine, and on his way -home one of the things that preoccupied him was thinking up the best way -of getting the bag back to her. - -"Monday morning he went to town in a state of suspense. If she should -tell there was no knowing what might happen and he was on the alert for -a visit from the Doctor or even Reddy. But the day passed without any -sign of trouble, and he was just calming down, thinking she had either -found Reddy and gone with him or invented some story to quiet the -Mapleshade people, when he read of the murder in the evening paper. - -"_Then_, you better believe he was frightened. He knew the bag was -hidden in his room at the Lodge and that as far as he could tell, not a -soul had seen the airship. As to Mrs. Cresset, he felt safe for she -couldn't possibly have made out a feature in the darkness." - -"But," I cried out, "why if he hadn't done it----" - -"That's all right," Babbitts interrupted. "He hadn't done it, but I tell -you he was a coward. He was in a sweat for fear of being suspected, of -being pulled in as a witness, of his reputation, his business, his -position. He wanted to keep out of it at any cost." - -"What a cur!" I said. - -"Oh, he's that and more, and he's ready to admit it himself. But it -wasn't as smooth sailing as he thought it would be. After the inquest he -read of the overheard phone message and that brought him up with a jolt. -He got in a state of terror, realizing too late that his silence was -more incriminating than any confession. - -"Every day his fears grew worse. He wouldn't answer any phone calls, -faking up reasons to his clerks and his servants. Finally it got on his -nerves so he couldn't stand it and he made ready to skip to Europe. The -key was what tripped him up. Do you remember Mr. Whitney saying how -criminals overlooked important details? Well, what he overlooked was the -key of the garage. In his preoccupation on Monday morning he had put it -in the pocket of the raincoat he was accustomed to leave in the auto and -had simply forgotten it. Then when he went to pack his things he -couldn't find it, hunted in a nervous frenzy and finally had his man -telephone over to Miner's place. You and the key were the combination -that beat him." - -"But Jack Reddy?" I said. "Was he going to slink off and let him be -tried for the murder when he could have cleared it all up?" - -"He _says_ not and I guess the fellow's not as yellow as to have stood -by and let an innocent man go to his death. He says there wasn't enough -evidence to convict Reddy and if things had gone badly he would have -come out and told what he knew. And I think that's true--anyway, we'll -give him the benefit of the doubt." - -"How can you be so sure? How do you know he's _not_ the murderer after -all?" - -"Oh, there's no doubt. Everything fits in too well. The police were out -at Cokesbury Lodge on Saturday and saw the aeroplane and found Miss -Hesketh's bag. Both the Whitneys--father and son, who've had a vast -experience in this sort of case--say there's no question of his -innocence." - -We sat silent for a spell, looking at the stove, then I said: - -"We're back just where we were in the beginning." - -Babbitts leaned forward and shook down some ashes. - -"The case is, but we're not," he said. - -"How do you make that out?" I asked. - -"Six weeks ago we didn't know each other and now we're friends." - -"That's so," I said, and we both sat staring thoughtfully at the red eye -of the stove. - - - - -XV - - -Cokesbury's story made a great sensation. Even if it didn't bring us any -nearer to finding the murderer, it explained the mystery of Sylvia's -movements up to the time she appeared in the Wayside Arbor, and it -cleared Jack Reddy. Babbitts told me that the Whitneys were doing some -legal stunts--I won't tell what they were for I'd never get them -straight--to have him liberated, and that they would soon issue a -statement to the press. - -When it came out everybody saw why he had said such contradictory things -about those seven hours on the road. - -Babbitts and I had guessed right when we thought he was holding -something back and when I heard why I was grateful to him. Yes, -grateful, that's the word. And I'll tell you why I use it. He was my -hero and he stayed a hero, didn't fall down and disappoint me, but made -me know there were people in the world who could stick to their standard -no matter _what_ happened. Don't you think that's a thing to be grateful -for? - -The reason he didn't tell was to protect the memory of that poor dead -girl, who couldn't rise up and protect herself. He knew what wicked lies -would be told and believed and he was going to shield her in death as he -would have in life. - -That night after he had searched the roads, he suddenly thought that in -some wild freak she had gone to the bungalow in her own car and phoned -him from there. As soon as the idea entered his head he went out to the -lake. One glance showed him someone had been there before him--the room -was warm, the fire still smouldering on the hearth. He lit the light and -saw the two teacups and the cigar butt on the saucer. He examined the -doors and windows and found that they were locked and there was no sign -of anyone having broken in. The only person beside himself who had a key -to the bungalow was Sylvia. - -Then he knew she had been there with another man and one of those fierce -rages came on him. - -For a spell he was outside himself. He thought of things that never -happened, the way people do in a fury--imagined Sylvia sending him the -phone message with the other man standing by and laughing. He tore her -letters out of the desk and threw them in the fire and smashed the tea -things against the side of the house. He was half crazy, thinking -himself fooled and made a mock of by the woman he had loved. - -When his rage quieted down he sat brooding over the fire for a long -time. It was moonlight when he left, bright enough for him to fill the -tank. He had never thought about any inquiries for the missing drum till -at the inquest the question of the gasoline was sprung on him. Then he -lied, feeling certain that no one would ever go out to the lake. It was -his intention to go there himself, hide the drum and clear out the -cottage, but he put it off, hating to go near the place. If Pat Donahue -hadn't gone there to fish through the ice--a thing no one would have -dreamed of--the secret of the bungalow would never have been discovered. - -One of the features of the case that he couldn't understand and that he -spent the days in jail speculating about, was how she had reached the -lake. The mud showed the tracks of only one auto, his own. He could find -no solution to this mystery and he could speak to no one about it. -Whatever happened to him, he had made up his mind he would never give -her up to the evil-minded and evil-tongued who would blacken and tear to -pieces all that was left of her. - -He was liberated, and, believe me, Longwood rejoiced. It was as if a -king who had been banished had come back to his throne. - -I don't think he was home two days when he telephoned in asking me if he -could come to see me and thank me for what I'd done. Wasn't that like -him? Most men would have been so glad to get out of jail they'd have -forgotten the hello girl who'd helped to free them, but not Jack Reddy. - -He came in the late afternoon, at the time I got off. I'll never forget -it. Katie Reilly was at the switchboard and I was standing at the -window, watching, when I saw the two lights of the gray racer coming -down the street. - -I ran and opened the door--I wasn't bashful a bit--and when I saw him I -gave a little cry, for he looked so changed, pale and haggard and older, -a good many years older. But his smile was the same, and so was the -kind, honest look of his face. Before he said a word he just held out -his hand and mine went into it and I felt the clasp of his fingers warm -and strong. And--strange it is, but true--I wasn't any more like the -girl who used to tremble at the mere sight of him, but was calm and -quiet, looking deep and steady into his eyes as if we'd got to be -friends, the way a man might be friends with a boy. - -"Miss Morganthau," he said, "I've heard what you've done, and I want to -thank you." - -"You needn't have taken all the trouble to come in from Firehill, Mr. -Reddy," I answered. "You could have said it over the wire." - -"Could I have done this over the wire?" he said, giving my hand a shake -and a squeeze. "You know I couldn't. And that's what I wanted to -do--take a grip of the hand that helped me out of prison." - -I said some fool words about its being nothing and he went on smiling -down at me, yet with something grave in his face. - -"I want to do more--ask a favor of you. I hope it won't be hard to grant -for I've set my heart on it. Can I be your friend?" - -"Oh, Mr. Reddy," I stammered out, "you make me proud," and suddenly -tears came into my eyes. I don't know why unless it was seeing him so -changed and hearing him speak so humble to a common guy like me. - -"Oh, come now," he said, "don't do anything like that. You'll make me -think you don't like the idea." - -I sniffed, wanting to kick Katie Reilly, who was gaping round in her -chair, and I guess getting mad that way dried up my tears. - -"It's your friend I'll be till the end of my life, Mr. Reddy," I -answered. "And the only thing I'm sorry for is that I didn't get the -right man the way I thought I'd done." - -"Never mind about that," said he, his face hardening up, "we'll get him -yet. Don't let's think of that now. It's the end of your day, isn't it? -If you're going home will you let me take you there in my car?" - -There was a time when if I'd thought I'd ever ride beside Jack Reddy in -that racer I'd have had chills and fever for a week in advance. - -But now I sat calm and still beside him as he rode me through Longwood -to Mrs. Galway's door. - -As we swung up the street he talked very kind to me, complimenting me -something awful, and saying that if he ever could do anything for me to -let him know and he'd do it if it was within the power of man. - -"You see, Miss Morganthau," he said as we drew up in front of the Elite, -"a man in my position feels pretty grateful to the person who's lifted -off him the shadow of disgrace and death." - -Up in my room I sat quiet for a long time thinking. The thing that -phased me was why I'd changed so, come round to feel that while he was -still a grand, strong man, I'd always look up to and do anything for, -I'd quit having blind staggers and heart attacks when he came along. - -Something had sidetracked me. I didn't know what. All I did know was -that two months ago if he'd asked me to be his friend I'd not have known -there was such a thing as food in the world. And that evening at -half-past seven, being too lazy to go to the Gilt Edge, I was so hungry -I had to go down to Mrs. Galway and beg the loan of three Uneedas and a -hard boiled egg. - -It was one evening, not long after, that Anne Hennessey came in to see -me. Babbitts was coming that night and Mrs. Galway had given up the -parlor again and was in bed with a novel and a kerosene lamp. Anne was -quite excited, the reason being that Mrs. Fowler had given her a -present. She took it careful out of a blue velvet case and held it up in -the glow of the drop light. It was a diamond cross and the minute I set -eyes on it I knew where I'd seen it before. - -"Sylvia's," I said, low and sort of awed. - -Anne nodded. - -"Yes, the one she had on that night. Mrs. Fowler said she wanted to give -me something that had been hers. I wouldn't have taken anything so -handsome but I think the poor lady couldn't bear the sight of it, -reminding her of her sorrow as it did." - -She moved it about and the stones sparkled like bits of fire in the -lamplight. I stretched out my hand and took it, for diamonds tempt me -like meat the hungry--that's the Jew in me, I suppose. - -"You won't call the King your cousin when you wear this," I said, and I -held it against my chest, looking down at the brightness of it. - -"That's just where Sylvia had it on," said Anne almost in a whisper, -"where the front of her dress crossed. One of the police officers told -me." - -My mother was a Catholic and it's Catholic I was raised, for though my -father was a Jew he loved my mother and let her have her way with me. - -"Wouldn't you think," I said, "that when the murderer saw the cross on -her it would have stayed his hand?" - -"Wouldn't you," said Anne, "but to men as evil as that the cross means -nothing. And then out in the dark that way, he probably never saw it." - -Babbitts' knock sounding, I handed it back to her and let him in, -feeling bashful before Anne, who didn't know how often Mrs. Galway was -retiring at eight-thirty. She left soon after, saying Mrs. Fowler liked -her to be round in the evening, which was news to me, as she'd told me -that the Fowlers always sat in the sitting-room together, the Doctor -reading aloud till Mrs. Fowler got sleepy. - -After she'd gone, Babbitts and I drew up to the stove, cozy and -cheerful, with our feet on the edge of it. We'd come to know each other -so well now that we'd other topics beside "the case," but that night we -worked around to it, me picking at the box of candy Babbitts had brought -and rocking lazily as contented as a child. - -Babbitts was still keen for that reward. He said to me: - -"You had your fingers on it once, and it's my wish that you'll get your -whole hand on it next time." - -"What a noble character," said I, "calculating for little Molly to get -it all! Where do _you_ come in?" - -"Oh, don't bother about me," says he. "You've a bad habit of thinking -too much where other people come in. You got to quit it--it isn't good -business. Now what I want to arrange is for you and me to make an -excursion out to the Wayside Arbor some afternoon." - -"The Wayside Arbor--what'll we do there?" - -"Take a look over the ground. You see, with the process of elimination -that's been going on things have narrowed down to the vicinity of the -crime. It's my opinion that the murder was not only committed but was -planned round there. The police are losing heart and not doing much. As -far as I can find out Fowler's detectives--Mills and his crowd--are -getting their pay envelopes regular but not getting anything else. -Now--just for devilment--let _us_ combine our two giant intellects and -see what we can see." - -"Haven't they gone over every inch of it?" - -"They have--with a fine-tooth comb. But that doesn't prevent us going -over it and taking our fine-tooth combs along." - -"Isn't Hines under surveillance?" - -"Good Lord," says he laughing, "_everybody's_ under surveillance. -There's not one of the suspects but knows he's expected to stay put and -is doing it. But who's getting anywhere? There's no reason why we -shouldn't go out that way, call on Mrs. Cresset, and take a look in at -the Wayside Arbor ourselves." - -"I'm game," I said, "though I can't see what good it's going to do." - -"It'll give us a half-day together," said he. "I don't know how you feel -about it but that looks worth while to me." - -We made a date for the following Monday, my holiday, just eight weeks -from the murder. - -The next morning I had a surprise--a kind that hasn't often come my way. -It was a letter directed in typewriting with a half-sheet of paper -inside it inclosing a fifty-dollar bill. On the paper, also typed, was -written: - - For Miss Morganthau--A small return for her recent good work in - the Hesketh Murder Case. - -That was all--no name, no date, no handwriting. I don't know what made -me think right off of Mr. Whitney, unless it was because there was no -one else who knew of what I'd done and could have afforded to send that -much. The only other person it could have been was Jack Reddy, and -somehow or other, after he'd asked me to be his friend, I felt certain -he wouldn't send me money, no matter what I'd done for him. Friends -don't pay each other. - -I guess there wasn't a more elated person in Longwood that morning than -yours truly. I'd had that much before--saved it--but I'd never had it -fall out of the sky that way in one beautiful, crisp, new bill. - -The Jew and the Irish in me had some tussle, one wanting to salt it down -in the bank and the other to blow it in. But that time the Irish had a -walk-over, probably because I was limp and weary with all the excitement -of the last two months and felt the need of doing something foolish to -tone me up. When I thought of the clothes I could buy with it, the Jew -just lay down without a murmur and you'd have supposed I was all County -Galway if you'd seen me writing a list of things on the back of the -envelope. If it'll make you think better of me I'll confess that I -wanted to look nice on that trip with Babbitts, the first real jaunt -we'd ever taken, for I didn't count those times in New York when we were -sleuthing after Cokesbury. Just once in my life I was going to have a -real blowout, and I wanted the chap who was taking me to feel he'd some -lady with him. - -With three of us in the office I fixed things so I got Saturday -afternoon and I hiked over to town with that bill burning in my purse -like a live coal. And, my it was great spending it! I was cool on the -outside, looking haughty at the goods and casting them aside -contemptuous on chairs, but inside I was drunk with the feeling of -riches. - -I bought a one-piece silk dress that fitted me like every measure was -mine and a long black plush coat, rich fine plush like satin, that was -draped something elegant and fastened in front with a novelty ornament. -For a hat I selected a small dark felt, nothing flashy, no trimming, -just a rosette at one side. And with the last three dollars a purse, -black striped silk, oval shaped with a ribbon to hang it to your wrist. - -It was six when I got home, carrying the boxes myself--all but the coat; -that I _had_ to wear--pretty nearly dead with the weight of them, but -not regretting--neither the Jew nor the Irish--one nickel of it. - -Midday Monday, when I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was -waiting, he put his hand over his eyes like the Indians in front of -cigar stores and pretended to stagger. - - -[Illustration: _I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting_] - - -"What good deed have I ever done," says he, "that I'm allowed to walk -the world with such a queen!" - -Then I felt certain that to break loose now and again is a healthy -change. - - - - -XVI - - -It was a long ride to Cresset's Crossing, first on the main line to the -Junction and then just time to make a close connection with the branch -line to the Crossing. - -It was three when we reached there and started out to walk to Cresset's -Farm. There'd been rain the day before and the road was muddy, with -water standing here and there in the ruts. The weather was still -overcast, the sky covered with clouds, heavy and leaden colored. It was -cold, a raw, piercing air, and we walked fast, I--careful of my new -dress--picking my steps on the edge of the road and Babbitts tramping -along in the mud beside me. - -I'd never been up there at that season and I thought it was a gloomy, -lonesome spot. The land rolled away with fences creeping across it like -gray snakes. Here and there were clumps of woods, purplish against the -sky, and between them the brown stretches of plowed land, that in the -springtime would be green with the grain. Now, under those dark, -low-hanging clouds with the naked trees and the bare, empty fields, it -looked forlorn and dreary. It was as still as a picture, not a thing -moving, but one man, someways off, walking along the top of a hill. You -could see him like a silhouette, going slow, with a bundle on a stick -over his shoulder, and a bit of red round his neck. When he got to the -highest point he stopped and looked down on the road. He couldn't see -us--the trees interfered--and he seemed, as Babbitts said, like the -spirit of the landscape--sort of desolate and lonely, plodding along -there, solitary and slow, between the earth and the sky. Then presently -even he was gone, disappearing over the brow of the hill. - -When we passed the Riven Rock Road and I could see the Firehill one, -making a curving line through the country beyond, I had a creepy -feeling, thinking of what had happened there eight weeks ago. - -"Where's the place?" I said, almost in a whisper, and Babbitts pointed -ahead with his cane. - -"A little further on, where the bushes grow thick there." - -Right along from the station, clumps and bunches of small trees had -edged the way like a hedge. After we passed the Riven Rock Road they -grew thicker, making a sort of shrubbery higher than our heads. I -remembered that just before the murder men had been cutting these for -brushwood and even now we passed piles of branches, dry and dead, with -little leaves clinging to them like brown rags. Where the Firehill Road -ran into the turnpike the growth was tangled and close, almost a small -wood. - -It wasn't far beyond that Babbitts pointed out the place. There was an -edge of shriveled grass and on this she had been found with the branches -piled over her. He drew with his cane where she had lain between the -trees and the road. - -"You can see just how the murderer worked," he said. "He attacked Miss -Hesketh here, burst out of the darkness on her and killed her with one -blow--you remember there was no sign either about her or the -surroundings of a struggle--and almost immediately heard the Doctor's -auto horn. We can place that by the scream the Bohemian woman heard." - -"Do you think he was there when the Doctor passed?" I asked. - -"Of course he was. He hadn't had time to arrange the body. That was done -after the Doctor had gone by--done after the moon came out. Reddy said -it was as bright as day when he got there. By that brightness the -murderer did the work of concealment." - -I stepped back into the mud and looked down to where the Firehill Road -entered the turnpike a few yards farther on. - -"He must have heard Mr. Reddy's horn before the car came in sight. By -that time he had probably finished and stolen away." - -"I don't think so," said Babbitts. "He couldn't have done it without -some noise and Reddy, who was listening and watching for Sylvia, was -positive there wasn't a sound. That human devil was back among the -bushes when Reddy's car came round the turn. And he must have stayed -there--afraid to move--watching Reddy, first as he waited, then as he -slowly ran back and forth. God, what a situation--one man looking for -the woman he loved, her murderer hidden a few yards from him, and -between them both her dead body!" - -I seemed to see it: the road bathed in moonlight, the murderer huddled -down in the black shadow, and Reddy in the car looking now this way and -now that, expecting her to come. How terribly still it must have been, -not a sound except the rustling of the withered leaves. I could imagine -the light from the racer's lamps, shooting out in two long yellow rays, -showing every rut and ridge, so that that grim watching face had to draw -down lower still in the darkness of the underbrush. Did he know who -Reddy was waiting for? What did he feel when the auto moved and one -swerve sideways would have sent those yellow rays over the heap of -branches on the grass? As Babbitts said, he must have been afraid to -move, must have cowered there and seen the racer glide away and then -come back; and still bent behind the network of twigs have watched the -man at the wheel, as he looked up and down the road, waited and -listened, every now and then sounding the horn, that broke into the -silence like a weird, hollow cry. - -"Oh, come on," I said suddenly, seizing Babbitts' arm. "Let's go up to -Cresset's where it's bright and cheerful." - -We had a lovely time at Cresset's. My, but they were a nice family! -Farmer Cresset, a big, kind, jolly man and his two sons, splendid, -sun-burned chaps, and his little daughter, as fresh as a peach and as -shy as a kitten. I loved them all, and Mrs. Cresset best. She made me -think of my mother, not that she looked like her, but I guess because -she had something about her that's about all women who've had families -they loved. - -They gave us tea and cake and they joked Babbitts good and hard about -coming out there and pretending to be a tourist. - -"Never mind, son," Farmer Cresset said, "you got it out of the old -woman. I couldn't make her tell; seemed like she thought she'd be -arrested for the crime if she up and confessed about that feller." - -It was getting on for evening when we left to go to the Wayside Arbor. -We'd planned to have our supper there and then go back by the branch -line, catching a train at the Crossing at eight-thirty. The Cressets -were real sorry to have us go, especially there. - -"It ain't a nice place," said Mrs. Cresset, as she kissed me good-bye, -"but we're hoping to see it cleared out soon. Tom's stirring Heaven and -earth to get Hines' license revoked." - -"I guess Heaven's lending a hand," said the farmer, "for I hear Hines' -business is bad since the fatality. We've a lot of foreign labor round -here and they're mighty superstitious and are giving his place the -go-by." - -It was dark when we saw the lights of the Wayside Arbor, shining out -across the road. We'd expected a moon to light us home, but the clouds, -though they weren't as thick as they had been, were all broken up into -little bits over the sky, like Heaven was paved with them. - -The Arbor was quiet as we stepped up and opened the bar door, and there, -just like on the night of the murder, was Hines, sitting by the stove -reading a newspaper. He jumped up quick and greeted us very cordial and -you could see he was glad to get a customer. He sure was a tough looking -specimen with a gray stubble all over his chin, and a dirty sweater -hanging open over a dirtier shirt that had no collar and was fastened -with a fake gold button that left a black mark on his neck. If I thought -his looks were bad that day in the summer I thought they were worse now, -for he seemed more down and dispirited than he was then. - -We asked him if we could have supper and he went out, calling to Mrs. -Hines, and we could hear someone clattering down the stairs and then a -whispering going on in the hall. When he came back he said they'd get us -a cold lunch, but they didn't keep a great deal on hand, seeing as how -they hadn't much call for meals at that season. - -You could see that was true. I never was in such a miserable, -poverty-stricken hole. Leaving Babbitts talking to Hines in the bar, I -went back into the dining-room, a long, shabby place that crossed the -rear of the house. It was as dingy as the rest of it, with the paper all -smudged and peeling off the walls and worn bits of carpet laid over the -board floor. At the back two long windows looked out on the garden. -Glancing through these I could see the arch of the arbor, with the wet -shining on the tables and a few withered leaves trembling on the vines. - -When I turned back to the room I got a queer kind of scare--a thing I -would have laughed at anywhere else, but in that house on that night it -turned me creepy. There was a long, old-fashioned mirror on the opposite -wall with a crack going straight across the middle of it. As I caught my -reflection in it, I raised my head, wanting to get the effect of my new -hat, and it brought the crack exactly across my neck. Believe me I -jumped and then stood staring, for it looked just as if my throat was -cut! Then I moved away from it, pulling up my collar, ashamed of myself -but all the same keeping out of range of the mirror. - -In the bar I could hear the voices of Babbitts and Hines, Hines droning -on like a person who's complaining. From behind a door at the far end of -the room came a noise of crockery and pans and then a woman's voice, -peevish and scolding, and another woman's answering back. I don't think -I ever was in a place that got on my nerves so and what with the cold of -the room--it was like a barn with no steam and the stove not lit--I sat -all hunched up in my coat thinking of Sylvia Hesketh coming _there_ for -shelter! - -Suddenly the door at the end of the room opened and Mrs. Hines came in. -She was the match of it all, with her red nose and her little watery -eyes and her shoes dropping off at every step so you could hear the -heels rapping on the boards where the carpet stopped. She began talking -in a whining voice, and as she set the table, told me how the business -had gone off, and they didn't know what they were going to do. - -Her hands, all chapped and full of knots like twigs, smoothed out the -cloth and put on the china so listless it made you tired to look at -them. It was better talking to her than sitting dumb with no company but -dismal thoughts, so I encouraged her and between her trailings into the -kitchen and her trailings out I heard all about their affairs. - -For a while after the murder they'd done a lot of business--it made me -sort of shrivel up to see she didn't mind that; anything that brought -trade was all the same to her--but now, nothing was doing. Only a few -automobiles stopped there and the farmhands had dropped off, so their -custom hardly counted. And Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, who was a -first-class girl, if she did have grouchy spells, had got so slack she'd -have to be fired, and she, Mrs. Hines, didn't see how she was to get -another one what with the low wages and the lonesomeness. - -She trailed off into the kitchen again and I could hear her snapping at -someone and that other woman's voice growling back. I supposed it was -Tecla Rabine, though it didn't sound like her, my memory of her at the -inquest being of a fat, good-natured thing that wouldn't have growled at -anybody. And then the door was opened with one swift kick and Tecla came -in, carrying a plate of bread in one hand and a platter with ham on it -in the other. She didn't look grouchy at all, but gave me that broad, -silly sort of smile I remembered and put the things down on the table! - -"Well, Tecla," I asked for something to say, "how are _you_ getting on?" - -"Ach!" she answered disgusted, and pounded over the creaky floor to a -cupboard out of which she took some dishes. "Me? I get out. What for do -I stay? No luck here, no money. Who comes--nobody. Everything goes on -the blink." - -She put the things on the table and then stood looking at me, squinting -up her little eyes and with her big body, in a dirty white blouse and a -skirt that didn't meet it at the waist, slouched up against the table. - -"I heard business was bad," I said, and thought that in spite of her -being such a coarse, fat animal, she was rosy and healthy looking, which -was more than you could say for the other two. - -"What do I get?" she said, spreading out her great red hands, "not a -thing. Maybe five, ten cents. Every long time maybe a quarter. Since -that lady gets killed all goes bad. The dagoes say 'evil eye.' They walk -round the house that way," she made a half-circle in the air with her -arm, "looking at it afraid. Me, too, I don't like it." - -"It sure is awful dismal," I agreed. - -"No good," she said. "Last year this time all the room -full--to-night--_one_ man"--she held up a finger in the air--"one only -man, and he have lost what makes us to laugh. When I see him, I say, -'Hein, Tito, good luck now you come. Make the bear to dance.' And he -says this way"--she hunched up her shoulders and pushed out her hands -the way the Guineas do--"'Oh, Gawda, there is no more bear; he makes -dead long time.'" - -"Bear?" I said, and then I remembered. "You mean the one that went round -with the acrobats. It's dead, is it?" - -Tecla nodded. - -"Gone dead in the country. And he says he starve now with no bear to get -pennies. The boss says we all starve, and gave him a drink and cheese -and bread. Ach!"--she shook her head, as if the loss of the bear was the -last straw--"I no can stand it--nothing doing, no money, no more -laughs--I quit." - -I didn't blame her. If you gave me two hundred a month I wouldn't have -stayed there. - -Just then Babbitts came in and we began our supper; cold ham and stale -bread and coffee that I know was the morning's heated over. Tecla went -into the kitchen and I said to him, low and guarded: - -"What's Hines been saying to you?" - -He answered in the same key: - -"Oh, putting up a hard luck story. Cresset needn't bother. He wants to -pull up stakes and go West." - -"Will they let him?" - -"That's one of the things he's been talking about. He says if he makes a -move it'll look suspicious, and if he stays he'll be ruined. He -certainly is up against it." - -I shot a glance from the kitchen to the bar door and then leaned across -the table, almost whispering: - -"I don't see that our investigations have got us anything but a bad -supper." - -"Neither do I," he whispered back. "The place looks like a stage setting -for The Bandits' Den, but the people don't impress me that way at all." - -The kitchen door swung back and Mrs. Hines came in with a pumpkin pie -that tasted like it was baked for Thanksgiving. She hovered round, -fussing about us and joining in the conversation. You could see she was -hungry for someone to talk to. Both she and her husband impressed me -that way, as if they were most crazy with the dreariness of the place, -and were ready to fasten on anybody who'd speak civil to them and listen -to their troubles. - -Before we left, Babbitts went into the bar to settle up and I, -remembering Tecla's complaints, called her in from the kitchen and -fished a quarter out of my new purse. She was as pleased as a child, -grinning all over, and wanting to shake hands with me, which I hated but -couldn't avoid. - -When we were once more in the road I gave a gasp of relief. I felt as if -I'd crept out from under a shadow, that was gradually sinking into me, -down to the marrow of my bones. The night was cold, but a different -kind; fresh and clear, the smell of the damp fields in the air, and the -country quiet and peaceful. - -We had a good two miles before us and stepped out lively. It was dark; -the clouds mottled over the sky; and in one place, where the moon was -hidden, a little brightness showing through the cracks. Babbitts said he -thought they'd break and that we'd have the moonlight on our way back. - -All around us the landscape stretched black and still. When you got -accustomed to it, you could see the outlines of the hills against the -sky, one darkness set against another, and the line of the road showing -faint between the edgings of bushes. We couldn't hear anything but our -own footsteps, soft and padding because of the mud, and off and on the -rustling of the twigs as I brushed against them. I don't remember ever -being out on a quieter night, and there was something lovely and -soothing about it after that horrible house. - -We hadn't gone far--about ten minutes, I should think--when I suddenly -clasped my wrist and felt that my purse was gone. I had taken it off to -give Tecla the quarter and I remember I'd laid it on the supper table -when she made me shake hands. - -"Oh dear!" I said, stopping short. "What shall I do--I've left my purse -there." - -Babbitts stared at me through the dark. - -"At Hines'?" - -"Yes, on the supper table. And it's new, I'd only just bought it. Oh, I -_can't_ lose it." - -"You needn't. We've time, but you'll have to hit up the pace. Come on -quick--that's not just the place I'd select to leave a purse in." - -He turned to go but I stood still. I hated going back there and it was -lovely walking slowly along through the sharp chill air and the peaceful -night. - -"You go," I said, coaxing. "I'll saunter on and you can catch me up." - -"Don't you mind being alone? Aren't you afraid?" - -"Afraid?" I gave a laugh. "I'm much more afraid in that queer joint. -Besides, I can't go as fast as you can and whatever happens we've got to -catch that train." - -"If you don't mind that's the best plan. I'll run both ways." - -"Then hustle and I'll walk on slowly. But come whether you find the -purse or not, for that's the last train to the Junction to-night, and we -mustn't lose it." - -"Right you are, and we won't lose anything, the train or the purse. I'll -make it a rush order. Go slow till I come." - -He turned and went off at a run and I walked on. At first I could hear -the thud of his feet quite plainly and then the sound was suddenly -deadened and I knew he was on the moist turf by the roadside. The -silence closed down around me like a black curtain that seemed to be -shutting me off from the rest of the world. I walked on slowly, -gathering my skirts up from the wet and the twigs, as noiseless as a -shadow in the dark of the trees. - -I don't know how much further I went, but not very far because I could -just make out the line of the Firehill Road curving down between the -fields, when I heard behind me a fitful, stealthy rustling in the -bushes. - - - - -XVII - - -In beginning this chapter, which is going to end my story of the Hesketh -Mystery, I want to say right here that I'm no coward. The reason that -things happened as they did was that I was worn out--more than I -knew--by the strain and excitement of the last two months. Also I do -think that most any girl would have lost her nerve if she'd been up -against what I was. - -The gloom of that dreadful Wayside Arbor was still on me as I walked -along with Babbitts. After a few moments I thought it had gone off and -when I told him I wasn't afraid I said what seemed to me the truth. But -when the sound of his footsteps died away, the loneliness crept in on -me, seemed to be telling me something that I didn't want to hear. Down -deep I knew what it was, and that every step was taking me closer to -what I was afraid of--the place where Sylvia Hesketh had been murdered. - -It was when I was peering out ahead, trying to locate it, telling myself -not to be a fool and gathering up my courage, that I heard that faint, -stealthy rustling behind me. - -I stopped dead, listening. I was scared but not clear through yet, for I -knew it might be some little animal, a rabbit or a chipmunk, creeping -through the underbrush. I stood waiting, feeling that I was breathing -fast, and as still as one of the telegraph poles along the road. The -trees hid me completely. A person could have passed close by and not -seen me standing there in my black cloak against the black background. - -Then I heard it again, very soft and cautious, a crackle of branches and -then a wait, and presently--it seemed hours--a crackle of branches -again. I moved forward, stepping on tiptoe, stifling my breath, my head -turned sideways, listening, listening with every nerve. Even then I -wasn't so terribly frightened, but I was shivery, shivery down to my -heart, for I could hear that, whether it was beast or human, it was on -the other side of the trees, just a little way back, going the way I -was. - -It only took a few minutes--me stealing forward and it coming on, now -soft as it stepped on the earth, now with a twig snapping sharp--to tell -me I was being followed. - -When I got that clear, the last of my courage melted away. If it had -been anywhere else, if it hadn't been so dark, if there'd been a house -or a person within call, but, oh, Lord, in that lonesomeness, far off -from everything--it was awful! And the awfullest part was that right -there in front of me, getting nearer every minute, was the place where -another girl had been murdered on a night like this. - -I tried to pull myself together, to remember that Babbitts would be back -soon, but I couldn't stop my heart from beating like a hammer, terrible -thuds up in my throat. Way off through the trees I could see the twinkle -of Cresset's lights and I thought of them there; but it was as if they -were at the other end of the world, too far for me to reach them or for -them to hear my call. - -I don't know why I walked on, but I think it was pure fear. I was afraid -if I stopped that dreadful following thing would overtake me. Once I -tried to look back but I couldn't. I thought I might see it and I stole -forward, now and then stopping and listening and every time hearing the -crackle and snap of the twigs as it crept after me. I could see now the -place where Sylvia was found, the shrubs curving back from the road as -if to leave a space wide enough for her body. - -The sight made me stop and, as I stood there still as a statue, I heard -the sounds behind me get louder, as if a big body was feeling and -pushing its way between the trees, not so careful now, but trampling and -crushing through the interlaced boughs. Then for the first time in my -life I knew what it means when they say your hair stands on end. Down at -the roots of mine there was a stirring all over my head and my heart! It -was banging against my chest, blow after blow, as if it was trying to -break a hole. - -The sky began to brighten. I got a sort of impression of those cracks in -the clouds parting and the moonlight leaking through; but I didn't seem -to see it plain, everything in me was turned to terror. The noise behind -me was closer and louder and through it I heard a breathing, deep, -panting breaths, drawn hard. Then I knew if I turned I could have seen -what was following me, seen its awful face, glaring between the branches -and its bent body, crouched, ready to spring. - -It's hard for me to tell what followed--everything came together and I -couldn't see or think. I remember trying to scream, to give one shriek -for Babbitts, and no sound coming, and that the thing, as if it knew -what I was doing, made a sudden crashing close at my back. The -brightness of the sky flashed in my eyes. I saw the clouds broken open, -and the moon, big and white, whirling round like a silver plate. I tried -to run but the earth rose up in waves and I staggered forward over them, -wave after wave, with the moon spinning close to my eyes, and then -blackness shutting down like the lid of a box. - -The next thing I remember was the sky with clouds all over it and in one -place an opening with a little star as big as a pinhead set in the -middle. I looked at that star for a long time, having a queer feeling -that I was holding on to it and it was pulling me up. Then I felt as if -something was helping the star, a strong support under my shoulders that -raised me still further, and while I seemed to be struggling out of a -darkness like water, I heard Babbitts' voice close to my ear: - -"Thank God, she's coming out of it." - -I turned my head and there was his face close to mine. A strong yellow -light shone on it--afterward I saw it came from a lantern on the -ground--and without speaking I looked into his eyes, and had a lovely -feeling of rest as if I'd found something I was looking for. - -"You're all right?" he said; "you're not hurt?" - -"I'm very well, thank you," I said back, and my voice was like a -whisper. - -The support under my shoulders tightened, drew me up against him, and he -bent down and kissed me. - -We said no more, but stayed that way, looking at each other. I didn't -want to move or speak. I didn't feel anything or care about anything. It -seemed like Babbitts and I were the only two people in the whole world, -as if there _was_ no world, just us, and all the rest nothing. - -After that--he's often told me it was only a minute or two, though if -you'd asked me I'd have said it was hours--I began to look round and -take notice. I heard queer sounds as if someone was groaning in pain, -and saw the shrubs and grass plain by the light of two lanterns standing -on the ground. Near these was a man, lit up as far as his knees, and -close by him, all crumpled on the earth, another person. The lanterns -threw a bright glow over the upper part of that figure, and I saw the -head and shoulders, the hair with leaves and twigs in it and round the -neck a red bandanna. Then I made out it was a man and that it was from -him the sounds were coming--moans and groans and words in a strange -language. - -"What is it?" I whispered to Babbitts. "What's happened?" - -And he whispered back: - -"I'll tell you later. You're all right--that's all that matters now." - -It was like a dream and I can only tell it that way--me noticing things -in little broken bits, as if I was at the "movies" and kept falling to -sleep, and then woke up and saw a new picture. The man who was standing -turned round and it was Hines. He looked across the road and gave a -shout and others answered it, and lights danced up and down, coming -closer through the dark. Then men came running--Farmer Cresset and his -sons--and behind them Mrs. Hines, with her clothes held up high and her -thin legs like a stork's. I could hear them breathing as they raced up -and one man's voice crying: - -"It's all right, is it? There ain't been no harm done?" - -After that the men were in a group talking low, the lanterns in their -hands sending circles and squares of light over the bushes and the -grass. Presently Farmer Cresset broke away and went to the figure on the -ground. He tried to pull him up, but the man squirmed out of his hand -and fell back like a meal sack, his face to the earth, the moans coming -from him loud and awful. - -After a while they put me on something long and hard with a bundle under -my head and took me away up the road and through the woods. It was dark -and no one said anything, the Cresset boys carrying what I was on and -Babbitts walking alongside. As we started I heard someone say the Farmer -would stay with Hines and "communicate with the authorities." And then -we went swinging off under the trees, the footsteps of the men squashing -in the mud. Soon there were lights twinkling through the branches, and -just as I saw them and heard a dog bark, and a woman call out, my heart -faded away again and that blackness swept over me. - -I didn't know till afterwards how long I was sick--weeks it was--lying -in Mrs. Cresset's spare room with that blessed woman caring for me like -her own daughter. No people in this world were ever better to another -than that family was to me. And others were good--it takes sickness and -trouble to make you value human nature--for when I got desperate bad Dr. -Fowler came over and took a hand. Mrs. Cresset herself told me that -respecting Dr. Graham as she did, she thought I'd never have come -through if Dr. Fowler hadn't given himself right up to it, staying in -the house for two days the time I was worst. And not a cent would he -ever take for it, only a pair of bed slippers I knitted for him while I -was getting better. - -It was not till I was well along on the upgrade that I heard what -happened on that gruesome night. I was still in bed, sitting up in a -pink flannel jacket that Anne Hennessey gave me, with the sunlight -streaming in through the windows and a bunch of violets scenting up the -room. Babbitts had brought them and it was he that told me, sitting in a -rocker by the bedside and speaking very quiet and gentle so as not to -give me any shock. For without my knowledge, just like an instrument of -fate, it was I that had solved the Hesketh mystery. - -Neither man nor woman had killed Sylvia Hesketh. The murderer was the -dancing bear. - -The man they found on the ground beside me that night was its owner, -Tito Malti, the dago I had seen nearly three months before making the -bear dance at Longwood, and the man Babbitts and I had seen that -afternoon on the hill. Hines and Farmer Cresset carried him--he was -unable to walk at first--to the Wayside Arbor and in the bar there he -told them his story. - -He had been associated with the acrobats for several years, working over -the country with them during the summer and lying up in small towns for -the winter. That spring, when the company went out on their tour, he had -noticed that his bear (he called it Bruno and spoke of it like a human) -showed signs of bad temper. It was a big strong beast, but was getting -old and a viciousness that it had always had was growing on it. He kept -quiet about it as he hoped to get through the season without trouble and -knew, if the company thought it was dangerous, they wouldn't stand for -having it around. All the summer he wandered with them, guarding the -bear carefully, never leaving it unmuzzled, and sleeping beside it at -night. - -Toward the end of the season it began to grow worse. It had tried to -attack one of the acrobats and there had been a quarrel. He saw he'd -have to part from them, but they patched up the fight and he stayed on -for their last performance at Longwood, where the business was always -good. - -After that they separated, the company going into winter quarters at -Bloomington and Malti telling them he would take Bruno across country -and make a little extra money at the farms and villages. He did intend -to do this but he really wanted to get off by himself, watch the animal, -and try and gain his old control over it. - -He started, working round by the turnpike, letting Bruno perform when he -seemed good tempered, but a good part of the time being afraid to. In -this way he made enough money to keep himself, sleeping when the nights -were bad, in barns and on the lee side of hayricks, the bear chained to -him. - -On the night of the murder he had got round as far as the Wayside Arbor. -His intention had been to take his supper there--he knew the place -well--and have the bear dance for the Italian customers. But by the time -he reached the Arbor he didn't dare. For some days Bruno had been sullen -and savage--that afternoon Malti had had to beat him with the -iron-spiked staff he always carried. The poor man said he was half crazy -with fright and misery. He told Hines and Cresset, who said he was as -simple as a young child, that what between his fear of getting into -trouble with the authorities and his fear of losing the bear which was -all he had in the world, he was distracted. - -In the afternoon he had begged some food at a farm and with this in his -pocket he tracked across the fields and woods to the turnpike near the -Firehill Road. Here--it being a lonely spot--he sat down in the shade of -the trees that hid him from the highway and ate his supper. As he had -been on the tramp for days he was dropping with fatigue and, seeing the -bear seemed quiet, he stretched out and with the chain in his hand, had -fallen asleep. - -He was wakened by a scream--the most awful he had ever heard. Half -asleep as he was, he leaped to his feet, feeling in the dark for the -chain. It was gone and the bear with it. - -The scream had come from the other side of the trees. With his staff in -his hand he burst through them and in the darkness saw dimly the shape -of that fearful, great beast reared upon its hind legs, with a black -thing lying at its feet. He yelled and struck it in the face with the -staff and it dropped down to all fours, growling and terrible, but as if -the sound of his voice and the blows had cowed it. Then he grabbed for -the chain, moving along the ground like a snake, and holding it, knelt -and looked at the black thing--the thing the scream had come from. - -He raised it and saw the faint white of the face and hands and felt by -the clothes it was a woman. He knew the way an enraged bear -attacks--rising up to its hind legs and giving a blow with its paw, a -blow that if the body it strikes is unprotected, can break bones and -tear muscles out of their place. In the dark he felt the woman till his -hand came on the trickle of blood on her face. That told him the brute -had struck at her head, and sick and trembling, he lit a match and held -it low over her. The hat had protected her from the claws; without it -they would have torn through the scalp like the teeth of a rake. But -when he saw her face and felt of her pulse, he knew that that savage -blow had broken her skull and she was dead. - -At first he was too paralyzed to think, kneeling there beside her with -the bear crouched at the end of his chain, not stirring as if it was -scared at what it had done. Then the horn of the Doctor's auto woke him -and, clutching the body, he drew back into the shadow. The car passed at -furious speed, its noise drowning any sound that that strange and awful -group might have made. Shaking in every limb he laid his burden on the -grass and tried to compose it, putting back the hat which was torn off, -but was caught to the hair by its long pin. - -While he was doing this the clouds broke and he was drawing the coat -about her when the moon came out bright as day. By its light he saw the -pearl necklace and in his own words, "All the badness in his heart came -up into his head." - -When he told that part of his story he wrung his hands and sobbed, -declaring over and over that he was an honest man and a good Catholic. -Never before had he stolen, though often he had gone cold and hungry. -But he knew now that he must kill the bear, and then he would be left an -old man without a penny or any way to earn one. "And the pearls," he -moaned out, "what are they to the dead? And to me, who must live, they -mean riches forever." - -He said his hands shook so he couldn't find the clasp and to get at it -he pulled open the coat. And then he gave a cry and drew back like he -was burnt, for there on the breast of the dead woman, sparkling like a -thing of fire, was the cross. - -Babbitts said the two men were greatly impressed by the way he acted -when he told this. The perspiration broke out on his face and he crossed -himself, bowing his head and shuddering. "It was God's voice," he -whispered. "It said: 'Stop, Tito; hold your hand. No man can rob the -dead.'" - -So he closed the coat, folded the arms across the chest and covered all -with branches he found in a pile near by. As he moved about the bear -watched him, not stirring, as if it knew it was guilty and was waiting -to see what he would do to it. - -When the work was finished the two of them stole away, as noiseless as -shadows. His head was clear enough to think of the footprints and he -kept on the grass till he was near the Firehill Road. He was approaching -this when he heard Reddy's horn, and with the bear following, he slipped -through a break in the trees into the open space beyond. Here, huddled -into the blackness under the boughs, he saw the car swing past. It went -a little way down the road and then stopped and stood for what seemed to -him a long time, every now and then the horn sounding. When it finally -started again he moved on, the bear padding silently beside him. He said -the car came back soon and passed and repassed him a number of times. -Each time he was ready for it, the noise and the lamps warning him of -its approach. Crowded up against the bear, he watched it through the -branches, all the road bright in front of it where the lamps threw their -two long shoots of light. - -When they asked him if he wasn't afraid of the bear making some sound he -shook his head and said just like a child: - -"Bruno? No--he is wise like a man. When I look him in the eye I see he -knows he is a murderer and must die, and it makes him very quiet." - -He had made up his mind to kill Bruno. As he told the men about it the -tears ran down his face, for he said the bear was like his brother. When -Reddy had gone, he made off, Bruno walking at the end of the chain -behind him, both keeping to the grass edges of the fields. All night -they walked, those two--and strange they must have looked slipping -across the moonlit spaces, two black shadows moving over the -lonesomeness, not a sound from either of them, one leading the other to -his execution. - -At dawn they entered the woods. There, when the light was clear enough -to see, that poor, scared dago killed the bear with the knife he had -carried all summer. The rest of the day he spent scooping a grave for -him. When he told how he dragged the great body into the hole and -covered it with earth, he put his hands over his face, rocking back and -forth, and crying like a baby. - -After that he went to Bloomington and joined the acrobats, telling them -the bear had died. They thought no more about it and welcomed him back, -sharing their quarters with him and promising him a place with them in -the summer. - -But his knowledge of the crime haunted him. Like all those dagoes, he -was superstitious and full of queer notions. Babbitts said he was as -ignorant as the animal he was so fond of, seeming to think as they -couldn't hang the bear they might hang him in its place. He wanted to go -to the priest and confess, but when he heard people talking of the -murder he was afraid. After a while he couldn't eat or sleep and the -torment of his terror and remorse was like to drive him crazy. - -Finally he couldn't stand it any more and got the idea that if he could -go back to the place and offer up prayers there he might get some -relief. He told the acrobats he was going to hunt for work on a farm, -left Bloomington and once again walked across the country. - -It was night when he reached the region he was bound for, and feeling -too weak and sick to go straight to the spot, he went to the Wayside -Arbor to beg for food which would give him strength to bear the task he -had set himself. They gave him what he asked for and he took it to his -old nook under the trees and there in the cold and dark ate ravenously. -Then, just as on that other night, he lay down and the sleep that had -left him for so long came back to him. - -He never heard us pass, but I guess without his knowing it we wakened -him, for he said he was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, when he heard -Babbitts' footsteps as he ran back to the inn. - -He listened and, making sure no one else was on the road, got up and -began to steal cautiously forward. He felt sure that God would hear his -prayers after he had walked so far and his misery had been so great. - -I guess the poor thing was about all in, and was as scared when he came -near the place as I was. Of course he had no idea I was in front of him -and wasn't following me as I thought. With the trees between, both of us -were making for the same spot, the only difference being that while I -heard him he never heard me. - -What he saw when he broke through the hedge would have terrified anyone, -let alone a man in the state he was. For there, just as he had last seen -her, lay a woman in a black coat with the moonlight shining on her dead -white face--a ghost waiting to accuse him. - -They say the shriek he gave was the most awful that man ever heard. -Babbitts, who was on his way back, said it sounded like it came from a -lost soul in Hell. He tried to yell back, but couldn't and ran like a -madman, and when he got there saw me lying as if I was dead in the -moonlight and a wild, screaming figure crouched on the ground beside me. -The two Hines heard it. Hines picked up a lantern and ran with Mrs. -Hines at his heels. When he came up he found Babbitts kneeling over me, -half crazy, thinking I was murdered, too. They felt my pulse and found -it was going and sent Mrs. Hines on the run to Cresset's. She lit out, -calling and crying as she flew through the woods, and met the Cresset -crowd, hiking along with their lanterns, having heard her and not -knowing _what_ had happened. - -Well--that's the end of my story. Oh, I forgot the reward--_I_ got it. I -oughtn't to have for I didn't do anything but fall in a faint, which was -the easiest thing I could do. But Mrs. Fowler and the Doctor wouldn't -have it any other way, so I gave in. Not that I didn't want to. Believe -me, Jew or Gentile gets weak when ten thousand dollars is pressed into -her palm. It's invested and I get good interest on it, but I'm saving -that up. You never can tell what may happen in this world. - -As to the rest of us--the bunch that in one way or another were drawn -into the Hesketh mystery--we're all scattered now. - -Jack Reddy's not living at Firehill any more. He's taken an apartment in -town where the two old Gilseys look after him like he was their only -son, and he's studying law in Mr. Whitney's office. Sometimes Sunday he -comes to see us, just as cordial and kind and handsome as ever, and it's -I that'll be glad when he tells me he's found the right girl--God bless -him! - -Cokesbury Lodge is sold and Cokesbury's living in town, too. They say -his part in the Hesketh case sort of finished him. High society wouldn't -stand for it, which shows you can't believe all you hear about the idle -rich. I've heard that he's seen round a lot with an actress-lady and one -of the papers had it he was going to marry her. - -The Fowlers went to Europe. They're living in Paris now and I hear from -Anne Hennessey, who corresponds with Mrs. Fowler, that they're going to -reside there. Anyway, Jim Donahue told me last time I was down at -Longwood that Mapleshade was to let. - -Annie's got a new job in town, on Fifth Avenue, grand people who never -quarrel. She dines with us most every Sunday and we sit till all hours -talking over the past, like people who've been in some great disaster -and when they get together always drift back to the subject. - -Me?--you want to know about me? - -Well, I'm living uptown on the West Side in the cutest little flat in -New York--five rooms, on a corner, all bright and sunny. And furnished! -Say, I wish I could show them to you. When Mrs. Fowler broke up she gave -me a lot of the swellest things. Why, I've got a tapestry in the parlor -that cost five hundred dollars and cut glass you couldn't beat on Fifth -Avenue. - -It's on 125th Street, near the Subway. We had to be near that for -Himself--he likes to stay as late as he can in the morning and get up as -quick as he can at night. If you're passing that way any time, just drop -in. I'd love to see you and have you see my place--and me, too. You'll -see the name on the letter-box--Morganthau? Oh, quit your kidding--it's -_Babbitts_ now. - - - -THE END - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35503 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. 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-
-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 35503
- :PG.Title: The Girl at Central
- :PG.Released: 2011-03-06
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Darleen Dove
- :PG.Producer: Mary Meehan
- :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
- :PG.Credits: This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.
- :DC.Creator: Geraldine Bonner
- :MARCREL.ill: Arthur William Brown
- :DC.Title: The Girl at Central
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1915
- :coverpage: images/cover.jpg
-
-
-===================
-THE GIRL AT CENTRAL
-===================
-
-.. _pg-header:
-
-.. container::
- :class: pgheader
-
- .. style:: paragraph
- :class: noindent
-
- This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
- almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
- re-use it under the terms of the `Project Gutenberg License`_
- included with this eBook or online at
- http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-machine-header:
-
- .. container::
-
- Title: The Girl at Central
-
- Author: Geraldine Bonner
-
- Release Date: March 06, 2011 [EBook #35503]
-
- Language: English
-
- Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-start-line:
-
- \*\*\* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL \*\*\*
-
- |
- |
- |
- |
-
- .. _pg-produced-by:
-
- .. container::
-
- Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
-
- |
-
- This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.
-
-
-.. role:: small-caps
- :class: small-caps
-
-.. figure:: images/cover.jpg
- :align: center
-
-.. class:: center x-large
-
- | THE GIRL AT CENTRAL
- | BY GERALDINE BONNER
-
-.. class:: center small
-
- | Author of "The Emigrant Trail," "The Book of Evelyn," etc.
-
- | ILLUSTRATED BY
- | ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN
-
- | NEW YORK AND LONDON
- | D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
- | 1915
-
- | Copyright, 1915, by
- | :small-caps:`D. Appleton and Company`
-
- | *Copyright, 1914, 1915, by The Curtis Publishing Company*
-
- | :small-caps:`Printed in the United States of America`
-
-.. _`'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade'`:
-
-.. figure:: images/illus1.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: 'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade'
-
- 'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade'"
-
-.. contents:: CONTENTS
- :depth: 1
- :backlinks: entry
-
-
-
-LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
-=====================
-
-
-| `'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade'`_
-| `Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture`_
-| `A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail`_
-| `I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting`_
-
-
-
-
-I
-=
-
-
-Poor Sylvia Hesketh! Even now, after this long time, I can't think of it
-without a shudder, without a comeback of the horror of those days after
-the murder. You remember it—the Hesketh mystery? And mystery it surely
-was, baffling, as it did, the police and the populace of the whole
-state. For who could guess why a girl like that, rich, beautiful,
-without a care or an enemy, should be done to death as she was. Think of
-it—at five o'clock sitting with her mother taking tea in the library at
-Mapleshade and that same night found dead—murdered—by the side of a
-lonesome country road, a hundred and eighteen miles away.
-
-It's the story of this that I'm going to tell here, and as you'll get a
-good deal of me before I'm through, I'd better, right now at the start,
-introduce myself.
-
-I'm Molly Morganthau, day operator in the telephone exchange at
-Longwood, New Jersey, twenty-three years old, dark, slim, and as for my
-looks—well, put them down as "medium" and let it go at that. My name's
-Morganthau because my father was a Polish Jew—a piece worker on
-pants—but my two front names, Mary McKenna, are after my mother, who
-was from County Galway, Ireland. I was raised in an East Side tenement,
-but I went steady to the Grammar school and through the High and I'm not
-throwing bouquets at myself when I say I made a good record. That's how
-I come to be nervy enough to write this story—but you'll see for
-yourself. Only just keep in mind that I'm more at home in front of a
-switchboard than at a desk.
-
-I've supported myself since I was sixteen, my father dying then, and my
-mother—God rest her blessed memory!—two years later. First I was in a
-department store and then in the Telephone Company. I haven't a relation
-in the country and if I had I wouldn't have asked a nickel off them. I'm
-that kind, independent and—but that's enough about me.
-
-Now for you to rightly get what I'm going to tell I'll have to begin
-with a description of Longwood village and the country round about. I've
-made a sort of diagram—it isn't drawn to scale but it gives the general
-effect, all right—and with that and what I'll describe you can get an
-idea of the lay of the land, which you have to have to understand
-things.
-
-.. figure:: images/illus2.jpg
- :align: center
-
-Longwood's in New Jersey, a real picturesque village of a thousand
-inhabitants. It's a little over an hour from New York by the main line
-and here and there round it are country places, mostly fine ones owned
-by rich people. There are some farms too, and along the railway and the
-turnpike are other villages. My exchange is the central office for a
-good radius of country, taking in Azalea, twenty-five miles above us on
-the main line, and running its wires out in a big circle to the
-scattered houses and the crossroad settlements. It's on Main Street,
-opposite the station, and from my chair at the switchboard I can see the
-platform and the trains as they come down from Cherry Junction or up
-from New York. It's sixty miles from Longwood to the Junction where you
-get the branch line that goes off to the North, stopping at other
-stations, mostly for the farm people, and where, when you get to
-Hazelmere, you can connect with an express for Philadelphia. Also you
-can keep right on from the Junction and get to Philadelphia that way,
-which is easier, having no changes and better trains.
-
-When I was first transferred from New York—it's over two years now—I
-thought I'd die of the lonesomeness of it. At night, looking out of my
-window—I lived over Galway's Elite Millinery Parlors on Lincoln
-Street—across those miles and miles of country with a few lights dotted
-here and there, I felt like I was cast on a desert island. After a while
-I got used to it and that first spring when the woods began to get a
-faint greenish look and I'd wake up and hear birds twittering in the
-elms along the street—hold on! I'm getting sidetracked. It's going to
-be hard at first to keep myself out, but just be patient, I'll do it
-better as I go along.
-
-The county turnpike goes through Longwood, and then sweeps away over the
-open country between the estates and the farms and now and then a
-village—Huntley, Latourette, Corona—strung out along it like beads on
-a string. A hundred and fifty miles off it reaches Bloomington, a big
-town with hotels and factories and a jail. About twenty miles before it
-gets to Bloomington it crosses the branch line near Cresset's Farm.
-There's a little sort of station there—just an open shed—called
-Cresset's Crossing, built for the Cresset Farm people, who own a good
-deal of land in that vicinity. Not far from Cresset's Crossing, about a
-half mile apart, the Riven Rock Road from the Junction and the Firehill
-Road from Jack Reddy's estate run into the turnpike.
-
-This is the place, I guess, where I'd better tell about Jack Reddy, who
-was such an important figure in the Hesketh mystery and who—I get red
-now when I write it—was such an important figure to me.
-
-A good ways back—about the time of the Revolution—the Reddy family
-owned most of the country round here. Bit by bit they sold it off till
-in old Mr. Reddy's time—Jack's father—all they had left was the
-Firehill property and Hochalaga Lake, a big body of water, back in the
-hills beyond Huntley. Firehill is an old-fashioned, stone house, built
-by Mr. Reddy's grandfather. It got its name from a grove of maples on
-the top of a mound that in the autumn used to turn red and orange and
-look like the hillock was in a blaze. The name, they say, came from the
-Indian days and so did Hochalaga, though what that stands for I don't
-know. The Reddys had had lots of offers for the lake but never would
-sell it. They had a sort of little shack there and before Jack's time,
-when there were no automobiles, used to make horseback excursions to
-Hochalaga and stay for a few days. After the old people died and Jack
-came into the property everybody thought he'd sell the lake—several
-parties were after it for a summer resort—but he refused them all, had
-the shack built over into an up-to-date bungalow, and through the
-summer would have guests down from town, spending week-ends out there.
-
-Now I'm telling everything truthful, for that's what I set out to do,
-and if you think I'm a fool you're welcome to and no back talk from
-me—but I was crazy about Jack Reddy. Not that he ever gave me cause;
-he's not that kind and neither am I. And let me say right here that
-there's not a soul ever knew it, he least of all. I guess no one would
-have been more surprised than the owner of Firehill if he'd known that
-the Longwood telephone girl most had heart failure every time he passed
-the window of the Exchange.
-
-I will say, to excuse myself, that there's few girls who wouldn't have
-put their hats straight and walked their prettiest when they saw him
-coming. Gee—he was a good looker! Like those advertisements for collars
-and shirts you see in the back of the magazines—you know the ones. But
-it wasn't that that got me. It was his ways, always polite, never
-fresh. If he'd meet me in the street he'd raise his hat as if I was the
-Queen of Sheba. And there wasn't any hanging round my switchboard and
-asking me to make dates for dinner in town. He was always jolly, but—a
-girl in a telephone exchange gets to know a lot—he was always a
-gentleman.
-
-He lived at Firehill—forty miles from Longwood—with two old servants,
-David Gilsey and his wife, who'd been with his mother and just doted on
-him. But everybody liked him. There wasn't but one criticism I ever
-heard passed on him and that was that he had a violent temper. Casey,
-his chauffeur, told a story in the village of how one day, when they
-were passing a farm, they saw an Italian laborer prod a horse with a
-pitchfork. Before he knew, Mr. Reddy was out of the car and over the
-fence and mashing the life out of that dago. It took Casey and the
-farmer to pull him off and they thought the dago'd be killed before they
-could.
-
-There was talk in Longwood that he hadn't much money—much, the way the
-Reddys had always had it—and was going to study law for a living. But
-he must have had some, for he kept up the house, and had two motors, one
-just a common roadster and the other a long gray racing car that he'd
-let out on the turnpike till he was twice arrested and once ran over a
-dog.
-
-My, how well I got to know that car! When I first came I only saw it at
-long intervals. Then—just as if luck was on my side—I began to see it
-oftener and oftener, slowing down as it came along Main Street, swinging
-round the corner, jouncing across the tracks, and dropping out of sight
-behind the houses at the head of Maple Lane.
-
-"What's bringing Jack Reddy in this long way so often?" people would say
-at first.
-
-Then, after a while, when they'd see the gray car, they'd look sly at
-each other and wink.
-
-There's one good thing about having a crush on a party that's never
-thought any more about you than if you were the peg he hangs his hat
-on—it doesn't hurt so bad when he falls in love with his own kind of
-girl.
-
-And that brings me—as if I was in the gray car speeding down Maple
-Lane—to Mapleshade and the Fowlers and Sylvia Hesketh.
-
-
-
-
-II
-==
-
-
-About a mile from Longwood, standing among ancient, beautiful trees, is
-Mapleshade, Dr. Dan Fowler's place.
-
-It was once a farmhouse, over a century old, but two and a half years
-ago when Dr. Fowler bought it he fixed it all up, raised the roof, built
-on a servants' wing and a piazza with columns and turned the farm
-buildings into a garage. Artists and such people say it's the prettiest
-place in this part of the State, and it certainly is a picture,
-especially in summer, with the lawns mown close as velvet and the
-flower-beds like bits of carpet laid out to air.
-
-The Doctor bought a big bit of land with it—I don't know how many
-hundred acres—so the house, though it's not far from the village, is
-kind of secluded and shut away. You get to it by Maple Lane, a little
-winding road that runs between trees caught together with wild grape and
-Virginia creeper. In summer they're like green walls all draped over
-with the vines and in winter they turn into a rustling gray hedge, woven
-so close it's hard to see through. About ten minutes' walk from the gate
-of Mapleshade there's a pine that was struck by lightning and stands up
-black and bare.
-
-When the house was finished the Doctor, who was a bachelor, married Mrs.
-Hesketh, a widow lady accounted rich, and he and she came there as bride
-and groom with her daughter, Sylvia Hesketh. I hadn't come yet, but from
-what I've heard, there was gossip about them from the start. What I can
-say from my own experience is that I'd hardly got my grip unpacked when
-I began to hear of the folks at Mapleshade.
-
-They lived in great style with a housekeeper, a butler and a French maid
-for the ladies. In the garage were three automobiles, Mrs. Fowler's
-limousine, the Doctor's car and a dandy little roadster that belonged to
-Miss Sylvia. Neither she nor the Doctor bothered much with the
-chauffeur. They left him to take Mrs. Fowler round and drove themselves,
-the joke going that if Miss Sylvia ever went broke she could qualify for
-a chauffeur's job.
-
-After a while the story came out that it wasn't Mrs. Fowler who was so
-rich but Miss Hesketh. The late Mr. Hesketh had only left his wife a
-small fortune, willing the rest—millions, it was said—to his daughter.
-She was a minor—nineteen—and the trustees of the estate allowed her a
-lot of money for her maintenance, thirty thousand a year they had it in
-Longwood.
-
-In spite of the grand way they lived there wasn't much company at
-Mapleshade. Anne Hennessey, the housekeeper, told me Mrs. Fowler was so
-dead in love with her husband she didn't want the bother of entertaining
-people. And the Doctor liked a quiet life. He'd been a celebrated
-surgeon in New York but had retired only for consultations and special
-cases now and again. He was very good to the people round about, and
-would come in and help when our little Dr. Pease, or Dr. Graham, at the
-Junction, were up against something serious. I'll never forget when Mick
-Donahue, the station agent's boy, got run over by Freight No. 22. But
-I'm sidetracked again. Anyhow, the Doctor amputated the leg and little
-Mick's stumping round on a wooden pin almost as good as ever.
-
-But even so they weren't liked much. They held their heads very high,
-Mrs. Fowler driving through the village like it was Fifth Avenue,
-sending the chauffeur into the shops and not at all affable to the
-tradespeople. The Doctor wouldn't trouble to give you so much as a nod,
-just stride along looking straight ahead. When the story got about that
-he'd lost most of the money he'd made doctoring I didn't bear any
-resentment, seeing it was worry that made him that way.
-
-But Miss Sylvia was made on a different measure. My, but she was a
-winner! Even after I knew what brought Jack Reddy in from Firehill so
-often I couldn't be set against her. Jealous I might be of a girl like
-myself, but not of one who was the queen bee of the hive.
-
-She was a beauty from the ground up—a blonde with hair like corn silk
-that she wore in a loose, fluffy knot with little curly ends hanging on
-her neck. Her face was pure pink and white, the only dark thing in it
-her big brown eyes, that were as clear and soft as a baby's. And she was
-a great dresser, always the latest novelty, and looking prettier in each
-one. Mrs. Galway'd say to me, with her nose caught up, scornful,
-
-"To my mind it's not refined to advertise your wealth on your back."
-
-But I didn't worry, knowing Mrs. Galway'd have advertised hers if she'd
-had the wealth or a decent shaped back to advertise it on, which she
-hadn't, being round-shouldered.
-
-There was none of the haughty ways of her parents about Miss Sylvia.
-When she'd come into the exchange to send a call (a thing that puzzled
-me first but I soon caught on) she'd always stop and have a pleasant
-word with me. On bright afternoons I'd see her pass on horseback,
-straight as an arrow, with a man's hat on her golden hair. She'd always
-have a smile for everyone, touching her hat brim real sporty with the
-end of her whip. Even when she was in her motor, speeding down Main
-Street, she'd give you a hail as jolly as if she was your college chum.
-
-Sometimes she'd be alone but generally there was a man along. There were
-a lot of them hanging round her, which was natural, seeing she had
-everything to draw them like a candle drawing moths. They'd come and go
-from town and now and then stay over Sunday at the Longwood Inn—it's a
-swell little place done up in the Colonial style—and you'd see them
-riding and walking with her, very devoted. At first everybody thought
-her parents were agreeable to all the attention she was getting. It
-wasn't till the Mapleshade servants began to talk too much that we heard
-the Fowlers, especially the Doctor, didn't like it.
-
-I hadn't known her long before I began to notice something that
-interested me. A telephone girl sees so many people and hears such a lot
-of confidential things on the wire, that she gets to know more than most
-about what I suppose you'd call human nature. It's a study that's always
-attracted me and in Miss Sylvia's case there was a double attraction—I
-was curious about her for myself and I was curious about her because of
-Jack Reddy.
-
-What I noticed was that she was so different with men to what she was
-with women—affable to both, but it was another kind of affability. I've
-seen considerably many girls trying to throw their harpoons into men and
-doing it too, but they were in the booby class beside Miss Sylvia. She
-was what the novelists call a coquette, but she was that dainty and sly
-about it that I don't believe any of the victims knew it. It wasn't what
-she said, either; more the way she looked and the soft, sweet manner she
-had, as if she thought more of the chap she was talking to than anybody
-else in the world. She'd be that way to one in my exchange and the next
-day I'd see her just the same with another in the drugstore.
-
-It made me uneasy. Even if the man you love doesn't love you, you don't
-want to see him fooled. But I said nothing—I'm the close sort—and it
-wasn't till I came to be friends with Anne Hennessey that I heard the
-inside facts about the family at Mapleshade.
-
-Anne Hennessey was a Canadian and a fine girl. She was a lady and had a
-lady's job—seventy-five a month and her own bathroom—and being the
-real thing she didn't put on any airs, but when she liked me made right
-up to me and we soon were pals. After work hours I'd sometimes go up to
-her at Mapleshade or she'd come down to me over the Elite.
-
-I remember it was in my room one spring evening—me lying on the bed and
-Anne sitting by the open window—that she began to talk about the
-Fowlers. She was not one to carry tales, but I could see she had
-something on her mind and for the first time she loosened up. I was
-picking over a box of chocolates and I didn't give her a hint how keen I
-was to hear, acting like the candies had the best part of my attention.
-She began by saying the Doctor and Miss Sylvia didn't get on well.
-
-"That's just like a novel," I answered, "the heroine's stepfather's
-always her natural enemy."
-
-"He's not that in this case," said Anne—she speaks English fine, like
-the teachers in the High—"I'm sure he means well by her, but they can't
-get on at all, they're always quarreling."
-
-"There's many a gilded home hides a tragedy. What do they fight about?"
-
-"Things she does he disapproves of. She's very spoiled and self-willed.
-No one's ever controlled her and she resents it from him."
-
-"What's he disapprove of?"
-
-Anne didn't answer right off, looking thoughtful out of the window. Then
-she said slow as if she was considering her words:
-
-"I'm going to tell you, Molly, because I know you're no gossip and can
-be trusted, and the truth is, I'm worried. I don't like the situation up
-at Mapleshade."
-
-I swung my feet on to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed,
-nibbling at a chocolate almond.
-
-"Here's where I get dumb," I said, sort of casual to encourage her.
-
-"Sylvia Hesketh's a girl that needs a strong hand over her and there's
-no one has it. Her father's dead, her mother—poor Mrs. Fowler's only a
-grown-up baby ready to say black is white if her husband wants her
-to—and Dr. Fowler's trying to do it and he's going about it all wrong.
-You see," she said, turning to me very serious, "it's not only that
-she's head-strong and extravagant but she's an incorrigible flirt."
-
-"Is there a place in the back of the book where you can find out what
-incorrigible means?" I said.
-
-Anne smiled, but not as if she felt like it.
-
-"Uncontrollable, irrepressible. Her mother—Mrs. Fowler's ready to tell
-me anything and everything—says she's always been like that. And, of
-course, with her looks and her fortune the men are around her like flies
-round honey."
-
-"Why does the Doctor mind that?"
-
-"I suppose he wouldn't mind if they just came to Mapleshade or Longwood.
-But—that's what the quarreling's about—he's found out that she meets
-them in town, goes to lunch and the matinée with them."
-
-"Excuse me, but I've left my etiquette book on the piano. What's wrong
-about going to the matinée or to lunch?"
-
-"Nothing's really wrong. Mind you, Molly, I know Sylvia through and
-through and there's no harm in her—it's just the bringing-up and the
-spoiling and the admiration. But, of course, in her position, a girl
-doesn't go about that way without a chaperone. The Doctor's perfectly
-right to object."
-
-I was looking down, pretending to hunt over the box.
-
-"Who does she go with?" I said.
-
-"Oh, there are several. A man named Carisbrook——" I'd seen him often,
-a swell guy in white spats and a high hat—"and a young lawyer called
-Dunham and Ben Robinson, a Canadian like me. People see her with them
-and tell the doctor and there's a row."
-
-I looked into the box as careful as if I was searching for a diamond.
-
-"Ain't Mr. Reddy one of the happy family?" I asked. "Ah, here's the last
-almond!"
-
-"Oh, of course, young Reddy. I think it would be a good thing if she
-married him. Everybody says he's a fine fellow, and I tell you now,
-Molly, with Sylvia so willful and the doctor so domineering and Mrs.
-Fowler being pulled to pieces between them, things at Mapleshade can't
-go on long the way they are."
-
-That was in May. At the end of June the Fowlers went to Bar Harbor with
-all their outfit for the summer. After that Jack Reddy didn't come into
-Longwood much. I heard that he was spending a good deal of his time at
-the bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, and I did see him a few times meeting
-his company at the train—he had some week-end parties out there—and
-bringing them back in the gray car.
-
-At the end of September the Fowlers came home. It was great weather,
-clear and crisp, with the feel of frost in the air. Most everybody was
-out of doors and I saw Sylvia often, sometimes on horseback, sometimes
-driving her motor. She was prettier than ever for the change and seemed
-like she couldn't stay in the house. I'd see her riding toward home in
-the red light of the sunset, and as I walked back from work her car
-often would flash past me, speeding through the early dark toward Maple
-Lane.
-
-Anne said they'd had a fairly peaceful summer and she hoped they were
-going to get on better. There had only been one row—that was about a
-man who was up at Bar Harbor and had met Sylvia and paid her a good deal
-of attention. The Doctor had been very angry as he disapproved of the
-man—Cokesbury was his name.
-
-"Cokesbury!" I cut in surprised—we were in Anne's room that
-evening—"why, he belongs round here."
-
-Anne had heard that and wanted to know what I knew about him, which I'll
-write down in this place as it seems to fit in and has to be told
-somewhere.
-
-When I first came to Longwood, Mr. and Mrs. Cokesbury were living on
-their estate, Cokesbury Lodge, about twenty-five miles from us, near
-Azalea. They had been in France for a year previous to that, then come
-back and taken up their residence in Mr. Cokesbury's country seat, and
-it was shortly after that Mrs. Cokesbury died there, leaving three
-children. For a while the widower stayed on with nurses and governesses
-to look after the poor motherless kids. Then, the eldest boy taking sick
-and nearly dying, he decided to send them to his wife's parents, who had
-wanted them since Mrs. Cokesbury's death.
-
-So the establishment at the Lodge was broken up and Mr. Cokesbury went
-to live in town. There were rumors that the house was to be sold, but in
-the spring Sands, the Pullman conductor, told me that Mr. Cokesbury had
-been down several times, staying over Sunday and had said he had given
-up the idea of selling the place. He told Sands he couldn't get his
-price for it and what was the sense of selling at a loss, especially
-when he could come out there and get a breath of country air when he was
-scorched up with the city heat?
-
-I'd passed the house one day in August when I was on an auto ride with
-some friends. It was a big, rambling place with a lot of dismal-looking
-pines around it, about five miles from Azalea and with no near
-neighbors. Mr. Cokesbury only kept one car—he'd had several when his
-wife was there—and used to drive himself down from the Lodge to the
-station, leave his car in the Azalea garage, and drive himself back the
-next time he came. He had no servants or caretaker, which he didn't
-need, as, after Mrs. Cokesbury's death, all the valuable things had been
-taken out of the house and sent to town for storage.
-
-It gave me a jar to hear that Sylvia Hesketh—who, in my mind, was as
-good as engaged to Jack Reddy—would have anything to do with him. I'd
-never seen him, but I'd heard a lot that wasn't to his credit. He hadn't
-been good to his wife—everybody said she was a real lady—but was the
-gay, wild kind, and not young, either. Anne said he was forty if he was
-a day. When I asked her what Sylvia could see in an old gink like that,
-she just shrugged up her shoulders and said, who could tell—Sylvia was
-made that way. She was like some woman whose name I can't remember who
-sat on a rock and sang to the sailors till they got crazy and jumped
-into the water.
-
-My head was full of these things one glorious afternoon toward the end
-of October when—it being my holiday—I started out for a walk through
-the woods. The woods cover the hills behind the village and they're
-grand, miles and miles of them. But wait! There was a little thing that
-happened, by the way, that's worth telling, for it gave me a
-premonition—is that the word? Or, maybe, I'd better say connected up
-with what was in my mind.
-
-I was walking slow down Main Street when opposite the postoffice I saw
-all the loafers and most of the tradespeople lined up in a ring staring
-at a bunch of those dago acrobats that go about the State all summer
-doing stunts on a bit of carpet. I'd seen them often—chaps in dirty
-pink tights walking on their hands and rolling round in knots—and I
-wouldn't have stopped but I got a glimpse of little Mick Donahue
-stumping round the outside trying to squeeze in and trying not to cry
-because he couldn't. So I stopped and hoisted him up for a good view,
-telling the men in front to break a way for the kid to see.
-
-There was a dago scraping on a fiddle and while the acrobats were
-performing on their carpet, a big bear with a little, brown,
-shriveled-up man holding it by a chain, was dancing. And when I got my
-first look at that bear, in spite of all my worry I burst out laughing,
-for, dancing away there solemn and slow, it was the dead image of Dr.
-Fowler.
-
-You'd have laughed yourself if you'd seen it—that is, if you'd known
-the Doctor. There was something so like him in its expression—sort of
-gloomy and thoughtful—and its little eyes set up high in its head and
-looking angry at the crowd as if it despised them. When its master
-jerked the chain and shouted something in a foreign lingo it hitched up
-its lip like it was trying to smile, and that sideways grin, as if it
-didn't feel at all pleasant, was just the way the Doctor'd smile when he
-came into the Exchange and gave me a number.
-
-It fascinated me and I stood staring with little Mick sitting on my arm,
-just loving it all, his dirty little fist clasped round a penny. Then
-the music stopped and one of the acrobats came round with a hat and
-little Mick gave a great sigh as if he was coming out of a dream. "If
-you hadn't come, Molly, I'd have missed it," he said, looking into my
-face in that sweet wistful way sickly kids have, "and it's the last time
-they'll be round this year."
-
-I kissed him and put him down and told the men as I squeezed out to keep
-him in the front or they'd hear from me. Then I walked off toward the
-woods thinking.
-
-It was a funny idea I'd got into my head. I'd once read in a paper that
-when people looked like animals they resembled the animals in their
-dispositions—and I was wondering was Dr. Fowler like a bear, grouchy
-and when you crossed him savage. Maybe it was because I'd been so
-worried, but it gave me a kind of chill. My thoughts went back to
-Mapleshade and I got one of those queer glimpses (like a curtain was
-lifted for a second and you could see things in the future) of trouble
-there—something dark—I don't know how to explain it, but it was as if
-I got a new line on the Doctor, as if the bear had made me see through
-the surface clear into him.
-
-I tried to shake it off for I wanted to enjoy my afternoon in the woods.
-They are beautiful at that season, the trees full of colored leaves, and
-all quiet except for the rustlings of little animals round the roots.
-There's a road that winds along under the branches, and trails, soft
-under foot with fallen leaves and moss, that you can follow for miles.
-
-I was coming down one of these, making no more noise than the squirrels,
-when just before it crossed the road I saw something and stopped. There,
-sitting side by side on a log, were Sylvia Hesketh and a man. Close to
-them, run off to the side, was a motor and near it tied to a tree a
-horse with a lady's saddle. Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a
-picture, her eyes on the ground and slapping softly with her whip on the
-side of her boot. The man was leaning toward her, talking low and
-earnest and staring hard into her face.
-
-.. _`Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture`:
-
-.. figure:: images/illus3.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture
-
- Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture
-
-To my knowledge I'd never seen him before, and it gave me a start—me
-saying, surprised to myself, "Hullo! here's another one?" He was a big,
-powerful chap, with a square, healthy looking face and wide shoulders on
-him like a prize fighter. He was dressed in a loose coat and
-knickerbockers and as he talked he had his hands spread out, one on each
-knee, great brown hands with hair on them. I was close enough to see
-that, but he was speaking so low and I was so scared that they'd see me
-and think I was spying, that I didn't hear what he was saying. The only
-one that saw me was the horse. It looked up sudden with its ears
-pricked, staring surprised with its soft gentle eyes.
-
-I stole away like a robber, not making a speck of noise. All the joy I'd
-been taking in the walk under the colored leaves was gone. I felt kind
-of shriveled up inside—the way you feel when someone you love is sick.
-I couldn't bear to think that Jack Reddy was giving his heart to a girl
-who'd meet another man out in the woods and listen to him so coy and yet
-so interested.
-
-As far as I can remember, that was a little over a month from the fatal
-day. All the rest of October and through the first part of November
-things went along quiet and peaceful. And then, suddenly, everything
-came together—quick like a blow.
-
-
-
-
-III
-===
-
-
-For two days it had been raining, heavy straight rain. From my window at
-Galway's I could see the fields round the village full of pools and
-zigzags of water as if they'd been covered with a shiny gray veil that
-was suddenly pulled off and had caught in the stubble and been torn to
-rags. Saturday morning the weather broke. But the sky was still overcast
-and the air had that sort of warm, muggy breathlessness that comes after
-rain. That was November the twentieth.
-
-It was eleven o'clock and I was sitting at the switchboard looking out
-at the streets, all puddles and ruts, when I got a call from the
-Dalzells'—a place near the Junction—for Mapleshade.
-
-Now you needn't get preachy and tell me it's against the rules to
-listen—suspension and maybe discharge. I know that better than most.
-Didn't the roof over my head and the food in my mouth depend on me doing
-my work according to orders? But the fact is that at this time I was
-keyed up so high I'd got past being cautious. When a call came for
-Mapleshade I *listened*, listened hard, with all my ears. What did I
-expect to hear? I don't know exactly. It might have been Jack Reddy and
-it might have been Sylvia—oh, never mind what it was—just say I was
-curious and let it go at that.
-
-So I lifted up the cam and took in the conversation.
-
-It was a woman's voice—Mrs. Dalzell's, I knew it well—and Dr.
-Fowler's. Hers was trembly and excited:
-
-"Oh, Dr. Fowler, is that you? It's Mrs. Dalzell, yes, near the Junction.
-My husband's very sick. We've had Dr. Graham and he says it's
-appendicitis and there ought to be an operation—now, as soon as
-possible. *Do* you hear me?"
-
-Then Dr. Fowler, very calm and polite:
-
-"Perfectly, madam."
-
-"Oh, I'm so glad—I've been so *terribly* worried. It's so unexpected.
-Mr. Dalzell's never had so much as a *cramp* before and now——"
-
-"Just wait a minute, Mrs. Dalzell," came the Doctor. "Let me understand.
-Graham recommends an operation, you say?"
-
-"Yes, Dr. Fowler, as soon as possible; something awful may happen if
-it's not done. And Dr. Graham suggested you if you'd be so kind. I know
-it's a favor but I *must* have the best for my husband. *Won't* you
-come? Please, to oblige me."
-
-Dr. Fowler asked some questions which I needn't put down and said he'd
-come and if necessary operate. Then they talked about the best way for
-him to get there, the Doctor wanting to know if the main line to the
-Junction wouldn't be the quickest. But Mrs. Dalzell said she'd been
-consulting the time tables and there'd be no train from Longwood to the
-Junction before two and if he wouldn't mind and would come in his auto
-by the Firehill Road he'd get there several hours sooner. He agreed to
-that and it wasn't fifteen minutes after he'd hung up that I saw him
-swing past my window in his car, driving himself.
-
-Later on in the afternoon I got another call from the Dalzells' for
-Mapleshade and heard the Doctor tell Mrs. Fowler that the operation had
-been a serious one and that he would stay there for the night and
-probably all the next day.
-
-Before that second call, about two hours after the first one, there came
-another message for Mapleshade that before a week was out was in most
-every paper in the country and that lifted me right into the middle of
-the Hesketh mystery.
-
-It was near one o'clock, an hour when work's slack round Longwood,
-everybody being either at their dinner or getting ready for it. The call
-was from a public pay station and was in a man's voice—a voice I
-didn't know, but that, because of my curiosity, I listened to as sharp
-as if it was my lover's asking me to marry him.
-
-The man wanted to see Miss Sylvia and, after a short wait, I heard her
-answer, very gay and cordial and evidently knowing him at once without
-any questions. If she'd said one word to show who he was things
-afterward would have been very different, but there wasn't a single
-phrase that you could identify him by—all anyone could have caught was
-that they seemed to know each other very well.
-
-He began by telling her it was a long time since he'd seen her and
-wanting to know if she'd come to town on Monday and take lunch with him
-at Sherry's and afterward go to a concert.
-
-"Monday," she said very slow and soft, "the day after to-morrow? No, I
-can't make any engagement for Monday."
-
-"Why not?" he asked.
-
-She didn't answer right off and when she did, though her voice was so
-sweet, there was something sly and secret about it.
-
-"I've something else to do."
-
-"Can't you postpone it?"
-
-She laughed at that, a little soft laugh that came bubbling through her
-words:
-
-"No, I'm afraid not."
-
-"Must be something very interesting."
-
-"Um—maybe so."
-
-"You're very mysterious—can't I be told what it is?"
-
-"Why should you be told?"
-
-That riled him, I could hear it in his voice.
-
-"As a friend, or if I don't come under that head, as a fellow who's got
-the frosty mit and wants to know why."
-
-"I don't think that's any reason. I have no engagement with you and I
-have with—someone else."
-
-"Just tell me one thing—is it a man or a woman?"
-
-She began to laugh again, and if I'd been the man at the other end of
-the wire that laugh would have made me wild.
-
-"Which do you think?" she asked.
-
-"I don't think, I *know*," and *I* knew that he was mad.
-
-"Well, if you know," she said as sweet as pie, "I needn't tell you any
-more. I'll say good-bye."
-
-"No," he shouted, "don't hang up—wait. What do you want to torment me
-for?" Then he got sort of coaxing, "It isn't kind to treat a fellow this
-way. Can't you tell me who it is?"
-
-"No, that's a secret. You can't know a thing till I choose to tell you
-and I don't choose now."
-
-"If I come over Sunday afternoon will you see me?"
-
-"What time?"
-
-"Any time you say—I'm your humble slave, as you know."
-
-"I'm going out about seven."
-
-"Where?"
-
-"That's another secret."
-
-I think a child listening to that conversation would have seen he was
-getting madder every minute and yet he was so afraid she'd cut him off
-that he had to keep it under and talk pleasant.
-
-"Look here," he said, "I've something I want to say to you awfully. If I
-run over in my car and get there round six-thirty, can you see me for a
-few minutes?"
-
-She didn't answer at once. Then she said slow as if she was undecided:
-
-"Not at the house."
-
-"I didn't mean at the house. Say in Maple Lane, by the gate. I won't
-keep you more than five or ten minutes."
-
-"Six-thirty's rather late."
-
-"Well, any time you say."
-
-"Can't you be there exactly at six-fifteen?"
-
-"If that's a condition."
-
-"It is. If you're late you won't find me. I'll be gone"—she began to
-laugh again—"taking my secret with me."
-
-"I'll be there on the dot."
-
-"Very well, then, you can come—at the gate just as the clock marks one
-quarter after six. And, maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you the secret.
-Good-bye until then—try not to be too curious. It's a bad habit and
-I've seen signs of it in you lately. Good-bye."
-
-Before he could say another word she'd disconnected.
-
-I leaned back in my chair thinking it over. What was she up to? What was
-the secret? And who was the man? "Run over in his car"—that looked like
-someone from one of the big estates. How many of them *had* she buzzing
-round her?
-
-And then, for all I was so downhearted, I couldn't help smiling to think
-of those two supposing they were talking so secluded and an East Side
-tenement girl taking it all in. Little did I guess then that me breaking
-the rules that way, instead of destroying me was going to——But that
-doesn't come in here.
-
-And now I come to Sunday the twenty-first, a date I'll never forget.
-
-It seemed to me afterward that Nature knew of the tragedy and prepared
-for it. The weather was duller and grayer than it had been on Saturday,
-not a breath of air stirring and the sky all mottled over with clouds,
-dark and heavy looking. A full moon was due and as I went to the
-Exchange I thought of the sweethearts that had dates to walk out in the
-moonlight and how disappointed they'd be.
-
-Things weren't cheerful at the Exchange either. I found Minnie Trail,
-the night operator, as white as a ghost, saying she felt as if one of
-her sick headaches was coming on and if it did would I stay on over
-time? I knew those headaches—they ran along sometimes till eight or
-nine. I told her to go right home to bed and I'd hold the fort till she
-was able to relieve me. We often did turns like that, one for the other.
-It's one of the advantages of being in a small country office—no one
-picks on you for acting human.
-
-About ten I had a call from Anne Hennessey. "Have you got anything on
-for this evening, Molly?"
-
-"I have not. This is Longwood, not gay Paree."
-
-"Then I'll come round to Galways, about seven and we'll go to the Gilt
-Edge for supper. I want to talk to you."
-
-The Gilt Edge Lunch was where I took my meals, a nice clean little joint
-close to the office. But I didn't know when I'd get my supper that
-night, so I called back:
-
-"That's all right, sister, but come to the Exchange. Minnie's head's on
-the blink and I'll stay on here late. Anything up?"
-
-"Yes. I don't want to talk about it over the wire. There's been another
-row here—yesterday morning. It's horrible; I can't stand it. I'll tell
-you more this evening. So long."
-
-I put my elbows on the table and sat forward thinking. If you'd asked me
-a year ago what I wanted most in the world I'd have said money. But I'd
-learnt considerable since then. "Money don't do it," I said to myself.
-"Look at the Fowlers with their jewels and their millions scrapping till
-even the housekeeper on a fancy salary with a private bath can't stand
-it."
-
-And there came up in my mind the memory of the East Side tenement where
-I was raised. I thought of my poor father, most killed with work, and my
-mother eking things out, doing housecleaning and never a hard word to
-each other or to me.
-
-The night settled down early, black, dark and very still. At seven Anne
-Hennessey came in and sat down by the radiator, which was making queer
-noises with the heat coming up. Supper time's like dinner—few calls—so
-I turned round in my chair, ready for a good talk, and asked about the
-trouble at Mapleshade.
-
-"Oh, it was another quarrel yesterday morning at breakfast and with
-Harper, the butler, hearing every word. He said it was the worst they'd
-ever had. He's a self-respecting, high-class servant and was shocked."
-
-"Sylvia and the Doctor again?"
-
-"Yes, and poor Mrs. Fowler crying behind the coffee pot."
-
-"The same old subject?"
-
-"Oh, of course. It's young Reddy this time. Sylvia's been out a good
-deal this autumn in her car; several times she's been gone nearly the
-whole day. When the Doctor questioned her she'd either be evasive or
-sulky. On Friday someone told him they'd seen her far up on the turnpike
-with Jack Reddy in his racer."
-
-I fired up, I couldn't help it.
-
-"Why should he be mad about that? Isn't Mr. Reddy good enough for her?"
-
-"*I* think he is. I told you before I thought the best thing she could
-do would be to marry him. But——" she looked round to see that no one
-was coming in——"don't say a word of what I'm going to tell you. I have
-no right to repeat what I hear as an employee but I'm worried and don't
-know what's the best thing to do. Mrs. Fowler has as good as told me
-that her husband's lost all his money and it's Sylvia's that's running
-Mapleshade. And what *I* think is that the Doctor doesn't want her to
-marry *anyone*. It isn't her he minds losing; it's thirty thousand a
-year."
-
-"But when she comes of age she can do what she wants and if he makes it
-so disagreeable she won't want to live there."
-
-"That's two years off yet. He may recoup himself in that time."
-
-"Oh, I see. But he can't do any good by fighting with her."
-
-"Molly, you're a wise little woman. *Of course* he can't, but he doesn't
-know it. He treats that hot-headed, high-spirited girl like a child of
-five. Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade."
-
-I thought of the telephone message I'd overheard the day before and it
-came to me suddenly what "the secret" might be. Could Sylvia have been
-planning to run away? I didn't say anything—it's natural to me and you
-get trained along those lines in the telephone business—and I sat
-turning it over in my mind as Anne went on.
-
-"I'd leave to-morrow only I'm so sorry for Mrs. Fowler. She's as
-helpless as a baby and seems to cling to me. The other day she told me
-about her first marriage—how her husband didn't care for her but was
-crazy about Sylvia—that's why he left her almost all his money."
-
-I wasn't listening much, still thinking about "the secret." If she *was*
-running away was she going alone or with Jack Reddy? My eyes were fixed
-on the window and I saw, without noticing particular, the down train
-from the city draw into the station, and then Jim Donahue run along the
-platform swinging a lantern. As if I was in a dream I could hear Anne:
-
-"I call it an unjust will—only two hundred thousand dollars to his wife
-and five millions to his daughter. But if Sylvia dies first, all the
-money goes back to Mrs. Fowler."
-
-The train pulled out, snorting like a big animal. Jim disappeared, then
-presently I saw him open the depot door and come slouching across the
-street. I knew he was headed for the Exchange, thinking Minnie Trail was
-there, he being a widower with a crush on Minnie.
-
-He came in and, after he'd got over the shock of seeing me, turned to
-Anne and said:
-
-"I just been putting your young lady on the train."
-
-Anne gave a start and stared at him.
-
-"Miss Sylvia?" she said.
-
-"That's her," said Jim, warming his coat tails at the radiator.
-
-I could see Anne was awful surprised and was trying to hide it.
-
-"Who was she with?" she asked.
-
-"No one. She went up alone and said she was going to be away for a few
-days. Where's she going?"
-
-Anne gave me a look that said, "Keep your mouth shut," and turned quiet
-and innocent to Jim. "Just for a visit to friends. She's always visiting
-people in New York and Philadelphia."
-
-Jim stayed round a while gabbing with us, and then went back to the
-station. When the door shut on him we stared at each other with our eyes
-as round as marbles.
-
-"Oh, Molly," Anne said, almost in a whisper, "it's just what I've been
-afraid of."
-
-"You think she's lighting out?"
-
-"Yes—don't you see, the Doctor being at the Dalzells' has given her the
-chance."
-
-"Where would she go to?"
-
-"How do I know? Heaven send she hasn't done anything foolish. But this
-morning she sent Virginie, that French woman, up to the village for
-something—on Sunday when all the shops are shut. The housemaid told me
-they'd been trying to find out what it was and Virginie wouldn't tell.
-Oh, dear, *could* she have gone off with someone?"
-
-We were talking it over in low voices when a call came. It was from
-Mapleshade to the Dalzells'. As I made the connection I whispered to
-Anne what it was and she whispered back, "Listen."
-
-I did. It was from Mrs. Fowler, all breathless and almost crying. She
-asked for the Doctor and when he came burst out:
-
-"Oh, Dan, something's happened—something dreadful. Sylvia's run away."
-
-I could hear the Doctor's voice, small and distant but quite clear:
-
-"Go slow now, Connie, it's hard to hear you. Did you say *Sylvia'd run
-away*?"
-
-Then Mrs. Fowler said, trying to speak slower:
-
-"Yes, with Jack Reddy. We've been hunting for her and we've just found a
-letter from him in her desk. Do you hear—her desk, in the top drawer?
-It told her to meet him at seven in the Lane and go with him in his car
-to Bloomington."
-
-"Bloomington? That's a hundred and fifty miles off."
-
-"I can't help how far off it is. That's where the letter said he was
-going to take her. It said they'd go by the turnpike to Bloomington and
-be married there. And we can't find Virginie—they've evidently taken
-her with them."
-
-"I see—by the turnpike, did you say?"
-
-"Yes. Can't you go up there and meet them and bring her back?"
-
-"Yes—keep cool now, I'll head them off. What time did you say they
-left?"
-
-"The letter said he'd meet her in the Lane at seven and it's a little
-after eight now. Have you time to get up there and catch them?"
-
-"Time?—to burn. On a night like this Reddy can't get round to the part
-of the pike where I'll strike it under three and a half to four hours."
-
-"But can you go—can you leave your case?"
-
-"Yes—Dalzell's improving. Graham can attend to it. Now don't get
-excited, I'll have her back some time to-night. And not a word to
-anybody. We don't want this to get about. We'll have to shut the mouth
-of that fool of a French woman, but I'll see to that later. Don't see
-anyone. Go to your room and say nothing."
-
-Just as the message was finished Minnie Trail came in. I made the record
-of it and then got up asking her, as natural as you please, how she
-felt. Anne did the same and you'd never have thought to hear us
-sympathizing with her that we were just bursting to get outside.
-
-When we did we walked slow down the street, me telling her what I'd
-heard. All the time I was speaking I was thinking of Sylvia and Jack
-Reddy tearing away through that still, black night, flying along the
-pale line of the road, flashing past the lights of farms and country
-houses, swinging down between the rolling hills and out by the open
-fields, till they'd see the glow of Bloomington low down in the sky.
-
-It was Anne who brought me back to where I was. She suddenly stopped
-short, staring in front of her and then turned to me:
-
-"Why, how can she be eloping with Reddy by the turnpike when Jim Donahue
-saw her get on the train?"
-
-
-
-
-IV
-==
-
-
-When I come to the next day I can't make my story plain if I only tell
-what I saw and heard. I didn't even pick up the most important message
-in the tragedy. It came at half-past nine that night through the Corona
-Exchange and was sent from a pay station so there was no record of it,
-only Jack Reddy's word—but I'm going too fast; that belongs later.
-
-What I've got to do is to piece things together as I got them from the
-gossip in the village, from the inquest, and from the New York papers.
-All I ask of you is to remember that I'm up against a stunt that's new
-to me and that I'm trying to get it over as clear as I can.
-
-The best way is for me to put down first Sylvia's movements on that
-tragic Sunday.
-
-About five in the afternoon Sylvia and Mrs. Fowler had tea in the
-library. When that was over—about half-past—Sylvia went away, saying
-she was going to her room to write letters, and her mother retired to
-hers for the nap she always took before dinner. What happened between
-then and the time when Mrs. Fowler sent the message to the Doctor I
-heard from Anne Hennessey. It was this way:
-
-They had dinner late at Mapleshade—half-past seven—and when Sylvia
-didn't come down Mrs. Fowler sent up Harper to call her. He came back
-saying she wasn't in her room, and Mrs. Fowler, getting uneasy, went up
-herself, sending Harper to find Virginie Dupont. It wasn't long before
-they discovered that neither Sylvia nor Virginie were in the house.
-
-When she realized this Mrs. Fowler was terribly upset. Sylvia's room was
-in confusion, the bureau drawers pulled out, the closet doors open. Anne
-not being there, Harper, who was scared at Mrs. Fowler's excitement,
-called Nora Magee, the chambermaid. She was a smart girl and saw pretty
-quickly that Sylvia had evidently left. The toilet things were gone from
-the dresser; the jewelry case was open and empty, only for a few old
-pieces of no great value. It was part of Nora's job to do up the room
-and she knew where Sylvia's Hudson seal coat hung in one of the closets.
-A glance showed her that was gone, also a gold-fitted bag that the
-Doctor had given his stepdaughter on her birthday.
-
-All the servants knew of the quarreling and its cause and while Mrs.
-Fowler was moaning and hunting about helplessly, Nora went to the desk
-and opened it. There, lying careless as if it had been thrown in in a
-hurry, was Jack Reddy's letter. She gave a glance at it and handed it to
-Mrs. Fowler. With the letter in her hand Mrs. Fowler ran downstairs and
-telephoned to the Doctor.
-
-The poor lady was in a terrible way and when Anne got back she had to
-sit with her, trying to quiet her till the Doctor came back. That
-wasn't till nearly two in the morning, when he reached home, dead beat,
-saying he'd come round the turnpike from the Riven Rock Road and seen no
-sign of either Sylvia or Jack Reddy.
-
-No one at Mapleshade saw Sylvia leave the house, no one in Longwood saw
-her pass through the village, yet, two and a half hours from the time
-she had made the date with Mr. Reddy, she was seen again, over a hundred
-miles from her home, in the last place anyone would have expected to
-find her.
-
-Way up on the turnpike, two miles from Cresset's Crossing, there's a
-sort of roadhouse where the farm hands spend their evenings and
-automobilists stop for drinks and gasoline. It's got a shady reputation,
-being frequented by a rough class of people and once there was a dago—a
-laborer on Cresset's Farm—killed there in a drunken row. It's called
-the Wayside Arbor, which doesn't fit, sounding innocent and rural,
-though in the back there is a trellis with grapes growing over it and
-tables set out under it in warm weather.
-
-At this season it's a dreary looking spot, an old frame cottage a few
-yards back from the road, with a broken-down piazza and a door painted
-green leading into the bar. Along the top of the piazza goes the sign
-"Wayside Arbor," with advertisements for some kind of beer at each end
-of it, and in the window there's more advertisements for whisky and
-crackers and soft drinks. Nailed to one of the piazza posts is a public
-telephone sign standing out very prominent.
-
-At the time of the Hesketh mystery I'd only seen it once, one day in the
-summer when I was out in a hired car with Mrs. Galway and two gentlemen
-friends from New York. We'd been to Bloomington by train and were
-motoring back and stopped to get some beer. But we ladies, not liking
-the looks of the place, wouldn't go in and had our beer brought out to
-us by the proprietor, Jake Hines, a tough-looking customer in a shirt
-without a collar and one of his suspenders broken.
-
-It's very lonesome round there. The nearest house is Cresset's, a half
-mile away across the fields. Back of it and all round is Cresset's land,
-some of it planted in crops and then strips of woods, making the country
-in summer look lovely with the dark and the light green.
-
-Sunday evening there were only two people in the Wayside Arbor bar,
-Hines and his servant, Tecla Rabine, a Bohemian woman. Mrs. Hines was
-upstairs in the room above in bed with a cold. There was a fire burning
-in the stove, as a good many of Hines's customers were the dagoes that
-work at Cresset's and the other farms and they liked the place warm.
-Hines was reading the paper and Tecla Rabine was cleaning up the bar
-before she went upstairs, she having a toothache and wanting to get off
-to bed.
-
-At the inquest Hines swore that he heard no sound of a car or of
-wheels—which, he said, he would have noticed, as that generally meant
-business—when there was a step on the piazza, the door opened and a
-lady came in. He didn't know who she was but saw right off she wasn't
-the kind that you'd expect to see in his place. She had on a long dark
-fur coat, a close-fitting plush hat with a Shetland veil pushed up round
-the brim, and looked pale, and, he thought, scared. It was Sylvia
-Hesketh, but he didn't know that till afterward.
-
-She asked him right off if she could use his telephone and he pointed to
-the booth in the corner. She went in and closed the door and Hines
-stepped to the window and looked out to see if there was a car or a
-carriage that he hadn't heard, the mud making the road soft. But there
-was nothing there. Before he was through looking he heard the booth door
-open and turning back saw her come out. He said she wasn't five minutes
-sending her message.
-
-That telephone message was the most mysterious one in the case. It was
-transmitted through the Corona Exchange to Firehill and there was no
-one in the world who heard it but Jack Reddy. I'm going to put it down
-here, copied from the newspaper reports of the inquest:
-
- Oh, Jack, is that you? It's Sylvia. Thank Heavens you're there.
- I'm in trouble, I want you. I've done something dreadful. I'll
- tell you when I see you. I'll explain everything and you won't
- be angry. Come and get me—start now, this minute. Come up the
- Firehill Road to the Turnpike and I'll be there waiting, where
- the roads meet. Don't ask any questions now. When you hear
- you'll understand. And don't let anyone know—the servants or
- anyone. You've got to keep it quiet, it's vitally important,
- for my sake. Come, come quick.
-
-That was all. Before he could ask her a question she'd disconnected.
-And, naturally, he made no effort to find out where the call had come
-from, being in such a hurry to get to her—Sylvia who was in trouble and
-wanted him to come.
-
-When she came out of the booth she carried a small purse in her hand and
-Hines then noticed that she had only one glove on—the left—and that
-her right hand was scratched in several places. Thinking she looked cold
-he asked her if she would have something to drink and she said no, then
-pushed back her cuff and looked at a bracelet watch set in diamonds and
-sapphires that she wore on her wrist.
-
-"Twenty minutes to ten," she said. "I'll wait here for a little while if
-you don't mind."
-
-She went over to the stove, pulled up a chair and sat down, spreading
-her hands out to the heat, and when they were warm, opening her coat
-collar, and turning it back from her neck. Both Hines and Tecla Rabine
-noticed that her feet were muddy and that there were twigs and dead
-leaves caught in the edge of her skirt. As she didn't seem inclined to
-say anything, Hines, who admitted that he was ready to burst with
-curiosity, began to question her, trying to find out where she'd come
-from and what she was waiting for.
-
-"You come a long way, I guess," he said.
-
-She just nodded.
-
-"From Bloomington maybe?" he asked.
-
-"No, the other direction—toward Longwood."
-
-"Car broken down?" he said next, and she answered sort of indifferent,
-
-"Yes, it's down the road."
-
-"Maybe I might go and lend a hand," he suggested and she answered quick
-to that:
-
-"No, it's not necessary. They can fix it themselves," then she added,
-after a minute, "I've telephoned for someone to come for me and if the
-car's really broken we can tow it back."
-
-That seemed so straight and natural that Hines began to get less
-curious, still he wanted to know who she was and tried to find out.
-
-"You come a long ride if you come from Longwood," he said.
-
-But he didn't get any satisfaction, for she answered:
-
-"Is it a long way there?"
-
-"About a hundred and eighteen miles by the turnpike—a good bit shorter
-by the Firehill Road, but that's pretty bad after these rains.
-
-"Most of the roads *are* bad, I suppose," she said, as if she wasn't
-thinking of her words.
-
-They were silent for a bit, then he tried again:
-
-"What's broke in your auto?"
-
-And she answered that sharp as if he annoyed her and she was setting him
-back in his place:
-
-"My good man, I haven't the least idea. That's the chauffeur's business,
-not mine."
-
-He asked her some more questions but he couldn't get anything out of
-her. He said she treated him sort of haughty as if she wanted him to
-stop. So after a while he said no more, but sat by the bar pretending to
-read his paper. Tecla Rabine came and went, tidying up for the night and
-none of them said a word.
-
-A little before ten she got up and buttoned her coat, saying she was
-going. Hines was surprised and asked her if she wouldn't wait there for
-the auto, and she said no, she'd walk up the road and meet it.
-
-He asked her which way it was coming and she said: "By the Firehill
-Road. How far is that from here?"
-
-He told her about a quarter of a mile and she answered that she'd just
-about time to get there and catch it as it came into the turnpike.
-
-Hines urged her to stay but she said no, she was cramped with sitting
-and needed a little walk; it was early yet and there was nothing to be
-afraid of. She bid him good night very cordial and pleasant and went
-out.
-
-He stood in the doorway watching her as far as he could see, then told
-Tecla, whose toothache was bad, to go to bed. After she'd gone he locked
-up, went upstairs to his wife and told her about the strange lady. His
-wife said he'd done wrong to let her go, it wasn't right for a person
-like that to be alone on such a solitary road, especially with some of
-the farm hands, queer foreigners, no better than animals.
-
-She worked upon his feelings till she got him nervous and he was going
-to get a lantern and start out when he heard the sound of an auto horn
-in the distance. He stepped to the window and watched and presently saw
-a big car with one lamp dark coming at a great clip down from the
-Firehill Road direction. The moon had come out a short while before, so
-that if he'd looked he could have seen the people in the car, but
-supposing it was the one the lady was waiting for, he turned from the
-window, and, thinking no more about it, went to bed.
-
-Before he was off to sleep he heard another auto horn and the whirr of a
-car passing. He couldn't say how long after this was, as he was half
-asleep.
-
-How long he'd slept he didn't know—it really was between four and five
-in the morning—when he was roused by a great battering at the door and
-a sound of voices. He jumped up just as he was, ran to the window and
-opened it. There in the road he could see plain—the clouds were gone,
-the moon sailing clear and high—a motor and some people all talking
-very excited, and one voice, a woman's, saying over and over, "Oh, how
-horrible—how horrible!"
-
-He took them for a party of merry-makers, half drunk and wanting more,
-and called down fierce and savage:
-
-"What in thunder are you doing there?"
-
-One of them, a man standing on the steps of the piazza, looked up at him
-and said:
-
-"There's a murdered woman up the road here, that's all."
-
-As he ran to the place with the men—there were two of them—they told
-him how they were on a motor trip with their wives and that night were
-going from Bloomington to Huntley. The moon being so fine they were
-going slow, otherwise they never would have found the body, which was
-lying by the roadside. A pile of brushwood had been thrown over it, but
-one hand had fallen out beyond the branches and one of the women had
-seen it, white in the moonlight.
-
-They had unfastened an auto lamp and it was standing on the ground
-beside her. Hines lifted it and looked at her. She lay partly on her
-side, her coat loosely drawn round her. The right arm was flung out as
-if when the body stiffened it might have slipped down from a position
-across the chest. As he held the lantern close he saw below the hat,
-pulled down on her head, with the torn rags of veil still clinging to
-it, a thin line of blood running down to where the pearl necklace
-rested, untouched, round her throat.
-
-It was Sylvia Hesketh, her skull fractured by a blow that had cracked
-her head like an egg shell.
-
-
-
-
-V
-=
-
-
-There were so many puzzling "leads" and so much that was inexplicable
-and mysterious in the Hesketh case that it'll be easier to follow if, in
-this chapter, I put down what the other people, who were either suspects
-or important witnesses, did on that Sunday.
-
-Some of it may not be interesting, but it's necessary to know if you're
-going to get a clear understanding of a case that baffled the police and
-pretty nearly.... There I go again. But it's awfully hard when you're
-not used to it to keep things in their right order.
-
-I've told how Jim Donahue said he put Sylvia on the train for the
-Junction that night at seven-thirty. Both Jim and the ticket agent said
-they'd seen her and Jim had spoken to her. She carried a hand bag, wore
-a long dark fur coat and a small close-fitting hat that showed her hair.
-Both men also noticed in her hand the gold mesh purse with a diamond
-monogram that she always carried. Over her face was tied a black figured
-veil that hid her features, but there was no mistaking the hair, the
-voice, or the gold mesh purse.
-
-Sands, the Pullman conductor, said this same woman rode down in his
-train to the Junction, where she got off. Clark, the station agent at
-the Junction, saw her step from the car to the platform. After that he
-lost track of her as he was busy with the branch line train which left
-at eight-forty-five and was the last one up that night. No woman went on
-it, there were only two passengers, both men.
-
-The Doctor didn't make his whole story public till the inquest. They
-said afterward the police knew it, but it was his policy to say little
-and keep quiet in Mapleshade. What we in the village did know—partly
-from the papers, partly from people—was that after the message from
-Mrs. Fowler saying Sylvia had eloped, he told Mrs. Dalzell he would have
-to leave, having been called away to an important case. When the
-Dalzells' chauffeur brought his car round he asked the man several
-questions about the shortest way to get to the turnpike. The chauffeur
-told him that the best traveling would be by the Riven Rock Road, which
-he would have to go to the Junction to get. The Doctor left the
-Dalzells' at a little after eight, alone in his car.
-
-He reached the Junction about eight-thirty-five, a few minutes after the
-train from Longwood had arrived. On the platform he spoke to Clark,
-asking him how to get to the Riven Rock Road. Clark gave him the
-directions, then saw him disappear round the station building. Neither
-Clark nor anyone at the Junction—there were very few there at that
-hour—saw him leave in his car, though they heard the honk of the auto
-horn.
-
-But it was Jack Reddy's movements that everybody was most interested in.
-There was no secret about them.
-
-Sunday at lunch he told Gilsey that he was going away for a trip for a
-few days. If he stayed longer than he expected he'd wire back for his
-things, but, as it was, he'd only want his small auto trunk, which he'd
-take with him. When Mrs. Gilsey was packing this he joked her about
-having a good time while he was gone, and she told him that, as there'd
-be no dinner that night, she and Gilsey'd go over to a neighbor's, take
-supper there and spend the evening. After that he asked Casey, the
-chauffeur, to have the racing car brought round at five, to see that the
-tank was full, a footwarmer in it and the heaviest rugs and a drum of
-gasoline, as he was going on a long trip.
-
-At five he left Firehill in the racer. At a quarter to seven two boys
-saw him pass the Longwood Station in the direction of Maple Lane. He
-said he came back through the outskirts of the village at seven-thirty,
-but no one could be found who had seen him.
-
-After he left Firehill the Gilseys cleared up and walked across the
-fields to the Jaycocks' farm, where they spent the evening, coming home
-at ten and finding the house dark and quiet. Casey went to another
-neighbor's, where he stayed till midnight, playing cards.
-
-He slept over the garage, and about four in the morning—he looked at
-his watch afterward—was awakened by a sound down below in the garage.
-He listened and made sure that someone was trying to roll the doors back
-very slow and with as little noise as possible. Casey's a bold, nervy
-boy, and he reached for his revolver and crept barefooted to the head of
-the stairs. On the top step he stooped down and looked through the
-banisters, and saw against the big square of the open doors a man
-standing, with a car behind him shining in the moonlight.
-
-He thought it was a burglar, so, with his revolver up and ready, he
-called:
-
-"Hello, there. What are you doing?"
-
-The man gave a great start, and then he heard Mr. Reddy's voice:
-
-"Oh, Casey, did I wake you? I've come back unexpectedly. Help me get
-this car in."
-
-They ran the car in, and, when Casey went to tell how he thought it was
-a burglar and was going to shoot, he noticed that Mr. Reddy hardly
-listened to him, but was gruff and short. All he said was that he'd
-changed his mind about the trip, and then unstrapped his trunk from the
-back and turned to go. In the doorway he stopped as if he'd had a sudden
-thought, and said over his shoulder:
-
-"You don't want to mention this in Longwood. I'm getting a little sick
-of the gossip there over my affairs."
-
-Casey went back to bed and in the morning, when he looked at the car,
-found it was caked with mud, even the wind-guard spattered. At seven he
-crossed over to the house for his breakfast and told the Gilseys that
-Mr. Reddy was back. They were surprised, but decided, as he'd been out
-so late, they'd not disturb him till he rang for his breakfast.
-
-Monday morning was clear and sharp, the first real frost of the season.
-All the time I was dressing I was thinking about the elopement and how
-queer it was Mrs. Fowler saying they'd gone by turnpike and Jim Donahue
-saying he'd seen Sylvia leave on the train. I worked it out that they'd
-made some change of plans at the last moment. But the *way* they'd
-eloped didn't matter to me. Small things like that didn't cut any ice
-when I was all tormented wondering if it was for the best that my hero
-should marry a wild girl who no one could control.
-
-I hadn't been long at the switchboard, and was sitting sideways in my
-chair looking out of the window when I saw Dr. Fowler's auto drive up
-with the Doctor and a strange man in it. I twirled round quick and was
-the business-like operator. I'll bet no one would have thought that the
-girl sitting so calm and indifferent in that swivel chair was just
-boiling with excitement and curiosity.
-
-The Doctor looked bad, yellow as wax, with his eyes sunk and inflamed.
-He didn't take any notice of me beside a fierce sort of look and a
-gruff,
-
-"Give me Corona 1-4-2."
-
-That was Firehill. I jacked in and the Doctor went into the booth and
-shut the door. The strange man stood with his hands behind him, looking
-out of the window. I didn't know then that he was a detective, and I
-don't think anyone ever would have guessed it. If you'd asked me I'd
-have said he looked more like a clerk at the ribbon counter. But that's
-what he was, Walter Mills by name, engaged that morning, as we afterward
-knew, by the Doctor.
-
-Watching him with one eye I leaned forward very cautiously, lifted up
-the cam and listened in on the conversation:
-
-"Is this Gilsey?"
-
-Then Gilsey's nice old voice, "Yes, sir. Who is it?"
-
-The Doctor's was quick and hard:
-
-"Never mind that—it doesn't matter. Do you happen to know where Mr.
-Reddy is?"
-
-My heart gave a big jump—he hadn't caught them! They'd got away and
-been married!
-
-"Yes, sir, Mr. Reddy's here."
-
-There was just a minute's pause before the Doctor answered. In that
-minute all sorts of ideas went flashing through my head the way they say
-you see things before you drown. Then came the Doctor's voice with a
-curious sort of quietness in it.
-
-"*There*, at Firehill?"
-
-"Yes, sir. Can I take any message? Mr. Reddy was out very late last
-night and isn't up yet."
-
-The Doctor answered that very cordially, all the hurry and hardness
-gone.
-
-"Oh, that's all right. I'll not disturb him. No, I won't bother with a
-message. I'll call up later. Thanks very much. Good-bye."
-
-I dropped back in my chair, tapping with a pencil on the corner of the
-drawer and looking sideways at the Doctor as he came out of the booth.
-He had a queer look, his eyes keen and bright, and there was some color
-in his face. The strange man turned round, and the Doctor gave him a
-glance sharp as a razor, but all he said was: "Come on, Mills," and they
-went out and mounted into the car.
-
-When the door banged on them I drew a deep breath and flattened out
-against the chair back. They *hadn't* eloped!
-
-Gee, it was a relief! Not because of myself. Honest to God, that's
-straight. I knew I couldn't have him any more than I could have had the
-Kohinoor diamond. It was because I *knew*—deep down where you feel the
-truth—that Sylvia Hesketh wasn't the girl for him to marry.
-
-That was about half-past eight. It was after ten when a message came for
-Mapleshade that made the world turn upside down and left me white and
-sick. It was from the Coroner and said that Sylvia Hesketh had been
-found that morning on the turnpike, murdered.
-
-Poor Mrs. Fowler took it!
-
-Anne Hennessey told me afterward that she heard her scream on the other
-side of the house. I heard it, too, and it raised *my* hair—and then a
-lot of words coming thin and shrill along the wire. "Sylvia, my
-daughter—dead—murdered?" It was awful, I hate to think of it.
-
-Nora and Anne ran at the sound and found Mrs. Fowler all wild and
-screaming, with the receiver hanging down. I could hear them, a babble
-of tiny little voices as if I had a line on some part of Purgatory where
-the spirits were crying and wailing.
-
-Suddenly it stopped—somebody had hung up. I waited, shaking there like
-a leaf and feeling like I'd a blow in the stomach. Then Mapleshade
-called and I heard Anne's voice, distinct but broken as if she'd been
-running.
-
-"Molly, is that you? Do you by any chance know if the Doctor's in the
-village?"
-
-"He was here a little while ago with a man calling up Firehill. Anne, I
-heard—it can't be true."
-
-"Oh, it is—it is—I can't talk now. I've *got* to find him. Give me
-Firehill. He may have gone there. Quick, for God's sake!"
-
-I gave it and heard her tell a man at the other end of the line.
-
-I'll go on from here and tell what happened at Firehill. I've pieced it
-out from the testimony at the inquest and from what the Gilseys
-afterward told in the village.
-
-The Doctor and Mills went straight out there from the Exchange. When
-they arrived Gilsey told him Mr. Reddy wasn't up yet, but he'd call him.
-The Doctor, however, said the matter was urgent and they couldn't lose a
-minute, so the three of them went upstairs together and Gilsey knocked
-at the door. After he'd knocked twice a sleepy voice called out, "Come
-in," and Gilsey opened the door.
-
-It led into a sitting-room with a bedroom opening off it. On a sofa
-just opposite the door was Jack Reddy, dressed and stretched out as if
-he'd been asleep.
-
-At first he saw no one but Gilsey and sat up with a start, saying
-sharply:
-
-"What's the matter? Does anyone want me?"
-
-Gilsey said, "Yes, two gentlemen to see you," and stepped to one side to
-let the Doctor and Mills enter.
-
-When Reddy saw the Doctor he jumped to his feet and stood looking at
-him. He didn't say "Good morning" or any sort of greeting, but was
-silent, as if he was holding himself still, waiting to hear what the
-Doctor was going to say.
-
-He hadn't to wait long. The Doctor, in the doorway, went right to the
-point.
-
-"Mr. Reddy," said he, "where's my daughter?"
-
-Reddy answered in a quiet, composed voice:
-
-"I don't know, Dr. Fowler."
-
-"You do!" shouted the Doctor. "You ran away with her last night. What
-have you done with her?"
-
-Reddy said in the same dignified way:
-
-"I haven't done anything. I know nothing about her. I haven't any more
-idea than you where she is."
-
-At that the Doctor got beside himself. He shouted out furiously:
-
-"You have, you d——d liar, and I'll get it out of you," and he made a
-lunge at Reddy to seize him. But Mills jumped in and grabbed his arm.
-Holding it he said, trying to quiet down the Doctor:
-
-"Just wait a minute, Dr. Fowler. Maybe when Mr. Reddy sees that we
-understand the situation, he'll be willing to explain." Then he turned
-to Reddy: "There's no good prevaricating. Your letter to Miss Hesketh
-has been found. Now we're all agreed that we don't want any talk or
-scandal about this. If you want to get out of the affair without trouble
-to yourself and others you'd better tell the truth. Where is she?"
-
-"Who the devil are you?" Reddy cried out suddenly, as mad as the Doctor,
-and before Mills could answer, the branch telephone on the desk rang.
-
-Reddy gave a loud exclamation and made a jump for it. But Mills got
-before him and caught him. He struggled to get away till the Doctor
-seized him on the other side. They fought for a moment, and then got him
-back against the door, all the time the telephone ringing like mad. As
-they wrestled with him Mills called over his shoulder to Gilsey:
-
-"Answer that telephone, quick."
-
-Gilsey, scared most out of his wits, ran to the phone and took down the
-receiver. Anne Hennessey was at the other end with her awful message.
-
-When he got it Gilsey gave a cry like he was stabbed, and turned to Mr.
-Reddy, pinioned against the door.
-
-"Good Lord, have mercy, Mr. Jack," he gasped out. "Miss Hesketh's dead.
-She's murdered—on the turnpike—murdered last night!"
-
-The Doctor dropped Reddy, tore the instrument out of Gilsey's hand and
-took the rest of the message.
-
-Reddy turned the color of ashes. There wasn't any need to hold him. He
-fell back against the door with his jaw dropped and his eyes staring
-like a man in a trance. Gilsey thought he was going to die and was for
-running to him, crying out, "Oh, Mr. Jack, don't look that way." But
-Mills caught the old servant by the arm and held him back, watching
-Reddy as sharp as a ferret.
-
-The Doctor turned from the phone and said: "It's true. Miss Hesketh's
-been murdered."
-
-There was a dead silence. The click of the receiver falling into its
-hook was the only sound. The three other men—the Doctor as white as
-death, too—stood staring at Reddy. And then, seeing those three faces,
-he burst out like he was crazy:
-
-"No—she's not—she can't be! I was there; I went the moment I got her
-message. I was on the turnpike where she said she'd be. I was up and
-down there most of the night. And—and——" he stopped suddenly and put
-his hands over his face, groaning, "Oh, my God, Sylvia—why didn't you
-tell me?"
-
-He lurched forward and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face,
-moaning like an animal in pain.
-
-
-
-
-VI
-==
-
-
-Longwood was stunned. By noon everybody knew it and there was no more
-business that day. The people stood in groups, talking in whispers as if
-they were at a funeral. And in the afternoon it *was* like a funeral,
-the body coming back by train and being taken from the depot to
-Mapleshade in one of the Doctor's farm wagons. It lay under a sheet and
-as the wagon passed through the crowd you couldn't hear a sound, except
-for a woman crying here and there.
-
-Then it was as if a spring that held the people dumb and still was
-loosed and the excitement burst up. I never saw anything like it. It
-seemed like every village up and down the line had emptied itself into
-Longwood. Farmers and laborers and loafers swarmed along the streets,
-the rich came in motors, tearing to Mapleshade, and the police were
-everywhere, as if they'd sprung out of the ground.
-
-By afternoon the reporters came pouring in from town. The Inn was full
-up with them and they were buzzing round my exchange like flies. Some of
-them tried to get hold of me and that night had the nerve to come
-knocking at Mrs. Galway's side door, demanding the telephone girl. But,
-believe me, I sat tight and said nothing—nothing to them. The police
-were after me mighty quick, and there was a séance over Corwin's Drug
-Store when I felt like I was being put to the third degree. I told them
-all I knew, job or no job, for I guessed right off that that talk I'd
-overheard on the phone might be an important clew. They kept it close.
-It wasn't till after the inquest that the press got it.
-
-Before the inquest every sort of rumor was flying about, and the papers
-were full of crazy stories, not half of them true. I'd read about places
-and people I knew as well as my own face in the mirror, and they'd sound
-like a dime novel, so colored up and twisted round the oldest
-inhabitant wouldn't have recognized them.
-
-To get at the facts was a job, but, knowing who was reliable and who
-wasn't, I questioned and ferreted and, I guess, before I was done I had
-them pretty straight.
-
-Sylvia had been killed by a blow on the side of her head—a terrible
-blow. A sheriff's deputy I know told me that in all his experience he
-had seen nothing worse. Her hat had evidently shielded the scalp. It was
-pulled well down over her head, the long pin bent but still thrust
-through it. Where she had been hit the plush was torn but not the thick
-interlining, and her hair, all loosened, was hanging down against her
-neck. There was a wound—not deep, more like a tearing of the skin, on
-the lower part of her cheek. It was agreed that she had been struck only
-once by some heavy implement that had a sharp or jagged edge. Though the
-woods and fields had been thoroughly searched nothing had been
-discovered that could have dealt the blow. Whatever he had used the
-murderer had either successfully hidden it or taken it away with him.
-The deputy told me it looked to him as if it might have been some
-farming tool like a spade, or even a heavy branch broken from a tree.
-The way the body was arranged, the coat drawn smoothly together, the
-branches completely covering her, showed that the murderer had taken
-time to conceal his crime, though why he had not drawn the body back
-into the thick growth of bushes was a point that puzzled everybody.
-
-It was impossible to trace any footprints, as the automobile party and
-Hines had trodden the earth about her into a muddy mass, and the grass
-along the edge was too thick and springy to hold any impression.
-
-Close behind the place where she lay twigs of the screening trees were
-snapped and bent as if her assailant had broken through them.
-
-There were people who said Hines would have been arrested on the spot if
-robbery had been added to murder. But the jewelry was all on her, more
-than he said he had noticed when she was in the Wayside Arbor. The pearl
-necklace alone was worth twenty thousand dollars, and just below it,
-clasping her gown over the chest, was a diamond cross, an old ornament
-of her mother's, made of the finest Brazilian stones. In the pocket of
-her coat was a purse with forty-eight dollars in it. So right at the
-start the theory of robbery was abandoned.
-
-Another inexplicable thing was the disappearance of the French maid,
-Virginia Dupont. Jack Reddy denied any knowledge of her. He said Sylvia
-had never mentioned bringing her with them and he didn't think intended
-to do so. The Mapleshade people thought differently, all declaring that
-Sylvia depended on her and took her wherever she went. One of the
-mysteries about the woman that was quickly cleared up was the walk she
-had taken to the village on Sunday morning. This was to meet Mr. Reddy
-and take from him the letter for Sylvia which had been found in the
-desk.
-
-I know from what I heard that the police were keen to find her, but she
-had dropped out of sight without leaving a trace. No one at Mapleshade
-knew anything about her or her connections. She was not liked in the
-house or the village and had made no friends. On her free Sundays she'd
-go to town and when she returned say very little about where she'd been.
-A search of her rooms showed nothing, except that she seemed to have
-left her clothes behind her. She was last seen at Mapleshade by Nora
-Magee, who, at half-past five on Sunday, met her on the third floor
-stairs. Nora was off for a walk to the village with Harper and was in a
-hurry. She asked Virginie if she was going out and Virginie said no, she
-felt sick and was going up to lie down till she'd be wanted to help Miss
-Sylvia dress for dinner.
-
-If you ask me was anyone suspected at this stage I'd answer "yes," but
-people were afraid to say who. There was talk about Hines on the street
-and in the postoffice, but it was only when you were close shut in your
-own room or walking quiet up a side street that the person with you
-would whisper the Doctor's name. Nobody dared say it aloud, but there
-wasn't a soul in Longwood who didn't know about the quarreling at
-Mapleshade, whose was the money that ran it, and the will that left
-everything to Mrs. Fowler if her daughter died.
-
-But no arrests were made. Everything was waiting on the inquest, and we
-all heard that there were important facts—already known to the
-police—which would not be made public till then.
-
-Wednesday afternoon they held the inquest at Mapleshade. The authorities
-had rounded up a bunch of witnesses, I among them. The work in the
-Exchange had piled up so we'd had to send a hurry call for help to
-headquarters and I left the office in charge of a new girl, Katie
-Reilly, Irish, a tall, gawky thing, who was going to work with us
-hereafter on split hours.
-
-Going down Maple Lane it was like a target club outing or a political
-picnic, except for the solemn faces. I saw Hines and his party, and the
-railway men, and a lot of queer guys that I took to be the jury. Halfway
-there a gang of reporters passed me, talking loud, and swinging along in
-their big overcoats. Near the black pine the toot of a horn made me
-stand back and Jack Reddy's roadster scudded by, he driving, with Casey
-beside him, and the two old Gilseys, pale and peaked in the back seat.
-
-They held the inquest in the dining-room, with the coroner sitting at
-one end of the long shiny table and the jury grouped round the other.
-Take it from me, it was a gloomy sight. The day outside was cold and
-cloudy, and through the French windows that looked out on the lawns, the
-light came still and gray, making the faces look paler than they already
-were. It was a grand, beautiful room with a carved stone fireplace
-where logs were burning. Back against the walls were sideboards with
-silver dishes on them and hand-painted portraits hung on the walls.
-
-But the thing you couldn't help looking at—and that made all the
-splendor just nothing—were Sylvia's clothes hanging over the back of a
-chair, and on a little table near them her hat and veil, the one glove
-she had had on, and the heap of jewelry. All those fine garments and the
-precious stones worth a fortune seemed so pitiful and useless now.
-
-We were awful silent at first, a crowd of people sitting along the
-walls, staring straight ahead or looking on the ground. Now and then
-someone would move uneasily and make a rustle, but there were moments so
-still you could hear the fire snapping and the scratching of the
-reporters' pencils. They were just behind me, bunched up at a table in
-front of the window. When the Doctor came in everyone was as quiet as
-death and the eyes on him were like the eyes of images, so fixed and
-steady. Mrs. Fowler was not present—they sent for her later—but Nora
-and Anne were there as pale as ghosts.
-
-The Coroner opened up by telling about how and where the deceased had
-been found, the position, the surroundings, etc., etc., and then called
-Dr. Graham, who was the county physician and had made the autopsy.
-
-A good deal of what he said I didn't understand—it was to prove that
-death resulted from a fracture of the skull. He could not state the
-exact hour of dissolution, but said it was in the earlier part of the
-night, some time before twelve. He described the condition of the scalp
-which had been partially protected by the hat, thick as it was with a
-plush outside and a heavy interlining. This was held up and then given
-to the jury to examine. I saw it plainly as they passed it from hand to
-hand—a small dark automobile hat, with a tear in one side and some
-shreds of black Shetland veil hanging to its edge. She bore no other
-marks of violence save a few small scratches on her right hand. She had
-evidently been attacked unexpectedly and had had no time to fight or
-struggle.
-
-The automobilists who had found the body came next. Only the men were
-present—two nice-looking gentlemen—the ladies having been excused.
-They told what I have already written, one of them making the creeps go
-down your spine, describing how his wife said she saw the hand in the
-moonlight, and how he walked back, laughing, and pulled off the
-brushwood.
-
-After that Mrs. Fowler came, all swathed up in black and looking like a
-haggard old woman. The Coroner spoke very kind to her. When she got to
-the quarrel between Sylvia and the Doctor her voice began to tremble and
-she could hardly go on. It was pitiful to see but she had to tell it,
-and about the other quarrels too. Then she pulled herself together and
-told about going up to Sylvia's room and finding the letter.
-
-The Coroner stopped her there and taking a folded paper from the table
-beside him said it was the letter and read it out to us. It was dated
-Firehill, Nov. 21st.
-
-
- ":small-caps:`Dearest`:
-
- "All right. This evening at seven by the pine. We'll go in my
- racer to Bloomington and be married there by Fiske, the man I
- told you about. It'll be a long ride but at the end we'll find
- happiness waiting for us. Don't disappoint me—don't do what
- you did the other time. Believe in my love and trust yourself
- to me—\ :small-caps:`Jack`."
-
-In the silence that followed you could hear the fire falling together
-with a little soft rustle. All the eyes turned as if they were on pivots
-and looked at Jack Reddy—all but mine. I kept them on Mrs. Fowler and
-never moved them till she was led, bent and sobbing, out of the room.
-
-Nora Magee was the next, and I heard them say afterward made a good
-witness. The coroner asked her—and Anne when her turn came—very
-particular about the jewelry, what was gone, how many pieces and such
-questions. And then it came out that nobody—not even Mrs. Fowler—knew
-exactly what Sylvia had. She was all the time buying new ornaments or
-having her old ones reset and the only person who kept track of her
-possessions was Virginie Dupont. All any of them could be sure of was
-that the jewel box was empty, and the toilet articles, fitted bag, and
-gold mesh purse were gone.
-
-Hines was called after that. He was all slicked up in his store clothes
-and looked very different to what he had that day in the summer. Though
-anyone could see he was scared blue, the perspiration on his forehead
-and his big, knotty hands twiddling at his tie and his watch chain; he
-told his story very clear and straightforward. I think everyone was
-impressed by it and by Mrs. Hines, who followed him. She was a miserable
-looking little rat of a woman, with inflamed eyes and a long drooping
-nose, but she corroborated all he said, and—anyway, to me—it sounded
-true.
-
-Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, followed, and when she walked over
-to sit in the chair, keyed up as I was, I came near laughing. She was a
-large, fat woman with a good-humored red face and little twinkling eyes,
-and she sure was a sight, bulging out of a black cloth suit that was the
-fashion when Columbus landed. On her head was a fancy straw hat with one
-mangy feather sticking straight up at the back, and the last touch was
-her face, one side still swollen out from her toothache, and looking for
-all the world as if she had a quid in her cheek.
-
-Though she spoke in a queer, foreign dialect, she gave her testimony
-very well and she told something that no one—I don't think even the
-police—had heard before.
-
-While Hines was locking up she went to her room but couldn't sleep
-because of the pain of her toothache.
-
-"Ach," she said, spreading her hand out near her cheek, "it was out so
-far—swole out, and, oh, my God—\ *pain*!"
-
-"Never mind your toothache," said the Coroner—"keep to the subject."
-
-"How do I hear noises if my toothache doesn't make me to wake?" she
-asked, giving him a sort of indignant look.
-
-Somebody laughed, a kind of choked giggle, and I heard one of those
-fresh write-up chaps behind me whisper:
-
-"This is the comic relief."
-
-"Oh, you heard noises—what kind of noises?"
-
-"The scream," she said.
-
-"You heard a scream?"
-
-"Yes—one scream—far away, up toward Cresset's Crossing. I go crazy
-with the pain and after Mr. Hines is come upstairs I go down to the
-kitchen to make——" she stopped, looking up in the air—"what you call
-him?"—she put her hand flat on the side of her face—"for here, to stop
-the pain."
-
-"Do you mean a poultice?"
-
-She grinned all over and nodded.
-
-"Yes, that's him. I make hot water on the gas, and then, way off, I hear
-a scream."
-
-"What time was that?"
-
-"The kitchen clock says ten minutes past ten."
-
-"What did you do?"
-
-She looked surprised.
-
-"I make the—you know the name—for my ache."
-
-"Didn't you go out and investigate—even go to the door?"
-
-She shook her head and gave a sort of good-humored laugh as if she was
-explaining things to a child.
-
-"Go out. For why? If I go out for screams I go out when the dagoes
-fight, and when the automobiles be pass—up and down all night, often
-drunken and making noises;" she shrugged her shoulders sort of careless;
-"I no be bothered with screams."
-
-"Did you go to bed?"
-
-"I do. I make the medicine for my swole up face and go upstairs."
-
-"Did you hear any more screams?"
-
-"No—there are no more. If there are I would have hear them, for I can't
-sleep ever all night. All I hear is automobiles—many automobiles
-passing up and down and maybe—two, three, four times—the horns
-sounding."
-
-The Coroner asked her a few more questions, principally about Hines'
-movements, and her answers, if you could get over the lingo, were all
-clear and in line with what Hines had said.
-
-The railway men followed her, Sands and Clark and Jim Donahue. Jim was
-as nervous as a cat, holding his hat in his hands and twisting it round
-like a plate he was drying. He told about the woman he put on the
-seven-thirty train on Sunday night.
-
-"Where did you first see this woman?" he was asked.
-
-"On the platform, just before the train came in. She came down along it,
-out of the dark."
-
-"Can you swear it was Miss Hesketh?"
-
-Jim didn't think he could swear because he couldn't see her face plain,
-it being covered with a figured black veil. But he never thought of it
-being anyone else.
-
-"Why did you think it was she?"
-
-"Because it looked like her. It was her coat and her gold purse and I'd
-know her hair anywhere. And when I spoke to her and said: 'Good evening,
-Miss Hesketh, going to leave us?' it was her voice that answered: 'Yes,
-Jim, I'm going away for a few days.'"
-
-"Did you have any more conversation with her?"
-
-"No, because the train came along then. She got in and I handed her her
-bag and said 'Good night.'"
-
-When he was asked to describe the bag, he said he hadn't noticed it
-except that it was a medium sized bag, he thought, dark colored.
-
-Then he was shown the clothes—that was heart-rending. The Coroner held
-them up, the long fur coat, the little plush hat, and the one glove. He
-thought they were the same but it was hard to tell, the platform being
-so dark—anyway, it was them sort of clothes the lady had on, and though
-he couldn't be sure of the glove he had noticed that her gloves were
-light colored.
-
-Sands, the Pullman conductor, and Clark, from the Junction, testified
-that they'd seen the same woman on the train and at the Junction. Sands
-particularly noticed the gold mesh purse because she took her ticket out
-of it. He addressed her as Miss Hesketh and she had answered him, but
-only to say "Good evening."
-
-Then came the Firehill servants. The two old Gilseys were dreadfully
-upset. Mrs. Gilsey cried and poor old David kept hesitating and looking
-at Mr. Reddy, but the stamp of truth was on every word they said. Casey
-followed them, telling what I've already written.
-
-When Mr. Reddy was called a sort of stir went over the people. Everybody
-was curious to hear his story, as we'd only got bits of it, most of them
-wild rumors. And there wasn't a soul in Longwood that didn't grieve for
-him, plunged down at the moment when he thought he was most happy into
-such an awful tragedy. As he sat down in the chair opposite the Coroner,
-the room was as still as a tomb, even the reporters behind me not making
-so much as the scratch of a pen.
-
-He looked gray and pinched, his eyes burnt out like a person's who
-hasn't slept for nights. You could see he was nervous, for he kept
-crossing and uncrossing his knees, and he didn't give his evidence
-nearly so clear and continued as the newspapers had it. He'd stop every
-now and then as if he didn't remember or as if he was thinking of the
-best way to express himself.
-
-He began by telling how he and Sylvia had arranged to go in his car to
-Bloomington, and there be married by his friend Fiske, an Episcopal
-clergyman. The Coroner asked him if Fiske expected them and he said no,
-he hadn't had time to let him know as the elopement was decided on
-hurriedly.
-
-"Why was the decision hurried?" the Coroner asked and he answered low,
-as if he was reluctant to say it.
-
-"Because Miss Hesketh had a violent quarrel with her stepfather on
-Saturday morning. It was not till after that that she made up her mind
-she would go with me."
-
-"Did you know at the time what that quarrel was about?"
-
-His face got a dull red and he said low.
-
-"Yes, she told me of it in a letter she wrote me immediately afterward."
-
-Then he told how on Saturday night he had received a special delivery
-letter from her, telling of the quarrel and agreeing to the elopement.
-That letter he had destroyed. He answered it the next morning, she
-having directed him to bring it in himself and deliver it to Virginie,
-who would meet him opposite Corwin's drugstore. This he did, the letter
-being the one already in evidence.
-
-The Coroner asked him to explain the sentence which said "Don't
-disappoint me—don't do what you did the other time." He looked
-straight in front of him and answered:
-
-"We had made a plan to elope once before and she had backed out."
-
-"Do you know why?"
-
-"It was too—too unusual—too unconventional. When it came to the
-scandal of an elopement she hung back."
-
-"Is it your opinion that the quarrel with Dr. Fowler made her agree the
-second time?"
-
-"I know nothing about that."
-
-Then he told of leaving Firehill, coming into Longwood, and going down
-Maple Lane.
-
-"I reached there a few minutes before seven and ran down to the pine
-tree where I was to meet her. I drew up to one side of the road and
-waited. During the time I waited—half an hour—I neither saw nor heard
-anybody. At half-past seven I decided she had changed her mind again and
-left."
-
-"You didn't go to the house?"
-
-"No—I was not welcome at the house. She had told me not to go there."
-
-"You were in the habit of seeing her somewhere else, though?"
-
-His face got red again and you could see he had to make an effort not to
-get angry.
-
-"After I had heard from Miss Hesketh and seen from Dr. Fowler's manner
-that I was not wanted at Mapleshade, I saw her at intervals. Once or
-twice we went for walks in the woods, and a few times, perhaps three or
-four, I met her on the turnpike and took her for a drive in my car."
-
-He then went on to tell how he drove back to Firehill, reaching there a
-little after nine. The place was empty and he went up to his room. He
-didn't know how long he'd been there when the telephone rang. It was the
-mysterious message from her.
-
-He repeated it slowly, evidently trying to give it word for word. You
-could have heard a pin drop when he ended.
-
-"Did you attempt to question her on the phone?"
-
-"No, it all went too quick and I was too astonished."
-
-"Did you get the impression that she was in any grave danger?"
-
-"No, I never thought of that. She was very rash and impulsive and I
-thought she'd done some foolhardy thing and had turned to me as the one
-person on whom she could rely."
-
-"What do you mean by foolhardy?"
-
-He gave a shrug and threw out his hands.
-
-"The sort of thing a child might do—some silly, thoughtless action. She
-was full of spirit and daring; you never could be sure of what she
-mightn't try. I didn't think of any definite thing. I ran to the garage
-and got out my car and went northward up the Firehill Road. It was
-terrible traveling, and I should say it took me nearly three-quarters of
-an hour to make the distance. When I was nearing the pike I sounded my
-horn to let her know I was coming.
-
-"Just before I got there the clouds had broken and the moon come out.
-The whole landscape was flooded with light, and I made no doubt I'd see
-her as soon as I turned into the pike. But she wasn't there. I slowed up
-and waited, looking up and down, for I'd no idea which way she was
-coming, but there wasn't a sign of her. As far as I could see, the road
-was lifeless and deserted. Then I ran up and down—a mile or two either
-way—but there was no one to be seen."
-
-"Did you hear any sounds in the underbrush—footsteps, breaking of
-twigs?"
-
-"I heard nothing. The place was as still as the grave. I made longer
-runs up and down, looking along both sides and now and then waiting and
-sounding the auto horn."
-
-"Did you stop at any of the farms or cottages and make inquiries?"
-
-"No. I didn't do that because I had no thought of her being in any real
-danger and because she'd cautioned me against letting anyone know. After
-I'd searched the main road thoroughly for several miles and gone up
-several branch roads I began to think she'd played a joke on me."
-
-"Do you mean fooled you?"
-
-"Yes—the whole thing began to look that way. Her not being at the
-rendezvous in Maple Lane and then phoning me to meet her at a place,
-which, when I came to think of it, it was nearly impossible for her to
-reach in that space of time. It seemed the only reasonable
-explanation—and it was the sort of thing she might do. When I got the
-idea in my head it grew and," he looked down on the floor, his voice
-dropping low as if it was hard for him to speak, "I got blazing mad."
-
-For a moment it seemed like he couldn't go on. In that moment I thought
-of how he must be feeling, remembering his rage against her while all
-the time she was lying cold and dead by the road.
-
-"I was too angry to go home," he went on, "and not thinking much what I
-did, I let the car out and went up and down—I don't know how far—I
-don't remember—miles and miles."
-
-"According to Mr. Casey it was half-past four when you came back to the
-garage."
-
-"I daresay; I didn't notice the time."
-
-"You were from 9:30 to 4:30 on the road?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"You spent those seven hours going up and down the turnpike and the
-intersecting roads?"
-
-"Yes, but at first I waited—for half hours at a time in different
-places."
-
-He looked straight at the Coroner as he said that, a deep steady look,
-more quiet and intent than he'd done since he started. I think it would
-have seemed to most people as if he was telling the absolute truth and
-wanted to impress it. But when a girl feels about a man as I did about
-him, she can see below the surface, and there was something about the
-expression of his face, about the tone of his voice, that made me think
-for the first time he was holding something back.
-
-Then he went on and told about going home and falling asleep on the
-sofa, and about the doctor and Mills coming.
-
-"When I saw the Doctor my first thought was that I must keep quiet till
-I found out what had happened. When he asked me where his daughter was I
-was startled as I realized she wasn't at home. But, even then, I hadn't
-any idea of serious trouble and I was determined to hold my tongue till
-I knew more than I did.
-
-"The ring of the telephone gave me a shock. I had been expecting to get
-a call from her and instinctively I gave a jump for it. By that time I
-was sure she'd got into some silly scrape and I wasn't going to have her
-stepfather finding out and starting another quarrel. They," he nodded
-his head at the Doctor and Mills, "caught on at once and made a rush for
-me.
-
-"After that——" he lifted his hands and let them drop on his knees—"it
-was just as they've said. I was paralyzed. I don't know what I said. I
-only felt she'd been in danger and called on me and I'd failed her. I
-think for a few moments I was crazy."
-
-His voice got so husky he could hardly speak and he bent his head down,
-looking at his hands. I guess every face in the room was turned to him
-but mine. I couldn't look at him but sat like a dummy, picking at my
-gloves, and inside, in my heart, I felt like I was crying. In the
-silence I heard one of the reporters whisper:
-
-"Gee—poor chap! that's tough!"
-
-He was asked some more questions, principally about what Sylvia had told
-him of the quarrels with her stepfather. You could see he was careful in
-his answers. According to what he said she'd only alluded to them in a
-general way as making the life at Mapleshade very uncomfortable.
-
-He was just getting up when I saw one of the jurors pass a slip of paper
-across the table to the Coroner. He looked at it, then, as Mr. Reddy was
-moving away, asked him to wait a minute; there was another
-question—had he stopped anywhere during Sunday night to get gasoline
-for his car?
-
-Mr. Reddy turned back and said very simply:
-
-"No, I had an extra drum in the car."
-
-"You used that?"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"What did you do with the drum?"
-
-"Threw it into the bushes somewhere along the road."
-
-"Do you know the place?"
-
-He gave a sort of smile and shook his head.
-
-"No, I don't remember. I don't know where I filled the tank. When it was
-done I pitched the drum back into the trees—somewhere along the
-turnpike."
-
-Several more of us came after that, I among them. But the real sensation
-of the day was the Doctor's evidence, which I'll keep for the next
-chapter.
-
-
-
-
-VII
-===
-
-
-The Doctor was as calm and matter-of-fact as if he were giving a lecture
-to a class of students. He looked much better than he did that morning
-in the Exchange; rested and with a good color. As he settled himself in
-the chair, I heard one of the reporters whisper:
-
-"I wouldn't call that the mug of a murderer."
-
-I looked over my shoulder right at the one who had spoken, a young chap
-with a round, rosy, innocent sort of face like a kid's and yellow hair
-standing up over his head as thick as sheep's wool. I'd seen him several
-times in the Exchange and knew his name was Babbitts and that the other
-fellows called him "Soapy." When he caught my eye he winked, and you
-couldn't be mad because it was like a big pink baby winking at you.
-
-The Doctor told his story more straight and continuous than any of the
-others. It went along so clear from point to point, that the coroner
-didn't have to ask so many questions, and when he did the doctor was
-always ready with his answer. It sounded to me as if he'd thought out
-every detail, worked it up just right to get the best effect. He began
-with Saturday morning, when he'd got the call to go to the Dalzells'.
-
-"An operation was performed early that afternoon and I stayed during the
-night and all the next day, going out on Sunday morning at ten for an
-hour's ride in my motor. I had decided to remain Sunday night
-too—though the patient was out of danger—when at about eight I
-received a telephone message from my wife saying Miss Hesketh had run
-away with Jack Reddy. Hearing from her that their route would be by the
-turnpike to Bloomington I made up my mind that my best course was to
-strike the turnpike and intercept them."
-
-"You disapproved of their marriage?"
-
-"Decidedly. Miss Hesketh was too young to know her own mind. Mr. Reddy
-was not the husband I would have chosen for her—not to mention the
-distress it would have caused Mrs. Fowler to have her daughter marry in
-that manner. My desire to keep the escapade secret made me tell Mrs.
-Dalzell a falsehood—that I was called away on an important case.
-
-"The Dalzells' chauffeur told me that the road from their place to the
-turnpike was impassable for motors. The best route for me would be to go
-to the Junction, where I could strike the Riven Rock Road, which came
-out on the turnpike about a mile from Cresset's Crossing. I had plenty
-of time, as the distance young Reddy would have to travel before he
-reached that point was nearly a hundred and twenty miles.
-
-"I arrived at the Junction as the train for Philadelphia was drawing
-out. I spoke to Clark, the station agent, about the road, and, after
-getting the directions, walked round the depot to the back platform,
-where my car stood. As I passed the door of the waiting-room it suddenly
-opened and a woman came out."
-
-He stopped—just for a moment—as if to let the people get the effect of
-his words. A rustle went over the room, but he looked as if he didn't
-notice it and went on as calm and natural as if he was telling us a
-fiction story.
-
-"I probably wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't given a suppressed
-cry and cowered back in the doorway. That made me look at her and, to my
-amazement, I saw it was Miss Hesketh's maid, Virginie Dupont."
-
-Nobody expected it. If he'd wanted to spring a sensation he'd done it.
-We were all leaning forward with our mouths open.
-
-"The moment I saw her I remembered that my wife had told me the woman
-had gone with Miss Hesketh. One glance into the waiting-room told me
-she was alone and I turned on her and told her I knew of the elopement
-and asked her what she was doing there. She was evidently terrified by
-my unexpected appearance, but seeing she was caught, she confessed that
-she knew all about it, in fact, that she had been instructed by Miss
-Hesketh to go to Philadelphia by the branch line, take a room in the
-Bellevue-Stratford, and wait there till her mistress appeared.
-
-"I was enraged and let her see it, pushing her round to the car and
-ordering her into the back seat. I vaguely noticed that she carried a
-bag and wrap over her arm. She tried to excuse herself but I shut her up
-and took my seat at the wheel. There was no one on the platform as we
-went out.
-
-"It took me over an hour to negotiate the distance between the Junction
-and the turnpike. The road was in a fearful condition. We ran into chuck
-holes and through water nearly to the hubs. Once the right front wheel
-dropping into a washout, the lamp struck a stump and was so shattered
-it had to be put out. My attention was concentrated on the path,
-especially after we left the open country and entered a thick wood,
-where, with one lamp out of commission, I had to almost feel my way.
-
-"I said not a word to the woman nor she to me. It was not till I was
-once again in the open that I turned to speak to her and saw she was
-gone."
-
-"Gone!" said one of the jury—a raw-boned, bearded old man like a
-farmer—so interested, he spoke right out.
-
-"Yes, gone. I guessed in a moment what she had done. Either when I had
-stopped to put out the lamp or in one of the pauses while I was feeling
-my way through the wood she had slipped out and run. It would have been
-easy for her to hide in the dark of the trees. I glanced into the
-tonneau and saw that the things she had carried, the bag and the wrap,
-were also missing. She had been frightened and made her escape.
-Unfortunately, in the shock and horror of the next day the whole matter
-slipped my mind and she had time to complete her getaway, probably by
-the branch line early Sunday morning."
-
-The Coroner here explained that inquiries had since been made at the
-branch line stations for the woman but nobody had been found who had
-seen her.
-
-"I had no time to go back and look for her, and, anyway, it would have
-been useless, as she could have hidden from a sheriff's posse in the
-wood. Besides, my whole interest was focused on reaching the turnpike. I
-could see it before me, a long winding line between the dark edges of
-small trees. I turned into it and let the car out. Though the road has
-many turns I could have seen the lamps of a motor some distance ahead
-and I ran fast, looking neither to the right nor left but watching for
-approaching lights. On my ride back I met only a few vehicles, several
-farmers' wagons and the car of Dr. Pease, the Longwood practitioner.
-
-"I reached home about two and went at once to my wife's room. She was in
-a hysterical state and I stayed with her an hour or so trying to quiet
-her. When she was better I retired to my own apartment and at seven
-called up Walter Mills, a detective in New York, telling him to come to
-Longwood as soon as he could. By this time I was uneasy, not that I had
-any suspicion of a real tragedy, but the disappearance of Miss Hesketh
-alarmed me. I met Mills at the train and told him the situation and that
-I intended telephoning to Fiske at Bloomington, thinking they might have
-reached there by some other way. It was his suggestion that before any
-step was taken which might make the matter public, it would be well to
-communicate with Firehill and see if the servants knew anything. I did
-this and to my amazement learned that Reddy was there."
-
-That is all of the Doctor's testimony that I need put down as the rest
-of it you know.
-
-It left us in a sort of mixed-up surprise. No one could have told it
-better, no one could have been more sure about it or more quiet and
-natural. *But*—it seems like I ought to write that word in the biggest
-letters to give the idea of how it stood out in my mind.
-
-Of all the stories it was the strangest and it was so *awfully* pat. I
-don't know how you feel about it, reading it as I've written it here,
-but I can say for myself, listening and watching that man tell it, I
-couldn't seem to believe it.
-
-It was near to evening, the room getting dusk and the fire showing up
-large and bright when the jury brought in their verdict: "The deceased
-met her death at the hands of a person or persons unknown."
-
-I walked back up Maple Lane. The night was setting in cold and frosty.
-The clouds had drawn off, the air was clear as crystal and full of the
-sounds of motor horns. Big and little cars passed me, jouncing over the
-ruts and swinging round the bend where the pine stood. I was looking up
-at it, black like a skeleton against the glow in the West, when a step
-came up behind me and a voice said:
-
-"You're a good witness, Miss Morganthau."
-
-It was that fresh kid Babbitts and I wasn't sorry to have him join me as
-I was feeling as if I'd been sitting in a tomb. He was serious too, not
-a wink about him now, his eyes on the ground, his hands dug down in the
-pockets of his overcoat.
-
-"A strange case, isn't it?" he said.
-
-"Awful strange," I answered.
-
-"If it wasn't for your story of that man on the 'phone I think they'd
-arrest Dr. Fowler to-night."
-
-"Didn't you believe what he said?"
-
-I wasn't going to give away my thoughts any more than I'd been willing
-to give away what I heard on the wire. And it seemed that he was the
-same, for he answered slow and thoughtful:
-
-"I'm not saying what I believe or don't believe, or maybe it's better if
-I say I'm not ready yet to believe or disbelieve anything,"—then he
-looked up at the sky, red behind the trees, and spoke easy and careless:
-"They say Miss Hesketh had a good many admirers."
-
-"Do they?" was all he got out of me.
-
-That made him laugh, jolly and boyish.
-
-"Oh, you needn't keep your guard up now. Your stuff'll be in the papers
-to-morrow, and, take it from me, that fellow that sent the message is
-going to get a jar."
-
-"The man I listened to?"
-
-"Sure. He hasn't got the ghost of an idea anyone overheard him. Can't
-you imagine how he'll feel when he opens his paper and sees that a smart
-little hello girl was tapping the wire?"
-
-It's funny, but I'd never thought of it that way. Why, he'd get a shock
-like dynamite! It got hold of me so that I didn't speak for a spell,
-thinking of that man reading his paper to-morrow—over his coffee or
-maybe going down in the L—and suddenly seeing printed out in black and
-white what he thought no one in the world knew except himself and that
-poor dead girl. Babbitts went on talking, me listening with one
-ear—which comes natural to an operator.
-
-"We've been rounding up all the men that were after her—not that they
-were backward with their alibis—only too glad to be of service, thank
-you! Carisbrook was at Aiken, a lawyer named Dunham was up state trying
-a case; Robinson, a chap in a bank, was spending the week-end on Long
-Island. There was only one of them near here—man named Cokesbury. Do
-you know him?"
-
-Both my ears got busy.
-
-"Cokesbury," I said, sort of startled, "was Cokesbury at the Lodge last
-week?"
-
-"He was and I know just what he did."
-
-"What did he do?"
-
-He laughed out as gay as you please, for he saw he'd got me just where
-he wanted.
-
-"When I've tried to find out things from you you've turned me down."
-
-"Aw, go on," I said coaxing, "don't you know by experience I'm no
-talking machine to give out every word that's said to me."
-
-"I believe you," he answered, "and it'll be good for your character for
-me to set a generous example. Cokesbury was at the Lodge from last
-Saturday on the one-ten train to last Monday on the eight-twenty."
-
-"Gee!" I said, soft to myself.
-
-"You can quell those rising hopes," he replied. "He wasn't the man you
-heard."
-
-"How do you know?"
-
-"Because hearing that he was a friend of Miss Hesketh's, I spent part of
-yesterday at Azalea and found that Mr. Cokesbury can prove as good an
-alibi as any of them."
-
-"Did you see him?"
-
-"No, he wasn't there and if he had been I wouldn't have bothered with
-him. I saw someone much better—Miner, the man who owns the Azalea
-Garage, where Cokesbury puts up his car. It appears that the trip before
-last Cokesbury broke his axle and had to have his car towed down to the
-garage and left there to be mended. When he came down Saturday he
-expected it to be done and when it wasn't, got in a rage and raised the
-devil of a row. He had to go out to his place in one of Miner's cars
-which left him there and went back for him Monday morning."
-
-"Then he had no auto on Sunday."
-
-"Miss Morganthau will take the head of the class," then he said, low, as
-if to someone beside him: "She's our prize pupil but we don't say it
-before her face for fear of making her proud," then back to me as solemn
-as a priest in the pulpit, "That is the situation reduced to its lowest
-terms—he had no car."
-
-"Well that ends *him*," I said.
-
-"So it seems to me. In fact Cokesbury gets the gate. I won't hide from
-you now that I went to Azalea because I'd heard a rumor of that talk on
-the phone and thought I'd do a little private sleuthing on my own.
-Didn't know but what I was destined to be the Baby Grand Burns."
-
-"And nothing's come of it."
-
-"Nothing, except that it drops Cokesbury out with a thud that's dull and
-sickening for me, but you can bet your best hat it's just the opposite
-for him."
-
-"Well, I guess yes," I said and walked along wondering to myself whose
-voice that *could* have been.
-
-
-
-
-VIII
-====
-
-
-After the inquest there was no more question about who was suspected. It
-was as if every finger in Longwood was raised and pointed to Mapleshade.
-The cautious people didn't say it plain—especially the shop-keepers who
-were afraid of losing custom—but those who had nothing to gain by
-keeping still came out with it flatfooted.
-
-It wasn't only that nobody liked the Doctor, or believed his story, it
-was because the people were wild at what had been done. They wanted to
-find the murderer and put him behind bars and seeing that things pointed
-more clearly to Dr. Fowler than to anybody else they pitched on him. All
-the gossip about the quarreling came out blacker than ever. The papers
-were full of it and the other worse stories, about Sylvia's allowance
-and the will of her father. There wasn't a bit of dirty linen in the
-Fowler household that wasn't washed and hung out on the line for the
-public to gape at, and some of it was dirtier when they'd got through
-washing than it had been before.
-
-There were those who didn't scruple to say that the whole tragedy was a
-frame-up between Virginie Dupont and the Doctor. If you talked sensible
-to them and asked them how Virginie could have got word to him that
-Sylvia was running away, they'd just push that to one side, saying it
-could be explained some way, everything wasn't known yet—but one thing
-you *could* be sure of—the one person who knew the whereabouts of that
-French woman was Dr. Daniel Fowler.
-
-I believe there were some days after the inquest when, if there'd been
-an anarchist or agitator to stand on the postoffice steps and yell that
-Dr. Fowler ought to be jailed, a crowd would have gathered, gone down to
-Mapleshade, and demanded him.
-
-Fortunately there was no one of that kind around, and he stayed quiet in
-his home, not even coming to the village. Two days after the inquest I
-saw Anne and she said he and Mrs. Fowler hadn't been out of the
-house—that they were in a state of siege what with reporters and the
-police and morbid cranks who hung round the grounds looking up at the
-windows.
-
-That same evening I stayed over time in the Exchange, lending a hand.
-The work was something awful, and Katie Reilly, the new girl, was most
-snowed under and on the way to lose her head. I wanted to see her
-through and I wanted the credit of the office kept up, but it's also
-true that I wanted to be on the job myself and hear all that was
-passing. Believe me, it was hard to quiet down in my bedroom at night
-after eight hours at the switchboard right in the thick of the
-excitement. Besides, I'd got to know the reporters pretty well and it
-was fun making them think I could give them leads and then guying them.
-
-I liked Babbitts the best, but there were three others that weren't bad
-as men go. One was Jones, a tall thin chap like an actor, with long
-black hair hanging down to his collar, and Freddy Jasper, who was
-English and talked with an awful swell dialect, and a sallow-skinned,
-consumpted-looking guy called Yerrington who belonged on a paper as
-yellow as his face and always went round with a cigarette hanging from
-his lip like it was stuck on with glue.
-
-It was nearly eight and work was slacking off when I started to go home.
-What with the jump I'd been on and listening to the gabbing round the
-door I'd forgotten my supper. It wasn't till I saw the Gilt Edge window
-with a nice pile of apples stacked up round a pumpkin, that I remembered
-I was hungry and walked over. There were only three people in the place,
-Florrie Stein, the waitress, and a woman with a kid in the corner.
-
-I was just finishing my corn beef hash with a cup of coffee at my elbow
-and stewed prunes on the line of promotion when Soapy and Jones and
-Jasper came in and asked me if they could sit at my table. "Please
-yourself," said I, "and you'll please me," for politeness is one of the
-things I was bred up to, and they sat down, calling out their orders to
-Florrie Stein.
-
-They naturally began talking about "the case"—it was all anybody talked
-about just then—and for all I knew so much about it, I generally picked
-up some new bits from them. So I went to the extravagance of three cents
-worth of jelly roll, not because I wanted it, but because I could crumb
-it up and eat it slow and not give away I was sitting on to listen.
-
-"We can talk before you, Miss Morganthau," said Babbitts, "because while
-we all agree you're the belle of Longwood, we've found out by sad
-experience you're a belle without a tongue."
-
-Florrie Stein, bringing the food then, they were silent till she'd set
-it out, and when she'd drawn off to the cashier's desk, they started in
-again. They were, so to speak, looking over Hines as a suspect.
-
-"No, Hines won't fit," said Babbitts. "The presence of the jewelry on
-the body eliminates him. They've dug up his record and though the place
-he ran wasn't to be recommended for Sunday school picnics, the man
-himself seems to have been fairly decent."
-
-"It's odd about the bag—the fitted bag and the jewelry gone from the
-room," said Jasper.
-
-"The police have an idea that Virginie Dupont could tell something of
-them."
-
-"Theft?"
-
-"Theft on the side."
-
-"Oh, pshaw!" said Jones, "what's the good of complicating things? If
-theft was committed it was a frame-up, part of a plot."
-
-"You believe in this idea they've got in the village that Fowler and the
-French woman worked together?"
-
-"I do—to my mind the murderer's marked as plain as Cain after he was
-branded on the brow or wherever it was."
-
-Then Jasper spoke up. He's a nice quiet chap, not as fresh as the
-others. "Let's hear what you base that assertion on."
-
-Jones forgot his supper and twisted round sideways in his chair, looking
-thoughtful up at the cornice:
-
-"As I understand it, in a murder two things are necessary—a crime and a
-corpse; and in a murderer one, a motive. Now we have all three—the
-motive especially strong. If Miss Hesketh married, her stepfather lost
-his home and the money he had been living on, so he tried to stop her
-from marrying. Saturday night he heard that his efforts had failed. I
-fancy that on Sunday morning when he went for that auto drive he stopped
-at some village—not as yet located—and communicated with Virginie
-Dupont, who was in his pay. She, too, went out that morning, you may
-remember."
-
-"There's a good deal of surmise about this," said Babbitts.
-
-Jones gave him a scornful look.
-
-"If the links in the chain were perfect Dr. Fowler'd be eating his
-dinner to-night in Bloomington Jail."
-
-"How do you account for Miss Hesketh—presupposing it was she—being on
-the train instead of the turnpike?" said Jasper.
-
-"A change of plans," Jones answered calmly, "also not yet satisfactorily
-cleared up. To continue: Sometime on Sunday the Doctor conceived the
-plan of ridding himself of all his cares—his troublesome stepdaughter,
-the disturbance of his home and his financial distress. *How*," he
-turned and looked solemnly at us, fate played so well into his hands I
-can't yet explain—the main point is that it did. He met Miss Hesketh at
-the Junction, either by threats, persuasion or coercion made her enter
-his auto and carried her up the road to the turnpike.
-
-"And now," said Babbitts, leaning his arms on the table, "we come to her
-appearance in the Wayside Arbor."
-
-"We do," Jones replied, nodding his head. "You may remember that both
-Hines and his servant said there were twigs and leaves on the edge of
-her skirt and that her boots were muddy. Traces of this were still
-visible in her clothes when they found her body. She *did* get out of
-the automobile, but not so far from the turnpike as he said. Either he
-and she had some fierce quarrel and she ran from him in rage or terror,
-or he may have told the truth and she slipped out at the turn from the
-Riven Rock Road without his knowledge. Anyway she got away from him and
-ran for the only light she saw. There she telephoned Reddy, withholding
-the main facts from him, perhaps merely to save time, but cautioning him
-against letting anyone know of the message. That, as I see it, was a
-natural feminine desire to guard against gossip. When she thought Reddy
-was due she started out to meet him—and instead met the Doctor."
-
-"Who'd been hanging about for a half-hour on the roadside?"
-
-"Precisely. He killed her, concealed the body, and went home."
-
-"Just a minute," said Yerrington—"what did he kill her with? The weapon
-used is a disputed point. Many think it was a farm implement. Did he go
-across lots to Cresset's and arm himself with a convenient spade or rake
-for the fatherly purpose of slaying his stepdaughter?"
-
-But you couldn't phase Jones, he said as calm as a May morning:
-
-"He *could* have done that. But I don't think he did. He didn't need it.
-The tool box of the car was nearer to hand. A large-sized auto wrench is
-a pretty formidable weapon, and a tire wrench—did you ever see one? One
-well-aimed blow of that would crush in the head of a negro."
-
-"Gentlemen, the evidence is all in," said Babbitts.
-
-"Your case might hold water," said Jasper, "if it wasn't as full of
-holes as a sieve. Why, you can make out as good a one for almost
-anybody."
-
-"Who, for example?" Jones asked.
-
-"Well—take Reddy."
-
-"Jack Reddy?" I said that, sitting up suddenly and staring at them with
-a piece of jelly roll halfway to my mouth.
-
-"He's as good as another," said Jasper, and then he added sort of
-dreamy: "I believe I could work up quite a convincing case against
-Reddy, allowing for a hole here and there. But our illustrious friend
-here admits holes at this stage."
-
-"Fire away," said Babbitts. "Give it to us, holes and all."
-
-"Well—off the bat here it is. You may remember that no one saw him
-coming back from Maple Lane that night. There is no one, therefore, to
-deny that he may have had Miss Hesketh in the car with him. Instead of
-going back to Firehill, as he says he did, he followed his original plan
-of taking her by the turnpike."
-
-"Right at the start I challenge that," said Babbitts. "She appeared at
-the Wayside Arbor at nine-thirty. The date in Maple Lane was for seven.
-Supposing she kept it and was on time—which is a stretch of the
-imagination—he would have had to travel one hundred and eighteen miles
-in two hours and a half."
-
-"He could have done it."
-
-"On a black, dark night? nearly forty-eight miles an hour?"
-
-"You forget he knew the road and was driving a high-powered racing car.
-It's improbable but not impossible."
-
-"I count that as a hole, but go on."
-
-"Now in this hypothetical case we'll suppose that as that car flew over
-the miles the man and the woman in it had high words?"
-
-"Hold on," said Jones, holding out his fork—"that's too big a hole.
-They were lovers eloping, not an old married couple."
-
-"I'll explain that later. The high words inflamed and enraged the man to
-the point of murder and he conceived a horrible plan. As they neared
-the Wayside Arbor he told the woman something was wrong with the car and
-sent her to the place ostensibly to telephone, really to establish her
-presence there at a time when, had she been with him, she could hardly
-have got that far."
-
-I jumped in there. I knew it was only fooling, but even so I didn't like
-hearing Mr. Reddy talked about that way.
-
-"Who did he send her to telephone to, Mr. Jasper—himself?"
-
-Babbitts laughed and jerked his head toward me.
-
-"Listen to our little belle sounding the curfew on Jasper."
-
-But Mr. Jasper was ready.
-
-"He could have done that, knowing his house was empty. Hines, you
-remember, said she wasn't five minutes in the booth. We've only Reddy's
-word for that message. We don't even know if she got a connection. I
-telephoned out to the Corona operator Saturday and she answered that
-there was no record of the message and she herself remembered nothing
-about it."
-
-"But Sylvia," I said—"she told Hines she was expecting someone to come
-for her."
-
-"Sylvia was eloping. Mightn't she have told Hines—who was curious and
-intrusive—what wasn't true?"
-
-A sort of hush fell on us all. Babbitts's face and Jones's, from being
-just amused, were intent and interested.
-
-"Go ahead, Jasper," said Babbitts, "if this isn't buying the baby a
-frock it's good yarning."
-
-Jasper went on.
-
-"Her story of the broken automobile *she* believed to be true. But she
-didn't want Hines to know who she was or what she was up to, so she
-invented the person coming to take her home. Why she sat so long there
-talking is—I'll admit—a hole, but I said in the beginning there would
-be some. The end is just like the end of Jones's case. She went back to
-Reddy and he killed her with, as our friend has suggested, one of the
-auto tools. Very soon after it would have been as that Bohemian—what's
-her name?—heard the scream at ten-ten."
-
-"That's all very well," said Jones, "but before we go further I'd like
-you to furnish us with a motive."
-
-"Nothing easier—jealousy."
-
-"Jealousy!" I said, sudden and sharp.
-
-"Jealousy in its most violent form. The lady in this case was a peculiar
-type—a natural born siren. She had made the man jealous, furiously
-jealous. *That* was the reason of the high words in the motor."
-
-"Who was he jealous of?" It was I again who asked that.
-
-Jasper turned round and looked at me with a smile.
-
-"Why, Miss Morganthau," he said, "*you* gave us the clue to that. He was
-jealous of the man who made the date you heard on the phone. Don't you
-see," he said, turning to the others, "*that* man kept his date and
-Reddy came and found him there."
-
-I can't tell what it was that fell on us and made us sit so still for a
-minute. All of us knew it was just a joke, but—for me, anyway—it was
-as if a cloud had settled on the room. Babbitts sat smoking a cigarette
-and staring at the rings he was making with his eyes screwed up.
-Presently, when Jones spoke, his voice had a sound like his pride was
-taken down.
-
-"A great deal better than I expected, but it's simply riddled with
-holes."
-
-Before Jasper could answer the door opened and Yerrington came in. The
-cigarette was hanging off his lip and as he said "Good evening" to me it
-wobbled but clung on. Then he pulled out a chair, sat down and, looking
-at the other three with a gleam in his eye, said:
-
-"A little while ago Dr. Fowler's chauffeur in dusting out his car found
-the gold mesh purse squeezed down between the back and the cushion."
-
-
-
-
-IX
-==
-
-
-The finding of the gold purse established the fact that part, anyway, of
-the Doctor's story was true—the woman who had gone down to the junction
-and then disappeared *had* disappeared in his auto. Was she Sylvia
-Hesketh?
-
-The general verdict was yes—Sylvia Hesketh, for some unknown reason,
-running away from her lover and her home. All the world knew now that
-she was wild and unstable, a girl that might take any whim into her head
-and act on the spur of the moment. There were theories to burn why she
-should have thrown down Reddy and slipped away alone, but those that
-knew her said she was a law unto herself and let it go at that.
-
-The morning after that supper in the Gilt Edge, Anne came in to do the
-marketing and stopped at the Exchange. The room was empty but even so I
-had to whisper:
-
-"Are they going to arrest the Doctor?"
-
-"He's waiting," she whispered back.
-
-"What do you make of it?"
-
-"What I always have. I think the woman was Virginie. I think she took
-Sylvia's things and lit out on her own account."
-
-"What does Mrs. Fowler say?"
-
-"She's going to offer a reward for the murderer. That's her way of
-answering. This last seems to have roused her. She knows now it's going
-to be a fight for her husband's liberty, perhaps his life. She's
-employing Mills and some other detectives and she keeps in close touch
-with them."
-
-The next day the reward was made public. It was in all the papers and
-nailed up at the depot and in the post office, the words printed in
-black, staring letters:
-
- TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD!
-
- TO ANYONE DISCOVERING THE MURDERER OF THE LATE SYLVIA HESKETH,
- THIS SUM WILL BE PAID BY HER MOTHER, CONSTANCE GREY FOWLER,
- MAPLESHADE, NEW JERSEY.
-
-Late that afternoon Babbitts came into the office. He was staying at the
-Longwood Inn, but it was the first time that day I'd seen him and after
-our supper together I'd begun to feel real chummy with him. Contrary to
-his usual custom he was short and preoccupied, giving me a number
-without more words and then banging shut the door of the booth. It got
-me a little riled and seeing he wasn't wasting any manners I didn't see
-why I should, so I lifted the cam and quietly listened in. Not that I
-expected to hear anything very private. The number he'd given was his
-paper.
-
-The chap at the other end had a way of grunting, "I got you," no matter
-what was said. I'd heard *him* before and he had a most unnatural sort
-of patience about him, as if his spirit was broken forever taking
-messages off a wire.
-
-"Say," says Babbitts, "I got a new lead—up country near Hines' place. I
-been there all morning. There's a farm up that way. Cresset's"—he
-spelled the name and the other one did his usual stunt—"Good people,
-years on the soil, self-respecting, stand high. Their house is about
-half a mile across woods and fields from the Wayside Arbor, lonely with
-a bad bit of road leading up from the pike. Do you hear?"
-
-"Get on," said the voice.
-
-"I stopped in there and had a séance with Mrs. Cresset, nice woman, fat
-with a white apron. I said I was a tourist thirsting for a drink of
-milk."
-
-The other one seemed to rouse up. "Did you thirst that bad?"
-
-"For information—and I got it. She's been scared of the notoriety and
-has held back something which seems important. Her husband's been prying
-her up to the point of going to the District Attorney and she's agreed,
-but tried it on me first. Do you hear?"
-
-"I got you."
-
-"The night of the murder, about nine, a man knocked at her door saying
-he'd lost his way and wanting to know where he was, and how to get to
-the turnpike. She spoke to him from an upper window and couldn't see his
-face, the night being dark. All she could make out was that he was large
-and wore an overcoat. He told her his auto was in the road back of him
-and he'd got mixed up in the country lanes. The thing's funny, as there
-are very few roads that side of the pike."
-
-"Hold on—what's that about pike?"
-
-Babbitts repeated it and went on:
-
-"Doesn't appear to have been in the least drunk—perfectly sober and
-spoke like a gentleman. She gave him the direction and here's what
-caught me—describes his voice as very deep, rich and pleasant, almost
-the same words the Longwood telephone girl used to describe the voice
-she overheard speaking to Miss Hesketh Saturday noon."
-
-"Any more?"
-
-"Impossible to identify man but says she'd know the voice again. He
-thanked her very politely—she couldn't lay enough stress on how good
-his manners were—and she heard him walk away, splashing through the
-mud."
-
-There were a few ending-up sentences that gave me time to pull out a
-novel and settle down over it. I seemed so buried in it that when
-Babbitts put down his money I never raised my eyes, just swept the coin
-into the drawer and turned a page. He didn't move, leaning against the
-switchboard and not saying a word. With him standing there so close I
-got nervous and had to look up, and as soon as I did it he made a motion
-with his hand for me to lift my headpiece.
-
-"If two heads are better than one," he said, "two ears must be; and the
-words I am about to utter should be fully heard to be appreciated."
-
-Of course I thought he was going to tell me what he'd found out at
-Cresset's. It made me feel proud, being confided in by a newspaper man,
-and I pushed up my headpiece, all smiling and ready to be smart and
-helpful. He didn't smile back but looked and spoke as solemn as an
-undertaker.
-
-"Miss Morganthau, yours is a very sedentary occupation."
-
-Believe me I got a jolt.
-
-"If you're asking me to violate the rules for that," I answered, "you're
-taking more upon yourself than I'll overlook from a child reporter with
-a head of hair like the Fair Circassian in Barnum & Bailey's."
-
-"I speak only as one concerned for your health. A walk after business
-hours should be the invariable practice of those whose work forbids
-exercise."
-
-"Thank you for your interest," says I, very haughty, "but it's well to
-look at home before we search abroad. The man who spends all his time
-riding in autos at the expense of the Press would be better employed
-exercising his own limbs than directing those of others. So start right
-along and walk quick."
-
-He didn't budge, but says slow and thoughtful:
-
-"Your remarks, Miss Morganthau, are always to the point. I'm going to
-take a walk this evening—say about seven-thirty."
-
-"I hope you'll enjoy it," says I. "As for me, I'm going straight home to
-rest. I need it, what with my work and the ginks that stand round here
-taking up my time and running the risk of getting me fired"—the door
-handle clicked. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man coming in.
-"Which way?" I says in a whisper.
-
-"Down Maple Lane," he whispers back, and I was in front of my board with
-my headpiece in place when the man came in.
-
-We walked up and down Maple Lane for an hour, and it may amuse you to
-know that what that simple guy wanted was to tell me to listen to every
-voice on my wires.
-
-I looked at him calm and pitiful. *Me*, that had been listening till, if
-your ears grow with exercise, mine ought to have been long enough to tie
-in a true lover's knot on top of my head!
-
-There's a wonderful innocence about men in some ways. It makes you feel
-sorry for them, like they were helpless children.
-
-Then he capped the climax by telling me about Mrs. Cresset that
-morning—hadn't thought I'd heard a word. And as he told it, believing
-so honest that I didn't know, I began to feel kind of cheap as if I'd
-lied to someone who couldn't have thought I'd do such a thing. I didn't
-tell him the truth—I was too ashamed—but I made a vow no matter how
-sly I was to the others I'd be on the square with Babbitts. And I'll say
-right here that I've made good resolutions and broken them, but that one
-I've kept.
-
-There's a little hill part way along the Lane where the road slopes down
-toward the entrance of Mapleshade. We stopped here and looked back at
-the house lying long and dark among its dark trees. The sky was bright
-with stars and by their light you could see the black patches of the
-woods and here and there a paler stretch where the land was bare and
-open. It was all shadowy and gloomy except where the windows shone out
-in bright orange squares. I pointed out to Babbitts where Sylvia's
-windows were, not a light in them; and then, at the end of the wing,
-four or five in a row that belonged to Mrs. Fowler's suite. Her
-sitting-room was one of them where Anne had told me she and the Doctor
-always sat in the evenings.
-
-"They're there now," I said. "What do you suppose they're doing?"
-
-"Search me," said Babbitts, "I can't answer for another man, but if I
-was in the Doctor's shoes I'd be pacing up and down, with my Circassian
-Beauty hair turning white while you waited."
-
-"Yes," I said, nodding. "I'll bet that's what he's doing. I can see
-them, surrounded by their riches, jumping every time there's a knock on
-the door, thinking that the summons has come."
-
-And that shows you how you never can tell. For at that hour in that room
-the Doctor and Mrs. Fowler were talking to Walter Mills, who had just
-come from Philadelphia, bringing them the first ray of hope they'd had
-since the tragedy. It was in the form of a diamond and ruby lavalliere
-that he had found the day before in a pawn shop and that Mrs. Fowler had
-identified as Sylvia's.
-
-Four days later a piece of news ran like wildfire through Longwood:
-Virginie Dupont had been arrested and brought to Bloomington.
-
-They put her in jail there and it didn't take any third degree to get
-the truth out of her. She made a clean breast of it, for she was caught
-with the goods, all the lost jewelry being found in the place where she
-was hiding. It sent her to the penitentiary, and her lover, too, for
-whom—anyway she said so—she had robbed Sylvia's Hesketh's room on the
-night that Sylvia Hesketh disappeared.
-
-If her story threw no light on the murder it exonerated the Doctor, for
-it fitted at every point with what he had said.
-
-I'll write it down here, not in her words, but as I got it from the
-papers.
-
-For some time she had been planning to rob Sylvia, but was waiting for a
-good opportunity. This came, when the Doctor, being out of the house,
-she discovered that an elopement was on foot. She had read Sylvia's
-letters, which were thrown carelessly about, and knew of the affair with
-Jack Reddy, and when on Sunday morning she was sent to the village to
-get a letter from Reddy she guessed what it was. Before giving it to
-Sylvia she went to her own room, opened the envelope with steam from a
-kettle, and read it. Then she knew that her chance had come.
-
-When evening drew on she hung about the halls and saw Sylvia leave at a
-few minutes past six, carrying the fitted bag. The coast being clear,
-she went to her room, took an old black bag of her own and stole back.
-It was while she was getting this bag that the idea came to her of
-impersonating her mistress, as in that way she could steal some clothes.
-She secured the jewelry in a pocket hanging from her waist, took some
-false hair that Sylvia wore when the weather was damp, and covered her
-head with it, and selected a little automobile hat of which there were
-several, over all tying a figured black lace veil.
-
-What she particularly wanted was a new Hudson seal coat that had been
-delivered a few days before. No one but herself and Miss Hesketh knew of
-this coat as there had been so much quarreling about Sylvia's
-extravagance, that the girl often bought clothes without telling. After
-putting it on she filled her bag with things from the bureau drawers,
-and just as she was leaving saw the gold mesh purse on the dresser and
-snatched it up.
-
-All this was done like lightning and she thinks she left the house not
-more than twenty or twenty-five minutes after Sylvia. To catch the
-train she had to hurry and she ran up Maple Lane behind the hedge. She
-was nearing the village when she heard the whirr of an auto and through
-the hedge saw the two big headlights of a car, coming slowly down the
-Lane. For a moment she paused, peeking through the branches and made out
-that there was only one person in it, Jack Reddy.
-
-She reached the station only a few minutes before the train came in. As
-she had a ticket, she stood at the dark end of the platform, not moving
-into the light till the engine was drawing near. Then Jim Donahue saw
-her and came up, addressing her as Miss Hesketh. She had often tried to
-imitate Sylvia's voice and accent which she thought very elegant, and
-she did so now, speaking carefully and seeing that Jim had no doubt of
-her identity. On the ride to the Junction she had only murmured "Good
-evening" to Sands, being afraid to say more.
-
-At the Junction she was going to get off, take the branch line to
-Hazelmere and transfer there to the Philadelphia Express. In the
-women's waiting-room, which would probably be deserted at that hour, she
-intended taking off Sylvia's coat and hair and reappearing as the modest
-and insignificant lady's maid. She had thought this out in the
-afternoon, deciding that Sylvia would probably communicate with her
-mother in the morning and that the theft would then be discovered.
-Inquiries started for the woman who had been seen on the train would
-lead to nothing, as that woman would have dropped out of sight at the
-Junction.
-
-Everything worked without a hitch. The waiting-room was empty and she
-had ample time to take off the hair and put it in the bag, hang the coat
-over her arm with the lining turned out, and even pinch the small, soft
-hat into another shape. No one would have thought the woman who went
-into the waiting-room was the woman who came out.
-
-And then came the first mishap—as she opened the door she stepped
-almost into Dr. Fowler. She was terror stricken, but even then neither
-her luck nor her wits left her, for almost the first sentence he uttered
-showed her that he knew of the elopement and gave her a lead what to
-say. She must have been a pretty nervy woman the way she jumped at that
-lead. Right off the bat she invented the story about being sent by
-Sylvia to Philadelphia—to wait there at the Bellevue-Stratford.
-
-The Doctor was furious and ordered her into his auto. There was nothing
-for it but to obey and in she got, sitting in the back. As she was
-stepping up, he close beside her, she remembered the gold mesh purse
-plain in her hand. Like a flash she bent forward and jammed it down
-between the back and seat.
-
-The ride up the Riven Rock Road was just as the Doctor described it. It
-was after the lamp had been broken and he was back in the car starting
-it up, that she slipped out. She was determined to get away with all her
-loot and took the bag and coat with her, but between the hurry and fear
-of the moment forgot the purse.
-
-She wandered through the woods till she saw a small scattering of lights
-which she took for one of the branch line stations. When the dawn came
-she had lost some of her nerve and felt it was too risky to carry the
-extra things. So she hid them at the root of a tree, took off the hat,
-tying the veil over her head, and walked across the fields to the
-station. As it was Monday morning there were a lot of laborers, men and
-women, on the platform. She mingled with them, looking like them in her
-muddy clothes and tied up head, and got away to Hazelmere without being
-noticed.
-
-She was feeling safe in her furnished room in Philadelphia when she read
-of the murder in the papers. That scared her almost to death and she lay
-as close as a rabbit in a burrow, afraid to go out and cooking her food
-on a gas ring. It was the man she had stolen for who gave her away. When
-she refused to raise money on the jewels, he stole the lavalliere and
-pawned it.
-
-Under the trees where she said she'd left them, the police found the
-coat and hat. Beside them was the bag stuffed full of lingerie, gloves
-and silk stockings, and with the false hair crowded down into the inside
-pocket.
-
-Besides clearing the Doctor her confession threw light on two important
-points—one that Sylvia had left the house at a little after six, and
-the other that Reddy had been at the meeting place at the time he said.
-
-
-
-
-X
-=
-
-
-After the excitement of the French woman's arrest there was a sort of
-lull. For a few days people thought we were going to move right on and
-lay our hands on the murderer. But outside of proving that the Doctor
-wasn't the guilty one the crime was no nearer a solution than it had
-been the day it happened. Though there was still a good deal of talk
-about it, it began to die down in the public interest and it was then
-that the papers got to calling it "The Hesketh Mystery" in place of "The
-Hesketh Murder."
-
-The reporters left the Inn and went back to live in town, coming in
-every few days to snoop around for any new items that might have turned
-up. Babbitts came oftener than the others and stayed later, and he and I
-had several more walks. We were getting to be like partners in some
-kind of secret business, meeting after dark, and pacing along the roads
-round the village, with the stars shining overhead and the ground hard
-and crumbly under our feet.
-
-If you'd met us you'd have set us down for a pair of lovers, walking
-side by side under the dark of the trees. But if you'd followed along
-and listened you'd have got cured of that romantic notion mighty quick.
-Our flirtation was all about evidence, and leads, and clues—not so much
-as a compliment or a baby stare from start to finish. I don't believe if
-you'd asked Babbitts he could have told you whether my eyes were brown
-or blue, and as for me—outside his being a nice kid he didn't figure
-out any more important than the weathervane on the Methodist Church.
-
-It was "the case" that drew us together like a magnet drawing nails.
-We'd speculate about it, look at it all round as if it was something we
-had hold of in our hands. I guess it was the mysteriousness of it that
-attracted him, and the reward, too. There was more in it for me as you
-know—but he never got a hint of *that*.
-
-It was one evening, nearly four weeks after the murder that he gave me a
-shock—not meaning to, of course, for even then I'd found out he was the
-kind that wouldn't hurt a fly. We were talking of Jack Reddy, who we'd
-seen that evening in the village, the first time since the inquest.
-
-"You know," said Babbitts, "it's queer but I keep thinking of that yarn
-of Jasper's, that evening in the Gilt Edge."
-
-I drew away like he'd stuck a pin into me.
-
-"Why do you think about *that*?" I asked loud and sharp.
-
-"Why," he said, slow as if he was considering, "I suppose because it was
-so plausible. And I've been wondering if many other people have thought
-of it."
-
-"I guess they have," I answered kind of fierce; "there's fools enough in
-the world, God knows, to think of anything. I make no doubt there's
-people who've tried to work out that *I* did it, the reward tempting
-them to lies and sin."
-
-Babbitts looked at me surprised.
-
-"What's there to get mad about?" he asked. "I'm not for a moment
-suggesting that Reddy really had any hand in it. Why, he could no more
-have killed that girl than *I* could kill *you*."
-
-I simmered down—it was awful sweet the way he said it.
-
-"Then you oughtn't to be casting suspicions on an innocent man," I said,
-still grouchy.
-
-"Oh, you're such a little pepper pot. Do you think for a moment I'd say
-this to anybody but you. Look at me!" I looked into his eyes, clear as a
-baby's in the starlight. "If you believe I'm the sort of fellow who'd
-put a slur on Reddy I wonder you'll come out this way and walk with me."
-
-I smiled, I couldn't help it, and Babbitts, seeing I was all right
-again, tucked his hand inside my arm and we walked on, very friendly.
-Being ignorant of the true state of my feelings, he went straight back
-to the subject.
-
-"Now understand that I mean nothing against Reddy and that I've never
-said this to a soul but you, but ever since the inquest there's been one
-thing that's puzzled me—the length of time he was out that night."
-
-"He explained that," I said.
-
-"I know he did, and everybody's accepted his explanation. But seven
-hours in a high-powered racing car! He could have gone to Philadelphia,
-taken in a show and come back."
-
-"But he told all about it," I insisted.
-
-"He did," said Babbitts, "but I'll tell you something, Miss
-Morganthau—between ourselves not to go an inch farther—Reddy's story
-impressed me as the undiluted truth till he got to *that* part of it."
-
-"What do you mean?" I said, low, and being afraid I was going to tremble
-I pulled my arm away from him.
-
-"This—I was watching him very close, and when he began to talk about
-that night ride, some sort of change came over him. It was very subtle,
-I never heard anyone speak of it, but it seemed to me as if he was
-making an effort to give an impression of frankness. The rest of his
-testimony had the hesitating, natural tone of a man who is nervous and
-maybe uncertain of his facts, but when he came to that he—well, he
-looked to me as if he was internally bracing himself, as if he was on
-dangerous ground and knew it."
-
-If I'd been able to speak as well as that those were exactly the words I
-would have used. I cleared my throat before I answered.
-
-"Looks like to me, Mr. Babbitts, that you ought to be writing novels
-instead of press stories."
-
-"Oh, no," he said careless, "but, you see, I've been on a number of
-cases like this and a fellow gets observant. It's queer—the whole
-thing. If that French woman's evidence is to be trusted Miss Hesketh
-*did* leave the house early to keep that date with the Voice Man."
-
-I didn't say a word, looking straight before me at the lights of
-Longwood through the trees. Babbitts, with his hands in his pockets
-swinging along beside me, went on:
-
-"That's what's made me think of Jasper's hypothetical case. Do you
-remember? He said Reddy'd come down to the meeting place, found Miss
-Hesketh with the other man and got into a Berserker rage. Say what you
-like, it does work out."
-
-When he bid me good night at Mrs. Galway's side door he wanted to know
-why I was so silent? Even if I'd wanted to give a reason I hadn't one to
-give. Don't you believe for a minute I was really worried—it was just
-that I hated anyone even to yarn that way about Jack Reddy. Poor—me—if
-I'd known then what was coming!
-
-It began to come two days later, the first shadow that was going to
-darken and spread till—but I'm going on too quick.
-
-I'd just had my lunch, put away my box and swept off the crumbs, when I
-got a call for the depot from the Rifle Run Camp. That's a summer
-resort, way up in the hills beyond Hochalaga Lake. The voice, with a
-brogue on it as rich as butter, was Pat Donahue's, Jim's eldest son, a
-sort of idle scamp, who'd gone up to the camp to work last summer and
-had stayed on because there was nothing to do—at least that's what Jim
-said.
-
-I made the connection and listened in, not because I was expecting
-anything worth hearing, but because I wasn't taking any chances. I guess
-Pat Donahue was the last person anyone would expect to come jumping into
-the middle of the Hesketh mystery—but that's what he did, with both
-feet, hard.
-
-I didn't pay much attention at first and then a sentence caught my ear
-and I grew still as a statue, my eyes staring straight in front, even
-breathing carefully as if they could hear.
-
-It was Pat's voice, the voice answering Jim's at the Depot:
-
-"Me and Bridger was in to Hochalaga Lake yesterday forenoon, fishin'
-through the ice. Can you hear me, Paw?"
-
-"Fine. Are you payin' for a call to tell me you're that idle you have to
-play at fishin'?"
-
-"Jest you listen close and hear me before you come back. I seen in the
-papers that Miss Hesketh that was murdered had one glove lost. Do you
-mind what the one that wasn't lost looked like?"
-
-"Sure I do—why shouldn't I? Didn't I see it at the inquest?"
-
-"Will you be answering me instead of tellin' me what you saw?"
-
-"Ain't I doin' it? It was a left-hand glove, light gray with three pearl
-buttons and a furrener's name stamped in the inside."
-
-"Well, then, I got the feller to it—right hand. I found it on the wharf
-at the lake, in front of the bungalow. Seeing that there's ten thousand
-dollars reward offered, I thought I'd be a blowin' in the price of a
-call to tell you, though it's so ungrateful ye are for the news I'm
-sorry I done it. But I'll not bother you no more, for it's in to the
-District Attorney I'll be goin' with the evidence."
-
-That was what he did, that very afternoon. By the next day everybody in
-Longwood knew how Pat Donahue had found Sylvia Hesketh's missing glove
-on the wharf just in front of the Reddy bungalow. There was a person who
-didn't close an eye that night, and I guess you know what her name was.
-
-Gee, those were awful days that followed! When I think of them now I can
-feel a sort of sinking come back on me and my face gets stiff like it
-was made of leather and couldn't limber up for a smile. Each morning I'd
-get up scared sick of what I was going to hear that day, and each
-evening I'd go to bed filled with a darkness as black as the night
-outside.
-
-I couldn't believe it and yet—well, I'll tell you and you can judge for
-yourself.
-
-The police went out to Hochalaga and made a thorough examination of the
-house and its surroundings.
-
-The bungalow stood at one end of the lake right on the shore, with a
-little wharf jutting out in front of it into the water. The door opened
-into a big living-room, furnished very pretty and comfortable with green
-madras curtains at the windows, a green art rug on the floor, and wicker
-chairs with green denim cushions. At one side was a big brick fireplace
-with a copper kettle hanging on a crane and over in a corner was a desk
-with a telephone on it. Along the walls were bookcases full of books and
-in the center was a table with chairs drawn up at either side of it.
-
-The police noticed right off that it didn't have the damp, musty feel of
-a place shut up through a long spell of rain. The air was cold and dry
-and they could scent the odor of wood fires and a slight faint smell of
-cigar smoke. Then they saw that the fireplace was piled high with ashes
-and that several cigarette ends were scattered on the hearth. On the
-center table was a shaded lamp and near it a match box with burnt
-matches strewn round on the floor. The desk drawer was open and the
-papers inside all tossed and littered about as if someone had gone
-through them in a hurry. Two armchairs stood on either side of the table
-and another was in front of the fireplace. All over the floor were earth
-stains as if muddy feet had been walking about. There were no signs that
-the place had been broken into—windows and doors were locked and the
-locks in good condition.
-
-Outside against the wall of the house they found a pile of broken china,
-what seemed to be the remains of a tea set. It was not till the search
-was nearly ended that one of the men, studying the grass along the
-roadside for traces of footprints, came on a gasoline drum hidden among
-the bushes.
-
-But that wasn't the worst—leading up the road to within a few yards of
-the wharf were the tracks of auto wheels. At the time when these tracks
-were made the road was deep in mud which, about the wharf, had evidently
-been a regular pool. The driver of the motor had stopped his car at the
-edge of this, got out and walked through it to the bungalow. Clear as if
-they had been cast in plaster his footprints went from where the ruts
-ended to the edge of the wharf. There, just at the corner of the planks,
-three small, pointed footprints met them—a woman's. Either the man had
-carried the woman or she had picked her way along the grass by the
-roadside, and joining him on the planks had made a step or two into the
-soft earth. On the wharf the prints were lost in a broken caking of mud.
-The man's went back to the car, close to where they had come from it,
-and they returned as they had come—alone.
-
-Jack Reddy's shoes fitted the large prints and Sylvia Hesketh's the
-small ones!
-
-It came on Longwood with an awful shock. The faces of the people were
-all dull and dazed looking, as if they were knocked half silly by a
-blow. They couldn't believe it—and yet there it was! The papers printed
-terrible headlines—"The Earth gives up a Murderer's Secret"—and "Jack
-Frost versus Jack Reddy." There were imaginary accounts of how Mr. Reddy
-could have done it, and Jasper, in his paper, had a long article worked
-out like the story he'd told us that night in the Gilt Edge, but with
-all the holes filled up. Everything was against Mr. Reddy, even the
-telephone message that Sylvia had sent him from the Wayside Arbor
-couldn't be traced. The Corona operator could remember nothing about it
-and there was no record—only Jack Reddy's word and nobody believed it.
-
-They had him up before the District Attorney and his examination was
-published in the papers. I can't put it all down—it's not
-necessary—but it was bad. After I read it I sat still in my room,
-feeling seasick and my face in the glass frightened me.
-
-When they asked him if he had been at the bungalow that night he said he
-had, he had gone there after he had given up his hunt for Sylvia.
-
-"Why didn't you say this at the inquest?" was asked.
-
-He answered "that he hadn't thought it was necessary—that——" then he
-stopped as if he wasn't sure and after a moment or two said: "I didn't
-see that it threw any light on the murder, as I was alone."
-
-"You wished to conceal the fact that you were there, then?"
-
-To that he answered sharp:
-
-"I did not—but I saw no reason to give my movements in detail, as they
-were of no importance."
-
-"Why did you go there?"
-
-"I was angry and excited and it was a place where I could be quiet."
-
-Asked how long he had been in the bungalow he said he wasn't sure—it
-might have been an hour or two. He had lit the fire and sat in front of
-it thinking and smoking cigarettes.
-
-"Didn't you hunt in the desk for something?"
-
-He answered with a sort of shrug as if he'd forgotten.
-
-"Oh, yes—I was hunting for a bill I thought I left there."
-
-To the questions about Sylvia—whether she had been there with him—he
-answered almost violently that she had not, that he had not seen her
-there or anywhere else that night.
-
-"Did you notice any footprints in the mud when you came?"
-
-"I did not."
-
-"There were no evidences on the wharf or in the house of anyone having
-been there before you?"
-
-"None. The bungalow was locked and undisturbed."
-
-Then they switched off on to the gasoline drum and asked him if he had
-filled the tank there and he said he might have but he didn't remember.
-
-"Was it dark when you left the place?"
-
-"No—very bright moonlight."
-
-"You remember that?"
-
-"Yes. I recollect thinking the ride back would be easier than the ride
-up in the dark."
-
-"Why did you say at the inquest that you filled the tank somewhere on
-the turnpike?"
-
-"I suppose I thought I had. In the angry and excited state I was in
-small things made no impression on me. I had no clear memory of where
-I'd done it."
-
-All the papers agreed that his testimony was unsatisfactory and made
-much of his manner, which, under an effort to be calm, showed a
-spasmodic, nervous violence.
-
-A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail to
-await indictment by the Grand Jury.
-
-.. _`A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail`:
-
-.. figure:: images/illus4.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail
-
- A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail
-
-That night—shall I ever forget it! I heard the sounds in the street
-dying away and then the silence, the deep, lovely silence that comes
-over the village at midnight. And in it I could hear my heart beating,
-and as I lay with my eyes wide open, I could see on the darkness like a
-picture drawn in fire, Jack Reddy in the electric chair.
-
-
-
-
-XI
-==
-
-
-Looking back now I can remember dressing the next morning, all trembly
-and with my hands damp, and my face in the glass, white and pinched like
-an East Side baby's in a hot wave. But there wasn't anything trembly
-about the thinking part of me. That was working better than it had ever
-worked before. It seemed to be made of steel springs going swift and
-sure like an engine that went independent of the rest of my machinery.
-
-And, thank God, it did work that way, for it had thought of something!
-
-The idea came on me in the second part of the night, flashed out of the
-dark like a wireless. I'd been wondering about the man who made the
-telephone date with Sylvia—the Unknown Voice they'd got to calling
-him. People thought as Jasper had said, that Reddy had found her with
-this man and there had been a terrible scene. But whatever had happened
-the Unknown Voice was the clew to the mystery. The police had tried to
-locate him, tried and failed. Now *I* was going to hunt for him.
-
-My plan was perfectly simple. From what I had seen myself and heard from
-Anne Hennessey I was sure I knew every lover that Sylvia had had. I was
-going to call each one of them up on the phone and listen to their
-voices, and I wasn't going to tell a soul about it. Everybody would
-say—just as you say as you read this—"but all those men gave
-satisfactory alibis." I knew that as well as anyone, but it didn't cut
-any ice with me, I didn't care what they'd proved. I was going to hear
-their voices and see for myself. If I was successful, then I'd tell
-Babbitts and have him advise me what to do. I'd heard Jack Reddy had
-retained Mr. Wilbur Whitney, the great criminal lawyer, but I wouldn't
-have known whether to go to him or the police or the District Attorney
-and if I did it at all I wanted to do it right.
-
-Now that there were three of us in the Exchange my holiday had been
-changed to Monday, and I made up my mind not to put my plan into
-execution till that day. I didn't want to be hurried, or confused, by
-possible interruptions, and also I wanted to hear the voices at short
-range and could do that better from the city. I telephoned over to
-Babbitts that I'd be in town Monday to do some shopping, and he made a
-date to meet me at the entrance of the Knickerbocker Hotel and dine with
-me at some joint near Times Square.
-
-Monday morning I was up bright and early and dressed myself in my best
-clothes. From the telephone book I got the numbers of the four men who
-were known to have been Sylvia's lovers and admirers—Carisbrook,
-Robinson, Dunham and Cokesbury. I had found out from Anne what their
-businesses were and I had no trouble in locating them. With the slip of
-paper in my purse I took the ten-twenty train and was in town before
-midday.
-
-On the way over I worked out what I'd say to each of them. I was going
-to ask Carisbrook, who was a soft, dressed-up guy, if he knew where
-Mazie Lorraine, a manicure who'd once been in the Waldorf, had moved to.
-It was nervy but I wanted to give him a dig, he having put on airs and
-treated me like a doormat. Robinson was easy—he had a common name and
-I'd got the wrong man. Excuse *me*, please, awful sorry. Dunham was a
-lawyer and I was a dressmaker that a customer wouldn't pay. And
-Cokesbury was easy, too—I'd heard Cokesbury Lodge was for rent and was
-looking for a country place.
-
-I got Carisbrook first and he was as mad as a hornet.
-
-"I don't know what you're talking about. *Manicure*? I don't know any
-manicure called Lorraine or anything else. I've never been manicured in
-the Waldorf—or any other hotel—in the city. The woman is a liar——"
-and so forth and so on, sputtering and fizzing along the wire. I had
-hard work not to laugh and in the middle of it I hung up, for he had a
-thin, high squeak on him like an old maid scared by a mouse.
-
-Robinson was a sport, I liked *him* fine:
-
-"Don't apologize. It's the penalty of being called Robinson. Still
-there's a bright side to every cloud. It might have been Smith, you
-know."
-
-It wasn't Robinson. He talked with a dialect that sounded like Jasper's,
-English, I guess.
-
-Dunham was very smooth and awful hard to get rid of. He kept on asking
-questions and I had to think quick and speak unnaturally intelligent. In
-the middle of it—I'd got what I wanted—I said it was too complicated
-to tell over the phone and I'd be in to-morrow at two and my name was
-Mrs. Pendleton.
-
-It wasn't Dunham.
-
-When I tackled Cokesbury I ran into the first snag. I tried his office
-and a real pleasant young man (you get to know a young voice from an old
-one) asked me what I wanted. I said business, and he answered:
-
-"What is the nature of your business, Madam?"
-
-"I'd rather tell that to Mr. Cokesbury," I said.
-
-"Mr. Cokesbury doesn't like to be interrupted in the office. If you'll
-tell me what you want to see him about——"
-
-"Say, young feller," said I, in a cool, classy way, "suppose we stop
-this pleasant little talk, and you trot into Mr. Cokesbury and say a
-lady's waiting on the wire."
-
-"Very well," he answered, calm and cheerful, "I'll do just as you say."
-
-There was a wait and then he was back.
-
-"Mr. Cokesbury says it's impossible for him to come to the phone and
-will you kindly tell me what your business is."
-
-"I guess I'll have to wait till he's not so busy," I answered, languid,
-like I've heard ladies when they're mad and don't want to show it, and
-I hung up.
-
-Afterward I saw I'd made a mistake, for, when I called up two hours
-later that polite guy was still on the job and handed me the same line
-of talk.
-
-I went into a drugstore and looked up Cokesbury—Edward L., residence.
-It was in the East Fifties and at six I tried him there.
-
-I drew a man that I guess was a servant:
-
-"Is Mr. Cokesbury home?"
-
-"Who is it?"
-
-"That doesn't matter. I want to know if he's home."
-
-"I don't know, ma'am. Will you please give me your name?"
-
-"Say, you're not taking the census or compiling a new directory, you're
-answering the phone. Tell Mr. Cokesbury a party wants to see him on
-business."
-
-"I have orders, ma'am, not to bother Mr. Cokesbury with messages unless
-I know who they're from," said the voice, and then I knew he *was*
-there.
-
-"I'm sure he'll come if you say it's a *lady*," I said, sort of coaxing
-and sweet.
-
-"I'll try, ma'am," said the voice, and I could hear the echo of his feet
-as he walked off.
-
-Presently he was back.
-
-"Beg pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Cokesbury says he can't possibly come and
-please to give me the message."
-
-By that time I was getting mad.
-
-"You ought to get double pay, for you seem to be a District Messenger
-boy as well as a butler. If it's not too much trouble would you mind
-telling me what Mr. Cokesbury's friends do when they want a word with
-him over the phone?"
-
-"They tell the butler who they are and what they want, ma'am. That's the
-orders in this house. Good-bye."
-
-When Babbitts and I were sitting at a table in a little dago joint near
-Broadway, I couldn't help but tell him what I'd been doing.
-
-He looked at me with his eyes as big as half-dollars and then began to
-laugh.
-
-"Well, what do you make of that? Spending your holiday and your nickels
-rounding up a lot of men that rounded themselves up weeks ago."
-
-"I want to get that voice."
-
-"But everyone of them have proved that voice couldn't be theirs."
-
-"Maybe they did," said I, "but I want to know it myself."
-
-"Listen to her," he said, looking round the table as if a crowd was
-collected, "calmly brushing aside the police, the detectives, the might
-of the law and the strong arm of the press."
-
-"And anything else that stands round trying to discourage me."
-
-"Far be it from me to discourage you in any eccentricity that may
-develop. But there's no need in following up Cokesbury, for we know that
-he was marooned in Cokesbury Lodge."
-
-"I don't care what we know. The only things I believe are the things I
-see myself."
-
-"Thomas!" he said, laughing, and I didn't see any sense in his calling
-me that, but he often said things I wasn't on to. "Do you intend to camp
-on his trail all night?"
-
-"I do," I answered. "As soon as you get through lapping up that red ink
-I'm going to go to the nearest pay station and ring up Edward L.,
-residence."
-
-"I'll toddle along," he said. "Anything goes with me that adds to the
-entertainment of Mary McKenna Morganthau."
-
-He held up his glass as if he was drinking a toast, and something about
-the look of him—I don't know what—made me get all embarrassed. It
-never happened before and it took me so by surprise I blushed and was
-glad I'd dropped my gloves on the floor so I could bend down and hide
-how red my face was.
-
-I tried Edward L., residence, at a drug store on Broadway and again I
-drew that butler gink, who was sort of sassy and hung up quick. Then we
-walked along and I could see that Babbitts was getting interested.
-
-"Tell you what," he said, "that servant knows you. I'll make the
-connection, say I want to see Cokesbury on business, and if I get him,
-hand on the receiver to you."
-
-We fixed it that way, went into a hotel, and I stood at the door of the
-booth while Babbitts got the house. Standing at his elbow I could see he
-was up against the same proposition as I had been. He finally had to say
-he wanted to see Mr. Cokesbury about renting Cokesbury Lodge.
-
-He turned to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and said:
-
-"He's there and he won't come."
-
-"Has the servant gone to get him?"
-
-"Yes. He wouldn't say whether his boss was home or not, but his
-willingness to take the message gave him away. Now stand close and if
-it's a new voice I won't say a word, just get up and let you slide into
-my place." He started and turned back to the instrument. "Yes. What?" I
-could see a look of surprise come over his face. "Soon? You don't
-know—in a few days. Hasn't any idea of renting. Thanks. That's
-all—good-bye."
-
-He hung up and turned to me:
-
-"It was the servant. Cokesbury hasn't any intention of renting and is
-leaving for Europe."
-
-"For Europe!" I cried out. "*When?*"
-
-"The man didn't know exactly. He said he thought in a few days."
-
-We walked down the street silent and thoughtful. The only feeling I had
-at first was disappointment. I didn't get the whole thing clear as
-Babbitts did. It came on him all in a minute, he told me afterward.
-
-We were on Broadway as light as day with the signs and people walking by
-us and crowding in between us as if they were hurrying to catch trains.
-I felt Babbitts' hand go round my arm, steering me into a side street.
-It was darker there and there were only a few passers-by. We slackened
-up and still with his hand around my arm, he bent his face down toward
-my ear and said low, as if he was afraid someone was listening:
-
-"Kiddo, are you on?"
-
-"To what?"
-
-"Cokesbury. Don't you get it? He won't answer the phone."
-
-"Do you mean he won't answer at all?"
-
-"Not unless it's someone he knows. He's got his clerks in the office
-holding the fort and his servants at home."
-
-We were just under a lamp and I stopped with my mouth falling open, for
-sudden, like a flash of light, it came to me.
-
-"Soapy!" I gasped and wheeled round on him. His face bent down toward
-me, was intent like a hunting dog's when it sees a bird, his eyes,
-bright and fixed, looking straight into mine.
-
-"You've made the first real discovery in this case, Molly Morganthau.
-Cokesbury's scared, d——d scared, so scared he's lost his nerve and is
-lighting out to Europe."
-
-We walked round into Bryant Park and sat down on a bench. We were so
-excited we didn't notice anything—that I'd grabbed Babbitt's hand and
-kept hold of it, that it was freezing cold, that we'd got on a bench
-with a drunk all huddled up on the other end. We were as certain as if
-he'd confessed it that Cokesbury was the Unknown Voice and that he'd
-killed Sylvia Hesketh. We just brushed his alibi aside as if he'd never
-made one and planned how I was to hear him before he got away to Europe.
-We laid plots there in the dark, sitting close together to keep warm,
-with the drunk all lopped over and muttering to himself on the seat
-beside us.
-
-When Babbitts left me at the Ferry we'd fixed it that he was to call me
-up the next day and tell me what he'd done in town and I was to tell him
-what I'd accomplished at my end of the line.
-
-The next morning I tried Cokesbury's office with the same results. At
-one Babbitts called me and said he'd tried twice to get him as a test
-and been told that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't down to-day and his whereabouts
-were unknown. By inquiries at the steamship offices he'd found that Our
-Suspect—that's what we called him on the wire—had taken passage on the
-*Caronia* for the following Saturday. That was four days off—four days
-to hear the man who wouldn't answer the phone.
-
-That afternoon I had an idea, called up Anne Hennessey and asked her to
-meet me at the Gilt Edge for supper. She came and afterward in my room
-at Galway's I told her—I had to, but she's true-blue and I knew it—and
-she agreed to help. She was to come to the Exchange the next morning,
-call up Cokesbury and say she was Mrs. Fowler, who wanted to bid him
-good-bye before he left. While she spoke—imitating Mrs. Fowler—I was
-to listen. We did it—though she'd have lost her job if she'd been found
-out—and I heard the clerk tell her that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't in his
-office, that he didn't know where she could find him, and that it was
-very little use trying to get him on the phone as he was so much
-occupied prior to his departure.
-
-When Anne came out of the booth I was crying. I guess I never before in
-my life had my nerves as strung up as they were then.
-
-It wasn't long after that that I had a call from Babbitts. He'd been
-able to do nothing. When he heard of my last attempt he said:
-
-"He's not answering any calls at all now. His own mother couldn't get
-him. It's no use trying that line any more. We've got to think up some
-other way."
-
-That was Wednesday—I had only three days. Three days and I hadn't an
-idea how to do it. Three days and Jack Reddy was waiting indictment in
-Bloomington jail. We couldn't stop Cokesbury going or get anybody else
-to stop him unless we could light on something more definite than a
-hello girl's suspicions.
-
-
-
-
-XII
-===
-
-
-Thursday afternoon I was sitting in the Exchange, feeling as if the
-bottom had fallen out of the world. I hadn't given up yet—I'm not the
-giving-up kind—but I *couldn't* think of anything else to do. I'd
-tossed on my bed all night thinking, I'd dressed thinking, I'd tried to
-eat thinking, I'd put in the plugs and made the connections
-thinking—and nothing would come.
-
-Two days more—two days more—two days more—those three words kept
-going through my head as if they were strung on an endless chain.
-
-And then—isn't it always that way in life? Just when you're ready to
-throw up the sponge and say you're beaten, Bang—it comes!
-
-It came in the shape of a New York call for Azalea.
-
-Like a dream, for I was pretty nearly all in, I could hear the
-operator's voice:
-
-"That you, Longwood? Give me Azalea, 383."
-
-And then me answering:
-
-"All right. Azalea 383. Wait a minute."
-
-I plugged in and heard that queer grating sound as if the wires were
-rubbing against each other:
-
-"Hello, New York. All right for Azalea 383."
-
-And then a woman's voice, clear and small.
-
-"Here's your party. Just a minute. There you are—Azalea 383."
-
-Then a man's voice far away as if it might be in Mars:
-
-"Hello, is that Azalea 383?"
-
-"Yep—the Azalea Garage," that was close and plain.
-
-"This is Mr. Cokesbury's butler——" Believe *me*, I came to life.
-"Cokesbury, Cokesbury of Cokesbury Lodge—get it?"
-
-"Yep."
-
-"I've a message for Miner—the manager."
-
-"Fire away, I'm Miner."
-
-"He wants to know if you found a raincoat in that auto he had from you
-last time he was down? *Raincoat*, waterproof. Do you hear?"
-
-"Yes sir, I hear perfect. We've got it and I'd 'a' sent it back but I
-thought he'd be down again any time and it was just as well to keep it
-here."
-
-"That's all right. The coat doesn't matter—but he's lost a key that
-does. Thinks maybe he left it in the pocket. Have you found any key?"
-
-"I haven't looked. Hold the wire while I see?"
-
-There was a pause while I prayed no one would come in or call up. My
-prayer was answered. There was nothing to interrupt when I heard the
-garage man's voice again:
-
-"The key's there."
-
-"Good work! Mr. Cokesbury's had the house here upside down looking for
-it. He wants you to do it up careful and give it to Sands the Pullman
-conductor on the six-twenty to-night. I'll come across and get it off
-him at Jersey City."
-
-"All right. Will I send the raincoat along, too?"
-
-"No, he don't want that. He's goin' to Europe Saturday and I guess he's
-calculating to buy a new one. Thanks for your trouble. Good-bye."
-
-"Good-bye."
-
-I dropped the cam, sat tight, and thought. People kept coming in and out
-and calls came flashing along the wires and I worked swift and steady
-like an operator that's got no thought but for what's before her.
-
-But my mind was working like a steam engine underneath. How could I get
-him—how could I get him? It was as if I had two brains, one on the top
-that went mechanical like a watch and one below that was doing the real
-business.
-
-Before the afternoon was over I'd decided on a line of action.
-
-I called up Katie Reilly and asked her if she'd relieve me at
-five-thirty instead of six—that I'd an invitation to go down to a party
-at Jersey City and I was keen to get there early. She agreed and at six
-I was on the platform of the station waiting for the New York train.
-
-I took a seat in the common coach and at Azalea watched from the window
-and saw a man on the platform give Sands a packet. I knew Sands well and
-when he passed back through my car nodded to him and he stopped and
-stood in the aisle talking.
-
-It wasn't long before I said, careless:
-
-"I hear Cokesbury Lodge is for rent."
-
-"I ain't heard it," said Sands, "but I ain't surprised. Now he's sent
-his family away he don't want a house that size on his hands."
-
-"Has he been down lately?"
-
-"No—not for—lemme see—it's several weeks. Yes—the last time was the
-Sunday before Sylvia Hesketh's murder."
-
-I knew all that but it doesn't do to jump at what you're after too
-quick.
-
-"Lucky for him he could prove his car was on the blink that time," I
-said, looking languid out of the window.
-
-"Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking
-distance. But no one ever'd suspicion Cokesbury. He ain't the murderin'
-kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he's goin' to Europe."
-
-"Is he now? Where'd you hear that?"
-
-"From Miner, that runs the Azalea Garage. He come down to the station
-just now and gave me a package. Something Cokesbury left in the motor
-the last time he was down. I'm to hand it over to his servant at Jersey
-City."
-
-"Is it love letters that he don't want to leave behind?"
-
-"No, I guess he's careful of them. Here it is," he drew out of his
-breast pocket an envelope with Cokesbury's name and address written on
-it and held it out to me. "That ain't no love letter."
-
-I pinched it.
-
-"It's a key. It may open the desk where the love letters are kept."
-
-"I guess he's too fly to keep any dangerous papers like that around."
-
-"Yes," I says, "they might set the house on fire."
-
-"Well, ain't you the sassy kid," says he and then the train slowing up
-for a station he walked on up the aisle.
-
-In the Jersey City depot I went like a streak for the Telephone
-Exchange. My one chance was to catch him at dinner and I gave the
-operator the number of his house. When she pointed to the booth I was
-trembling like a leaf.
-
-The voice that answered me was a woman's—Irish—the cook's, I guess.
-She began right off: "Yes, this is Mr. Cokesbury's residence, but you
-can't see him."
-
-"Wait," I almost screamed, scared that she was going to disconnect,
-"this is important. It's about a key I've just found. If Mr. Cokesbury's
-there tell him a lady wants to see him about a key she picked up a few
-minutes ago on the New Jersey train."
-
-"All right. Hold the wire."
-
-I knew he'd come. My heart was beating so I had to hold it hard with my
-free hand and I had to bite my lips to make them limber. But, honest to
-God, when I heard him—clear and distinct right in my ear—I thought I
-was going to faint. For at last I'd got the Voice!
-
-"What's this about finding a key?" he said gruff and sharp.
-
-"Am I speaking to Mr. Cokesbury?"
-
-"You are. Who is it?"
-
-"No one you know, sir. I've just come in from Philadelphia and on the
-Pullman step I found a package which seems to have a key in it. I
-noticed that it was addressed to you and I looked you up in the
-telephone book and am phoning now from Jersey City."
-
-He was very cordial then. His voice was the same deep, pleasant one he'd
-used to Sylvia.
-
-"That's very kind of you and very thoughtful. I can't thank you enough.
-The package was given to the Pullman conductor and he's evidently
-dropped it."
-
-"Then shall I give it to the Pullman conductor now?"
-
-"If you'll be so kind. My servant's gone over there to get it. Just hand
-it to the conductor—a tall, thin man, whose name is Sands."
-
-"I'll do it right off. Ain't it lucky I found it?"
-
-"Very. I'm deeply grateful. It would have put me to the greatest
-inconvenience if it had been lost. I'd like to know to whom I'm
-indebted."
-
-"Oh, that don't need to bother you. I'm just a passenger traveling down
-on the train. Awful glad I could be of any service. Good-bye."
-
-I waited a minute till I got my heart quieted down, then took a call
-for Babbitts' paper. Luck was with me all round that night, for he was
-there. I couldn't tell him everything—I was afraid—but I told him
-enough to show him I'd landed Cokesbury and he answered to come across
-to town and he'd meet me at the Ferry. I caught a boat as it pulled out
-of the slip and at the other side he was waiting for me.
-
-"Come on," he said, putting his hand through my arm and walking quick
-for the street, "I got a taxi here. We'll charge it up to the defense."
-
-I got in, supposing he was going to take me somewhere to dinner, but he
-wasn't. When I heard where we were bound I was sort of scared—it was to
-Wilbur Whitney's house, Jack Reddy's lawyer.
-
-"He's expecting us," Babbitts explained. "I called him up right after
-I'd heard from you. You see, Kiddo, we don't want to lose a minute for
-we can't stop Cokesbury going unless we got something to stop him for."
-
-Mr. Whitney's house was a big, grand mansion just off Fifth Avenue. A
-butler let us in and without waiting to hear who we were showed us into
-a room with lights in bunches along the walls, small spindly gold chairs
-and sofas, and a floor that shone like glass between elegant soft rugs.
-There was some class to it and Babbitts and I looked like a pair of
-tramps sitting side by side on two of the gold chairs. I was nervous but
-Babbitts kept me up, telling me Mr. Whitney was a delightful gentleman
-and was going to jump for all I had to say. Then we heard steps coming
-down the stairs—two people—and I swallowed hard being dry in the
-mouth, what with fright and having had no supper.
-
-Mr. Whitney was the real thing. He was a big man, with a square jaw and
-eyes deep in under thick eyebrows. He spoke so easy and friendly that
-you forgot how awful sharp and keen those eyes were and how they watched
-you all the time you were talking. A young man came with him—a real
-classy chap—that he introduced to me as his son, George.
-
-They couldn't have acted more cordial to me and Babbitts if we'd been
-the King and Queen of Spain. When they sat down and asked me to tell
-them what I knew I loosened up quite natural and told the whole story.
-
-The young man sat sideways on the gold sofa, smoking a cigarette and
-looking into the air with his eyes narrowed up as if he was spying at
-something a long ways off. Mr. Whitney was sort of slouched down in an
-easy chair with his hands—white as a woman's—hanging over the arms.
-Now and then he'd ask me a question—always begging my pardon for
-interrupting—and though they were so calm and quiet I could feel, as if
-it was in the air, that they were concentrated close on every word I
-said.
-
-When I got through Mr. Whitney said, very cheerful, as if I'd been
-telling some yarn in a story book:
-
-"That's very interesting, Miss Morganthau, and very well told. Quite a
-narrative gift, eh George?" and he looked at his son.
-
-"First-class story," said George, and as careless as you please flicked
-off his cigarette ashes on the rug.
-
-Mr. Whitney leaned forward clasping his big white hands between his
-knees and looking into my face, half-smiling but with something terrible
-keen behind the smile.
-
-"How can you be so sure of the voice, Miss Morganthau? I don't know
-whether on the phone I could recognize the voice of my own son here."
-
-"You get that way in my work," I answered. "Your ear gets trained for
-voices."
-
-"You're absolutely certain," said young Mr. Whitney, "that in that
-message you overheard, the man spoke of coming to the meeting place in
-his auto?"
-
-"Yes, sir, I'm certain he said that."
-
-He turned and looked at his father.
-
-"And investigations have shown he had no auto, he telephoned to no other
-garage for one, he kept no horses, and to get there on his own feet,
-would have had to walk through bad country roads a distance of
-twenty-five miles."
-
-"Um," answered old Mr. Whitney as if he wasn't interested and then he
-said to me: "In this message you heard to-day no suggestion was given of
-what that key was the key of?"
-
-"No, sir. The man just said it was important and Mr. Cokesbury'd had the
-house upside down looking for it."
-
-"Um," said Mr. Whitney again. "I rather fancy, Miss Morganthau, you've
-done us a double service; in hunting for a voice, you've stumbled on a
-key."
-
-Young Mr. Whitney laughed.
-
-"It's probably the key of his front door."
-
-"Perhaps," said his father, and looked down on the carpet as if he was
-thinking.
-
-Then Babbitts spoke up:
-
-"Don't criminals, no matter how careful they are, often overlook some
-small clew that maybe is the very thing that gives them away?"
-
-"Often," said Mr. Whitney. "In most crimes there's a curious lack of
-attention to detail. The large matters are well conceived and skillfully
-carried out. And then some minor point is neglected, sometimes
-forgotten, sometimes not realized for its proper value."
-
-He got up and shook himself like a big bear and we all rose to our feet.
-I was feeling pretty fine, not only the relief of having delivered the
-goods, but proud of myself for getting through the interview so well.
-Mr. Whitney added to it by saying:
-
-"You're a pretty smart girl, Miss Morganthau. *You* don't know and *I*
-don't know yet the full value of the work you've done for me and my
-client. But whatever the outcome may be you've shown an energy and
-keenness of mind that is as surprising as it is unusual."
-
-I just swelled up with importance and didn't know what to say. Behind
-Mr. Whitney I could see Babbitts' face, all beaming and grinning, and I
-was so glad he was there to hear. And then—just when I was at the
-top-notch of my pride—Mr. George Whitney, who'd been silent for a
-while, said suddenly:
-
-"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Morganthau, I'd like to know what
-lucky chance made you listen in to that conversation between Miss
-Hesketh and the Unknown Man."
-
-Believe me I came down to earth with a thud. How could I tell them? Say
-I listened to everything in the hope of hearing Jack Reddy talking to
-Sylvia. I looked down on the floor, feeling my cheeks getting as red as
-fire.
-
-"Go ahead," said Babbitts. "Don't be afraid to say anything."
-
-"We're as close here as the confessional," said old Mr. Whitney, smiling
-at me like a father.
-
-I had to say something and took what seemed to me the most natural.
-
-"I'd heard Miss Hesketh was a great one for jollying up the men and I
-wanted to hear how she did it."
-
-And they all—that means Babbitts, too—just burst out and *roared*.
-
-"Good for you, Miss Morganthau," said Mr. Whitney, and he put his hand
-on my shoulder and gave it a shake. "Only I'll bet a hat you didn't need
-any teaching."
-
-He turned to his son and said something about "the car being there," and
-then back to me:
-
-"Now for a few days, Miss Morganthau, I'll expect you to be off duty in
-a place accessible by telephone."
-
-"Off duty!" I exclaimed. "How can I do that?"
-
-He smiled in his easy way and said:
-
-"We'll attend to that, don't you worry about it. Go home and stay there
-till you get a call from me. If anyone asks what's the matter say you're
-ill and laid off for a few days. Don't bother about reporting at the
-office; that'll be arranged. And I need hardly tell you not to speak a
-word of what you've discovered or of this interview here to-night."
-
-"She won't," said Babbitts. "I'll go bail for that."
-
-He gave Mr. George Whitney Mrs. Galway's telephone number and then we
-shook hands all round. I was just wondering what was the quickest way to
-the Ferry when Mr. Whitney said:
-
-"The motor's waiting for you and I'm sure Mr. Babbitts will escort you
-to the boat. Good night and remember—hold yourself ready for a call to
-come to my office."
-
-The car waiting outside was Mr. Whitney's own. Gee, it was swell! A
-footwarmer and a fur rug and a clock and a bottle of salts for me to
-sniff at. I didn't tell Babbitts I'd had no dinner, for I was ashamed to
-have the chauffeur stop at the kind of joints we patronize, and so I
-bore the ache in my insides and tried to believe the footwarmer and the
-salts made up for it.
-
-
-
-
-XIII
-====
-
-
-At noon the next day—Friday—I was called to Mrs. Galway's phone. It
-was Mr. George Whitney telling me to come over to the city at once. I
-wasn't to bother about addresses or finding my way. I'd be met at the
-Ferry and taken to Mr. Whitney's office in Broad Street—all I was to do
-was to say nothing to anybody and come.
-
-I did both.
-
-At the Ferry a fine-looking chap came up to me, with his hat in his
-hand, and asked me if I was Miss Morganthau. For a moment I was uneasy,
-thinking maybe he was a masher, when he turned to a kind-faced elderly
-woman beside him and said:
-
-"This is Mrs. Cresset, who's come over on the boat with you and is
-going to Mr. Whitney's office, too."
-
-Then I knew it was all right and we three got into a taxi. On the way
-across to Broad Street he told us what we were to do. It was nothing
-much. All Mr. Whitney wanted of us was that we'd sit in the inner office
-and listen to some gentleman talking in the next room. If we heard the
-voice I'd got on the wire and Mrs. Cresset had heard the night of the
-murder we were to say nothing, but sit perfectly still till we were
-called.
-
-"If you recognize the voice make no sign or sound. All we ask of you is,
-if you're not certain of the identification, to say so."
-
-The office was a great big place, rooms opening out of rooms, and a
-switchboard with a girl at it, dressed very neat and not noticing us as
-we passed her. Mr. George Whitney met us and took us into a room
-furnished fine with leather armchairs and books all up the walls and a
-wide window looking out over the roofs and skyscrapers. There was a door
-at one side, and this he opened a crack and told Mrs. Cresset to sit
-down close to it with me opposite. He cautioned us to be quiet and not
-to move or even whisper till we were called.
-
-We sat there for a while with nothing happening. We could hear voices,
-and now and then people walking and doors shutting, and once a bell
-tinkled far off in the distance. Then suddenly I heard someone—Mr.
-George Whitney, I think—say, "Show him in, the private office," and
-heavy steps coming up the passage, past our door and into the next room,
-then old Mr. Whitney's voice, very loud and cheerful.
-
-"Ah, Mr. Cokesbury, this is truly kind of you. I have to apologize for
-taking up your time, just as you're leaving, too, but we hoped you might
-help us in some minor points of this curious case."
-
-The voice that answered was Cokesbury's; I knew it well now. At the
-sound of it Mrs. Cresset gave a start and leaned forward, her ear close
-to the door.
-
-He was as cordial and hearty as if he was at a pink tea.
-
-"Only too glad to be of service, Mr. Whitney. If I had thought I could
-be of any help I would have offered before. Fortunately for me—as you
-probably know—I was held up in my place on the day of the murder. If my
-car had been in working order I suppose I'd have been quite a prominent
-figure in the case by now."
-
-He laughed out, a deep, rich sort of laugh, and it made my flesh creep
-to think he could do it with that girl's death at his door.
-
-The talk went on for a bit, back and forth between them, Mr. Whitney
-asking him some questions about the roads, the distances, and Miss
-Hesketh's friends; he answering as calm and fluent as if he'd hardly
-known her at all.
-
-In the middle of it the clerk who had met us at the Ferry came softly
-in, and without a word, beckoned us to follow him through a door that
-led into another room. We rose up as stealthily as burglars and stole
-across the carpet without making so much as a creak or a rustle. When
-we were in he shut the door, told us to wait there, and left us. We sat,
-afraid to speak, staring at each other and wondering what was going to
-happen next. In a few minutes the door opened and Mr. Whitney came in.
-
-"Well?" he said, turning to me, "are you as sure as you were over the
-phone?"
-
-"Certain," I answered. "It's the man."
-
-He looked at Mrs. Cresset.
-
-"How about you, Mrs. Cresset? Remember, a mistake in a matter like this
-is a pretty serious thing."
-
-Mrs. Cresset was as sure as I was.
-
-"I couldn't tell the man from Adam," she said, "but I knew his voice the
-minute I heard it."
-
-"Very well. Now I want you to come into the private office. Don't be
-frightened; nothing disagreeable's going to happen. All you have to do
-is to answer simply and truthfully any questions I may put to you. Come
-along."
-
-We followed him up the passage to the room where he'd been talking.
-Sitting in a large chair by the desk was the man I'd seen that day in
-the woods with Sylvia Hesketh. He didn't look so robust and hearty as he
-had then; his skin was paler and his forehead lined; but I noticed his
-large coarse hands with the hair on them—a murderer's hands—\ *they*
-were the same.
-
-When he saw us, walking in solemn behind Mr. Whitney, his face changed.
-It's hard to explain how it looked, but it was as if the muscles
-tightened up and the eyes got a fixed startled expression like you see
-in the eyes of an animal you've come on sudden and scared. He rose to
-his feet and I saw one of his hands close till the knuckles turned
-white. Mr. George Whitney, who was standing near by, watched him like a
-cat watching a mouse.
-
-Old Mr. Whitney spoke up as genial as if he was introducing us at a
-party.
-
-"These ladies, Mr. Cokesbury, come from Longwood and its vicinity. Miss
-Morganthau is one of the operators in the Telephone Exchange, and Mrs.
-Cresset you've met before, I think, one night at Cresset's Farm."
-
-Mrs. Cresset bowed very polite and made as if she was going to shake
-hands. But Cokesbury didn't meet her half or a quarter way. He turned to
-the men and—I guess he did it without knowing—looked like lightning
-from one to the other—a sort of wild glance. They never took their eyes
-off him, and there was something awful about their stare, for all both
-of them were behaving so pleasant. Under that stare he got as white as a
-sheet, but he tried to put up a bluff.
-
-"Cresset," he said, "Cresset? There's some mistake. I never saw her
-before in my life."
-
-"That's quite true," said Mr. Whitney, "you didn't see her nor she you.
-If you remember it was very dark. But you spoke to her and she's willing
-to swear that yours was the voice she heard. Aren't you, Mrs. Cresset?"
-
-"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Cresset, as solid and sure as the Bartholdi
-statue. "This is the gentleman that asked me the way that night. I'd
-know his voice among a thousand."
-
-"What night?" said Cokesbury. "I don't know what she's talking about."
-
-It was pitiful to see him trying to keep it up with his face gray and
-his hands trembling.
-
-Mr. Whitney went on as if he didn't notice anything.
-
-"And Miss Morganthau here is also ready to swear to your voice as the
-one she overheard on the phone Saturday, November the twentieth, in a
-conversation with the late Miss Hesketh—a message you've probably seen
-a good deal about in the papers."
-
-I saw one of those big, hairy hands make a grip at the back of the
-armchair. I thought he was going to fall and couldn't take my eyes off
-him till Mr. Whitney turned to me and said in that bland society way:
-
-"Perhaps you'll be so good, Miss Morganthau, as to tell Mr. Cokesbury of
-your efforts during the past week to get him on the phone."
-
-I told him the whole thing and ended up with the story of how I fooled
-him about the key. And, honest to God, though I thought I was talking to
-a murderer, I was sorry for him.
-
-All the life seemed to leave him and he got as haggard as an old man,
-with his lips shaking and the perspiration in beads on his forehead.
-When I got through he suddenly gave a sort of groan, dropped back into
-his chair and put his hands over his face. I was glad it was hidden, and
-I was glad when Mr. Whitney turned to me and Mrs. Cresset and said quick
-and commanding:
-
-"That'll do. You can go into the other room. Ring the bell, George."
-
-We huddled out into the passage where we met that spry clerk coming up
-on the jump. He went into the office and shut the door, and we could
-hear a murmur of voices, we standing up against the wall not knowing
-what to do next.
-
-Presently the clerk came out again, rounded us up and sent us into the
-room down the hall where Mr. Whitney had talked to us. He told us to
-wait there for a minute, then lit out as if he was in a great hurry. We
-stood stiff in the middle of the floor, expecting to hear the tramp of
-policemen and then Cokesbury being dragged off to jail. But it was all
-very still. I never supposed when you caught a criminal the proceedings
-would be so natural and dignified.
-
-After a while the clerk came back. He said Mr. Whitney'd sent us his
-thanks for our kindness in coming—I never saw people waste so many
-words on politeness—and hoped we'd excuse him from thanking us in
-person, but he was just now very busy. He warned us not to say a word to
-anyone of what had transpired, and then a boy coming to the door and
-saying, "It's here," he told us a taxi was waiting below to take us to
-the Ferry.
-
-If we couldn't talk to anyone else we could to each other and I guess we
-did more gabbing going down in the taxi and across in the boat than Mrs.
-Cresset had done for years. She told me about the night when Cokesbury
-had come to her house. It was wonderful to see how luck was with
-him—the way it sometimes is with sinners. Usually at that hour she was
-round in the kitchen and when he knocked would have opened the door and
-seen his face in the lamplight. But she'd gone upstairs early as her
-little daughter had a cold.
-
-To go back over the small things that happened would make you sure some
-evil power was protecting him. That morning the little girl's cold
-wasn't bad and she'd gone to school as usual. But at the schoolhouse she
-heard that the dancing bear—the one I saw in Longwood which had been
-performing along the pike on its way back to Bloomington—had been at
-Jaycock's farm and might be round by Cresset's that afternoon. Like all
-children, she was crazy about the bear, and after school hours she and a
-chum slipped off and stood around in the damp, waiting. But the bear did
-not show up and when she came home, crying with disappointment, the
-cold was heavy on her. Her mother bundled her off to bed and went up
-early to sit with her. Only for that, Cokesbury would probably have been
-landed in jail weeks before, the State saved money and two innocent men
-saved shame and suffering.
-
-"That's the way it is with the Devil's own," I said. "I guess he takes
-care of them for a while; jollies them along the downward path."
-
-"It looks like that was the case," said Mrs. Cresset, her kind, rosy
-face very solemn. "But the power of evil gets broke in the end. 'Murder
-will out'—that's true if anything is. Think of that man feeling so safe
-and every hour the cords tightening round him."
-
-"And *we* did it," said I, awful proud. "We found the cords and then
-pulled on them."
-
-"We did," says she. "I never thought to be the one to put a
-fellow-creature behind bars, but I have and my conscience tells me I've
-done right."
-
-My, but we both felt chesty!
-
-The next morning Babbitts phoned me to say he'd be over Sunday evening.
-The information of "Our Suspect" would be given to the press Sunday
-morning for the Monday papers and after it was in he'd come across and
-tell me about it.
-
-Mr. Whitney had arranged for me not to go back to work till Tuesday and
-though I suppose the rest was good for me, the strain of waiting wore on
-me something dreadful. I kept wondering how Cokesbury had done it, and
-how he was going to explain this and account for that. Most of Sunday I
-lay on the bed trying to read a novel, but a great deal more interested
-in the hands of the clock than I was in the printed pages.
-
-When it began to darken up for evening I told Mrs. Galway I was
-expecting a gentleman caller and asked for the loan of the parlor. She's
-a great one for love affairs and it always discouraged her that I had no
-regular company. Now she thought I'd got a steady at last and wanted to
-lend me her cameo pin, and decked up the parlor as if the minister was
-coming to call, with the hand-painted leather cushion and the punch-work
-tablecloth.
-
-Long before Babbitts was due I was sitting by the stove, burning bright
-and clear, with the drop light throwing a glow over the center table.
-Upstairs I could hear Mrs. Galway tramping round as she went to bed,
-which was considerate of her as she was something of a night bird. When
-I heard his knock at the side door, I gave a sort of squeal of
-excitement and ran to let him in.
-
-"Well?" I said, grabbing his arm, too worked up to say good evening,
-"has he confessed?"
-
-"Yes," he said, "he has and he's told an uncommon queer story."
-
-"He killed her?"
-
-"That's the queerest part of it," said Babbitts slowly, "he didn't."
-
-
-
-
-XIV
-===
-
-
-Now I don't believe if I gave you twenty guesses you'd know what I did
-when I heard those words—burst out crying.
-
-It wasn't because I wanted Cokesbury to be executed; it wasn't because I
-wanted the reward; it wasn't even that I was so crazy to have Jack Reddy
-exonerated—it was just because I was so disappointed—so *foiled*—that
-I couldn't seem to bear it.
-
-I cried so hard I didn't know what I was doing, and I suppose that's the
-reason I leaned on Babbitts' shoulder, it being the nearest thing handy.
-He brought me to my senses, patting me on the arm and saying sort of
-soothing as if he was comforting a child who'd broken her doll:
-
-"There, there—don't cry—it'll be all right soon. We'll get the right
-man. Don't take it to heart that way."
-
-Then I began to laugh, for it did seem so comical—me crying because
-Cokesbury wasn't a murderer, and Babbitts telling me not to take it to
-heart as if I'd been disappointed in not seeing the electrocution. The
-laughter and tears got mixed up together and I don't know where I'd have
-landed if I hadn't seen he was getting frightened and wanted to call
-Mrs. Galway. That pulled me up, and I got a hold on myself. In a few
-minutes we were sitting side by side in front of the stove, the storm
-over, all but a little hiccupy kind of sob, that came upon me unexpected
-at intervals.
-
-For the next hour we sat there without moving while Babbitts told me
-Cokesbury's story.
-
-I'll put down what he said as near his words as I can remember it. The
-way he told it was better than any of the newspaper accounts, even his,
-though he got a raise of salary for the way he'd handled it:
-
-"Cokesbury says he didn't kill Sylvia Hesketh and I believe him and so
-do the Whitneys. Besides the corroborative evidence is absolutely
-convincing. He's not a murderer but he's a coward—no good at all—and
-that explains why he didn't come out after the crime and tell what he
-knew. Instead he got in a panic, lost what little nerve he had, and was
-skipping out to Europe when you nabbed him.
-
-"He was in love with Sylvia Hesketh, if you call that sort of thing
-love. Anyway, instead of being simply what you might describe as a beau
-of hers, he was mad about her. I fancy even she, poor girl, didn't
-realize the passion she'd kindled, but was like a child playing with a
-dynamite bomb. It appears she saw more of him than anybody guessed.
-After the first flirtation at Bar Harbor, he came down to Cokesbury
-Lodge nearly every Sunday and used to meet her in the woods and on the
-side roads, and make dates with her for theaters and concerts in town.
-He kept it quiet for he knew without being told that the Doctor
-wouldn't stand for it. His hope was that, willful and unstable as he
-knew her to be, he'd eventually win her by his persistence and devotion.
-
-"It was one of those situations that may end in nothing or may end as
-this one did in a tragedy. The girl was foolhardy and flirtatious; the
-man infatuated. Very quickly he got on to the fact that he was not the
-only victim of her beauty and her wiles. He watched and questioned and
-found out about the other men. Of them he soon saw that Reddy was the
-favored one and a deadly jealousy seized him, for Reddy might have
-attracted any woman.
-
-"When he tried to find out from her how she stood with Reddy he could
-get no satisfaction. She'd tell him one thing one day and another the
-next. She kept them all guessing, but it didn't mean to any of the
-others what it meant to Cokesbury. All through October he spied and
-queried, and learnt that she was meeting Reddy in his car and going off
-for long jaunts with him. He says he was half mad with jealousy and
-fear, but he hid it from her.
-
-"That's the way things were when he sent the phone message that you
-caught. You sized him up just right. When she told him she had a date
-that was a secret, he got a premonition of the truth, the way a man does
-when his reason is under the dominion of his emotions. He felt certain
-she was going off with Reddy, and the brakes that he'd kept down till
-then were lifted. He determined he'd find out and if it was true stop
-them if the skies fell.
-
-"And now here comes the queer part of the story. If anybody'd guessed it
-a lot of things that were dark would have been as clear as daylight. He
-*did* keep the date you heard him make on the phone."
-
-"How could he? He had no car, or horse, or anything."
-
-"Only part of that's true—he had no car, or horse, but he *did* have
-something."
-
-"What?"
-
-"An aeroplane."
-
-I fell back staring at him.
-
-"An aeroplane—in Cokesbury Lodge?"
-
-"In the garage there. *That's* why he wouldn't rent the house; *that's*
-why he kept going down over Sunday all summer. The year he was in France
-he'd done a lot of flying and was fascinated by it. Before he left there
-he was an expert aviator, but his wife hated it and it was one of their
-grounds of dissension. After she died he had a machine brought down in
-sections, set it up himself, and kept it in the garage. Not a soul knew
-it. He only flew at night for he wanted it kept a secret."
-
-"Why—what for?"
-
-"Because—here's the best thing I've heard about him—he carried a heavy
-life insurance policy secured to his children. Cokesbury's not a rich
-man, though he has a good business, and if he died his children would
-have had to live on what their mother left them, which wasn't much. If
-it was known that he was aviating the policy would have been
-invalidated, so he indulged his secret passion at night. The isolated
-position of the house made it easy to escape detection and his machine
-was equipped with a very silent muffler. No one had a glimmering of it,
-not even Sylvia.
-
-"The phone message you heard was sent from the station at Jersey City
-and when he sent it he *did* intend coming to Mapleshade in his motor.
-When he got to Azalea and found the car unmended in the garage he flew
-into a rage, as he thought his plans were blocked. Alone in the Lodge,
-ravaged by jealousy, he lost all caution and decided to take out the
-aeroplane.
-
-"You remember that there was a moon that night, but that in the evening
-the skies were clouded and the air breathless. The darkness and the
-weather were on his side and he came down in a field about ten minutes
-walk from the house, closing the cut-out as he descended. He was early
-and hid himself among some trees where he could watch the front door. He
-says it was while he was waiting there for her that the idea came to him
-of frustrating an elopement by carrying her off.
-
-"He was laying round in his mind how he would get the truth from her,
-when he saw her come out and gave a low whistle. She heard it and came
-toward him. It was not till she was close to him and he could see the
-outlines of her figure through the dark, that he made out a bag in her
-hand. *Then* he knew for certain she was going and decided on his
-course.
-
-"In all his other dealings with her he had found her subtle and evasive.
-Now, perhaps because for the first time in her life she had decided on a
-positive action, she went straight to the point. Without any preamble
-she told him what she was going to do and that within a half-hour Reddy
-would be waiting for her in the Lane.
-
-"He showed no anger or surprise, apparently accepting the situation in
-the most friendly spirit. He says he thought she was relieved, having
-expected a scene with him. When he had disarmed her of her suspicions,
-he told her of the airship and asked her if she wouldn't like to come up
-for a spin before Reddy arrived. They had over half an hour and he could
-take her for a short flight and would bring her down in ten or fifteen
-minutes.
-
-"Everybody agrees that she was a bold, venturesome girl, and the idea
-appealed to her, as she had never been up. They walked quickly through
-the fields and bit of woodland to the aeroplane. She was in high spirits
-as she tucked herself in; he could hear her laughter as he took his
-seat, and then, closing the cut-out, they soared up.
-
-"They rose high—about two thousand feet, he thought—and then he headed
-East. They were winging their way over Cokesbury Lodge on toward the
-hills in the distance when Reddy must have sighted the lights of
-Longwood as he came down the Firehill Road.
-
-"Cokesbury swears he had no intention of kidnapping her. He says he had
-no definite idea of where he was going, that his plan was simply to get
-her away from Reddy and put an end to the marriage. Personally, I don't
-believe him. I think he had a perfectly clear idea of carrying her off
-to Cokesbury Lodge, and that his chivalrous scheme was to put her into
-such a compromising position she would be willing to marry him. Maybe
-I'm wrong—I don't know. Anyway, he very soon saw you can't abduct a
-high-spirited, hot-tempered girl against her will.
-
-"After about fifteen or twenty minutes he was conscious of her getting
-uneasy and speaking to him—words that he couldn't hear but that he knew
-to be at first startled questions, then angry commands. He shouted
-replies, but the great machine kept steadily on its way, neither turning
-nor dipping downward. Then she realized and broke into a fury, turning
-upon him in the dark, putting her face close to his and screaming for
-him to bring her down. The noise made it impossible to argue with her,
-and fearful of what she might do, he held her off with his elbow, the
-delicately balanced machine swaying as she seized his arm and shook it,
-lunging up against him, her cries of rage rising above the thunder of
-the screw.
-
-"Can't you imagine it? The big ship sailing through the night with the
-lights of farms and little towns sliding by far below, and above the sky
-muffled deep in black clouds. Poised between them the man and woman,
-each gripped by a different passion—suspended there like two naked
-souls in a sort of elemental battle of the sexes.
-
-"He admits he was scared and if he could have spoken to her would have
-pacified her with all sorts of assurances. But speech was out of the
-question, and when she made a sudden lunge across him for the wheel he
-realized she would kill them both if he didn't bring her to earth.
-Throwing her back with a blow of his elbow, he yelled that he was coming
-down and as she felt the machine begin its glancing, downward glide she
-fell back into her place, suddenly quiet, then leaned forward scanning
-the country below them.
-
-"A momentary break of the clouds let a little light spill through and by
-this he saw a bare, bold landscape darkened by woods, and with the gleam
-of a large body of water to the right, showing against the blackness
-like polished steel. He made a landing in an open space, an uncultivated
-field with a hillock in the center covered with grass and surrounded by
-trees. The water had drained off this and it was quite dry.
-
-"She was hardly out on the ground and he was preparing for an
-explanation when to his surprise she curtly told him to follow her and
-led the way along a ridge that skirted the lake. This, too, was dry, a
-fact curiously in his favor, for their feet left no tracks, the grass
-closing on the trail they swept through it. She did not address him
-again till, the dim shape of a house appearing, he asked her if she was
-going there and she answered in the same, curt way: Yes; she was cold. A
-wharf jutted out in front of the house and in stepping from the grass to
-the planks he made a motion to help her, but she started away from him
-as if he was a snake, making two or three steps into the liquid mud that
-ran up to the wharf's edge. It was then he thought she dropped the
-glove. Once again on the planks she took a key from her purse, fitted it
-in the lock and opened the door.
-
-"The room was pitch dark and Cokesbury stood in the doorway while she
-went in. She moved about as if she was accustomed to the place, lit a
-lamp, set a match to the fire already laid and gave him a copper kettle
-to fill with water from the lake. When he came back with it the table
-was set out with tea things and the fire was leaping up the chimney. She
-hung the kettle on a crane, swung it over the flames and then, turning
-to him, said:
-
-"'Do you know where you are?' He said he didn't and she answered:
-'You're in Jack Reddy's bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, the place where I've
-spent the happiest days of my life.'
-
-"He looked at her in amazement and she smiled scornfully back at him.
-'You fool!' she said, 'to think you could come blundering in and stop me
-from marrying the only man of all of you who's worth a heartbeat.'
-
-"She made tea and then motioned him to sit down by the table, taking a
-seat at the other side. Facing each other in the lamplight they had a
-conversation that put an end to all his dreams. For the first time in
-his acquaintance with her he thought she spoke frankly. She told him of
-her friendship with Reddy from the start, and how the Doctor's senseless
-opposition had fanned a boy-and-girl flirtation into a passionate love
-affair.
-
-"When the quarrels began at Mapleshade they found that they could meet
-without fear of detection at the Lake, she going out there in her car
-and he in his. She had her own key and often, during the autumn, she had
-gone to the bungalow in the morning, Reddy had joined her and they had
-spent the day together, canoeing and fishing on the lake, cooking a
-picnic meal over the fire, and driving home in the afternoon, the racer
-towing her car till they came to the turnpike.
-
-"Cokesbury says he thinks at first it was only the spirit of romance and
-adventure which made her do such a rash thing, but that in the end
-Reddy's devotion and chivalrous attitude made a deep impression on her
-and she came as near loving him as she could any man. He says there is
-no doubt that the meetings were perfectly innocent and that Reddy had
-behaved from the start as a gentleman.
-
-"'Whether she really loved him or not,' he said, 'he'd taught her to
-respect him.'
-
-"They talked for over an hour, taking the tea she had made and Cokesbury
-smoking a cigar. He remembered leaving the butt in the saucer of his
-cup. It was half-past eight when they rose to go. Sylvia put out the
-lamp but the fire was still burning and the tea things were left on the
-table. Cokesbury says he promised to take her home, that he saw his case
-was hopeless, and he'd made up his mind to have done with her forever.
-
-"The sky was clouded over and it was as dark as a pocket when they went
-back to the aeroplane. He had to direct the machine by guesswork, the
-country black below him and the sky black above. He swears that he
-intended to take her back to Mapleshade, and I believe him. No man—not
-even a bad egg like Cokesbury—wants to run away with a woman who hands
-out the line of talk that girl had in the bungalow.
-
-"Anyway, we've only his word for the statement that he completely lost
-his bearings. He could see no lights and after making an exploratory
-circle, realized he hadn't the slightest idea which way to go. To make
-matters worse, he could hear from shouted remarks of hers that her
-suspicions were on the alert and that she was ready to flare up again.
-By this time there wasn't much of the lover left in him. According to
-his own words he was as anxious to get her home again as she was to be
-there. With his head clear and his blood cold he did not relish a second
-flight with a woman fighting like a wildcat.
-
-"This was the situation—she, angry and disbelieving; he, scared and
-unable to conciliate her—when the twinkle of a light caught his eye and
-he decided to come down and ask his way. They dropped into a stretch of
-grass land among fields, with the light shining some way off through a
-screen of trees. Farther away, just a spark, he saw another light. He
-told her to wait while he went to inquire, and walked off toward the one
-that was nearest.
-
-"It was Cresset's Farm. There he had the interview with Mrs. Cresset,
-telling her he had an auto in order to explain his presence. When he
-went back he found that Sylvia had disappeared. At first he didn't know
-what to do, realizing that if the story of their flight got abroad,
-there would be the devil to pay. He was certain she had disbelieved him
-and had taken the opportunity to get away from him. She was either
-hiding or had gone for the second light. This being the most plausible,
-he walked toward it—quite a distance across fields and through
-woods—and brought up at a ramshackle roadhouse—the Wayside Arbor.
-
-"He stole round from the back to a side window and there, through a
-crack in the shutter, looked in and saw Sylvia talking to Hines. He says
-he stayed there for some minutes, afraid if he went in after her she
-would make a scene and start a scandal. Then his eyes fell on the
-telephone booth and he felt sure she had telephoned either to her own
-home or to Reddy. Her air of waiting—she was sitting by the stove with
-her feet on its lower edge—confirmed him in this and he decided to let
-her alone.
-
-"He went back to the aeroplane, wondering what would be the outcome of
-the whole crazy escapade. He says he felt confident of her cleverness
-to hush the thing up, but he was uneasy. His discomfort wasn't lessened
-when he found that she had left her bag in the machine, and on his way
-home one of the things that preoccupied him was thinking up the best way
-of getting the bag back to her.
-
-"Monday morning he went to town in a state of suspense. If she should
-tell there was no knowing what might happen and he was on the alert for
-a visit from the Doctor or even Reddy. But the day passed without any
-sign of trouble, and he was just calming down, thinking she had either
-found Reddy and gone with him or invented some story to quiet the
-Mapleshade people, when he read of the murder in the evening paper.
-
-"*Then*, you better believe he was frightened. He knew the bag was
-hidden in his room at the Lodge and that as far as he could tell, not a
-soul had seen the airship. As to Mrs. Cresset, he felt safe for she
-couldn't possibly have made out a feature in the darkness."
-
-"But," I cried out, "why if he hadn't done it——"
-
-"That's all right," Babbitts interrupted. "He hadn't done it, but I tell
-you he was a coward. He was in a sweat for fear of being suspected, of
-being pulled in as a witness, of his reputation, his business, his
-position. He wanted to keep out of it at any cost."
-
-"What a cur!" I said.
-
-"Oh, he's that and more, and he's ready to admit it himself. But it
-wasn't as smooth sailing as he thought it would be. After the inquest he
-read of the overheard phone message and that brought him up with a jolt.
-He got in a state of terror, realizing too late that his silence was
-more incriminating than any confession.
-
-"Every day his fears grew worse. He wouldn't answer any phone calls,
-faking up reasons to his clerks and his servants. Finally it got on his
-nerves so he couldn't stand it and he made ready to skip to Europe. The
-key was what tripped him up. Do you remember Mr. Whitney saying how
-criminals overlooked important details? Well, what he overlooked was the
-key of the garage. In his preoccupation on Monday morning he had put it
-in the pocket of the raincoat he was accustomed to leave in the auto and
-had simply forgotten it. Then when he went to pack his things he
-couldn't find it, hunted in a nervous frenzy and finally had his man
-telephone over to Miner's place. You and the key were the combination
-that beat him."
-
-"But Jack Reddy?" I said. "Was he going to slink off and let him be
-tried for the murder when he could have cleared it all up?"
-
-"He *says* not and I guess the fellow's not as yellow as to have stood
-by and let an innocent man go to his death. He says there wasn't enough
-evidence to convict Reddy and if things had gone badly he would have
-come out and told what he knew. And I think that's true—anyway, we'll
-give him the benefit of the doubt."
-
-"How can you be so sure? How do you know he's *not* the murderer after
-all?"
-
-"Oh, there's no doubt. Everything fits in too well. The police were out
-at Cokesbury Lodge on Saturday and saw the aeroplane and found Miss
-Hesketh's bag. Both the Whitneys—father and son, who've had a vast
-experience in this sort of case—say there's no question of his
-innocence."
-
-We sat silent for a spell, looking at the stove, then I said:
-
-"We're back just where we were in the beginning."
-
-Babbitts leaned forward and shook down some ashes.
-
-"The case is, but we're not," he said.
-
-"How do you make that out?" I asked.
-
-"Six weeks ago we didn't know each other and now we're friends."
-
-"That's so," I said, and we both sat staring thoughtfully at the red eye
-of the stove.
-
-
-
-
-XV
-==
-
-
-Cokesbury's story made a great sensation. Even if it didn't bring us any
-nearer to finding the murderer, it explained the mystery of Sylvia's
-movements up to the time she appeared in the Wayside Arbor, and it
-cleared Jack Reddy. Babbitts told me that the Whitneys were doing some
-legal stunts—I won't tell what they were for I'd never get them
-straight—to have him liberated, and that they would soon issue a
-statement to the press.
-
-When it came out everybody saw why he had said such contradictory things
-about those seven hours on the road.
-
-Babbitts and I had guessed right when we thought he was holding
-something back and when I heard why I was grateful to him. Yes,
-grateful, that's the word. And I'll tell you why I use it. He was my
-hero and he stayed a hero, didn't fall down and disappoint me, but made
-me know there were people in the world who could stick to their standard
-no matter *what* happened. Don't you think that's a thing to be grateful
-for?
-
-The reason he didn't tell was to protect the memory of that poor dead
-girl, who couldn't rise up and protect herself. He knew what wicked lies
-would be told and believed and he was going to shield her in death as he
-would have in life.
-
-That night after he had searched the roads, he suddenly thought that in
-some wild freak she had gone to the bungalow in her own car and phoned
-him from there. As soon as the idea entered his head he went out to the
-lake. One glance showed him someone had been there before him—the room
-was warm, the fire still smouldering on the hearth. He lit the light and
-saw the two teacups and the cigar butt on the saucer. He examined the
-doors and windows and found that they were locked and there was no sign
-of anyone having broken in. The only person beside himself who had a key
-to the bungalow was Sylvia.
-
-Then he knew she had been there with another man and one of those fierce
-rages came on him.
-
-For a spell he was outside himself. He thought of things that never
-happened, the way people do in a fury—imagined Sylvia sending him the
-phone message with the other man standing by and laughing. He tore her
-letters out of the desk and threw them in the fire and smashed the tea
-things against the side of the house. He was half crazy, thinking
-himself fooled and made a mock of by the woman he had loved.
-
-When his rage quieted down he sat brooding over the fire for a long
-time. It was moonlight when he left, bright enough for him to fill the
-tank. He had never thought about any inquiries for the missing drum till
-at the inquest the question of the gasoline was sprung on him. Then he
-lied, feeling certain that no one would ever go out to the lake. It was
-his intention to go there himself, hide the drum and clear out the
-cottage, but he put it off, hating to go near the place. If Pat Donahue
-hadn't gone there to fish through the ice—a thing no one would have
-dreamed of—the secret of the bungalow would never have been discovered.
-
-One of the features of the case that he couldn't understand and that he
-spent the days in jail speculating about, was how she had reached the
-lake. The mud showed the tracks of only one auto, his own. He could find
-no solution to this mystery and he could speak to no one about it.
-Whatever happened to him, he had made up his mind he would never give
-her up to the evil-minded and evil-tongued who would blacken and tear to
-pieces all that was left of her.
-
-He was liberated, and, believe me, Longwood rejoiced. It was as if a
-king who had been banished had come back to his throne.
-
-I don't think he was home two days when he telephoned in asking me if
-he could come to see me and thank me for what I'd done. Wasn't that like
-him? Most men would have been so glad to get out of jail they'd have
-forgotten the hello girl who'd helped to free them, but not Jack Reddy.
-
-He came in the late afternoon, at the time I got off. I'll never forget
-it. Katie Reilly was at the switchboard and I was standing at the
-window, watching, when I saw the two lights of the gray racer coming
-down the street.
-
-I ran and opened the door—I wasn't bashful a bit—and when I saw him I
-gave a little cry, for he looked so changed, pale and haggard and older,
-a good many years older. But his smile was the same, and so was the
-kind, honest look of his face. Before he said a word he just held out
-his hand and mine went into it and I felt the clasp of his fingers warm
-and strong. And—strange it is, but true—I wasn't any more like the
-girl who used to tremble at the mere sight of him, but was calm and
-quiet, looking deep and steady into his eyes as if we'd got to be
-friends, the way a man might be friends with a boy.
-
-"Miss Morganthau," he said, "I've heard what you've done, and I want to
-thank you."
-
-"You needn't have taken all the trouble to come in from Firehill, Mr.
-Reddy," I answered. "You could have said it over the wire."
-
-"Could I have done this over the wire?" he said, giving my hand a shake
-and a squeeze. "You know I couldn't. And that's what I wanted to
-do—take a grip of the hand that helped me out of prison."
-
-I said some fool words about its being nothing and he went on smiling
-down at me, yet with something grave in his face.
-
-"I want to do more—ask a favor of you. I hope it won't be hard to grant
-for I've set my heart on it. Can I be your friend?"
-
-"Oh, Mr. Reddy," I stammered out, "you make me proud," and suddenly
-tears came into my eyes. I don't know why unless it was seeing him so
-changed and hearing him speak so humble to a common guy like me.
-
-"Oh, come now," he said, "don't do anything like that. You'll make me
-think you don't like the idea."
-
-I sniffed, wanting to kick Katie Reilly, who was gaping round in her
-chair, and I guess getting mad that way dried up my tears.
-
-"It's your friend I'll be till the end of my life, Mr. Reddy," I
-answered. "And the only thing I'm sorry for is that I didn't get the
-right man the way I thought I'd done."
-
-"Never mind about that," said he, his face hardening up, "we'll get him
-yet. Don't let's think of that now. It's the end of your day, isn't it?
-If you're going home will you let me take you there in my car?"
-
-There was a time when if I'd thought I'd ever ride beside Jack Reddy in
-that racer I'd have had chills and fever for a week in advance.
-
-But now I sat calm and still beside him as he rode me through Longwood
-to Mrs. Galway's door.
-
-As we swung up the street he talked very kind to me, complimenting me
-something awful, and saying that if he ever could do anything for me to
-let him know and he'd do it if it was within the power of man.
-
-"You see, Miss Morganthau," he said as we drew up in front of the Elite,
-"a man in my position feels pretty grateful to the person who's lifted
-off him the shadow of disgrace and death."
-
-Up in my room I sat quiet for a long time thinking. The thing that
-phased me was why I'd changed so, come round to feel that while he was
-still a grand, strong man, I'd always look up to and do anything for,
-I'd quit having blind staggers and heart attacks when he came along.
-
-Something had sidetracked me. I didn't know what. All I did know was
-that two months ago if he'd asked me to be his friend I'd not have known
-there was such a thing as food in the world. And that evening at
-half-past seven, being too lazy to go to the Gilt Edge, I was so hungry
-I had to go down to Mrs. Galway and beg the loan of three Uneedas and a
-hard boiled egg.
-
-It was one evening, not long after, that Anne Hennessey came in to see
-me. Babbitts was coming that night and Mrs. Galway had given up the
-parlor again and was in bed with a novel and a kerosene lamp. Anne was
-quite excited, the reason being that Mrs. Fowler had given her a
-present. She took it careful out of a blue velvet case and held it up in
-the glow of the drop light. It was a diamond cross and the minute I set
-eyes on it I knew where I'd seen it before.
-
-"Sylvia's," I said, low and sort of awed.
-
-Anne nodded.
-
-"Yes, the one she had on that night. Mrs. Fowler said she wanted to give
-me something that had been hers. I wouldn't have taken anything so
-handsome but I think the poor lady couldn't bear the sight of it,
-reminding her of her sorrow as it did."
-
-She moved it about and the stones sparkled like bits of fire in the
-lamplight. I stretched out my hand and took it, for diamonds tempt me
-like meat the hungry—that's the Jew in me, I suppose.
-
-"You won't call the King your cousin when you wear this," I said, and I
-held it against my chest, looking down at the brightness of it.
-
-"That's just where Sylvia had it on," said Anne almost in a whisper,
-"where the front of her dress crossed. One of the police officers told
-me."
-
-My mother was a Catholic and it's Catholic I was raised, for though my
-father was a Jew he loved my mother and let her have her way with me.
-
-"Wouldn't you think," I said, "that when the murderer saw the cross on
-her it would have stayed his hand?"
-
-"Wouldn't you," said Anne, "but to men as evil as that the cross means
-nothing. And then out in the dark that way, he probably never saw it."
-
-Babbitts' knock sounding, I handed it back to her and let him in,
-feeling bashful before Anne, who didn't know how often Mrs. Galway was
-retiring at eight-thirty. She left soon after, saying Mrs. Fowler liked
-her to be round in the evening, which was news to me, as she'd told me
-that the Fowlers always sat in the sitting-room together, the Doctor
-reading aloud till Mrs. Fowler got sleepy.
-
-After she'd gone, Babbitts and I drew up to the stove, cozy and
-cheerful, with our feet on the edge of it. We'd come to know each other
-so well now that we'd other topics beside "the case," but that night we
-worked around to it, me picking at the box of candy Babbitts had brought
-and rocking lazily as contented as a child.
-
-Babbitts was still keen for that reward. He said to me:
-
-"You had your fingers on it once, and it's my wish that you'll get your
-whole hand on it next time."
-
-"What a noble character," said I, "calculating for little Molly to get
-it all! Where do *you* come in?"
-
-"Oh, don't bother about me," says he. "You've a bad habit of thinking
-too much where other people come in. You got to quit it—it isn't good
-business. Now what I want to arrange is for you and me to make an
-excursion out to the Wayside Arbor some afternoon."
-
-"The Wayside Arbor—what'll we do there?"
-
-"Take a look over the ground. You see, with the process of elimination
-that's been going on things have narrowed down to the vicinity of the
-crime. It's my opinion that the murder was not only committed but was
-planned round there. The police are losing heart and not doing much. As
-far as I can find out Fowler's detectives—Mills and his crowd—are
-getting their pay envelopes regular but not getting anything else.
-Now—just for devilment—let *us* combine our two giant intellects and
-see what we can see."
-
-"Haven't they gone over every inch of it?"
-
-"They have—with a fine-tooth comb. But that doesn't prevent us going
-over it and taking our fine-tooth combs along."
-
-"Isn't Hines under surveillance?"
-
-"Good Lord," says he laughing, "*everybody's* under surveillance.
-There's not one of the suspects but knows he's expected to stay put and
-is doing it. But who's getting anywhere? There's no reason why we
-shouldn't go out that way, call on Mrs. Cresset, and take a look in at
-the Wayside Arbor ourselves."
-
-"I'm game," I said, "though I can't see what good it's going to do."
-
-"It'll give us a half-day together," said he. "I don't know how you feel
-about it but that looks worth while to me."
-
-We made a date for the following Monday, my holiday, just eight weeks
-from the murder.
-
-The next morning I had a surprise—a kind that hasn't often come my
-way. It was a letter directed in typewriting with a half-sheet of paper
-inside it inclosing a fifty-dollar bill. On the paper, also typed, was
-written:
-
- For Miss Morganthau—A small return for her recent good work in
- the Hesketh Murder Case.
-
-That was all—no name, no date, no handwriting. I don't know what made
-me think right off of Mr. Whitney, unless it was because there was no
-one else who knew of what I'd done and could have afforded to send that
-much. The only other person it could have been was Jack Reddy, and
-somehow or other, after he'd asked me to be his friend, I felt certain
-he wouldn't send me money, no matter what I'd done for him. Friends
-don't pay each other.
-
-I guess there wasn't a more elated person in Longwood that morning than
-yours truly. I'd had that much before—saved it—but I'd never had it
-fall out of the sky that way in one beautiful, crisp, new bill.
-
-The Jew and the Irish in me had some tussle, one wanting to salt it down
-in the bank and the other to blow it in. But that time the Irish had a
-walk-over, probably because I was limp and weary with all the excitement
-of the last two months and felt the need of doing something foolish to
-tone me up. When I thought of the clothes I could buy with it, the Jew
-just lay down without a murmur and you'd have supposed I was all County
-Galway if you'd seen me writing a list of things on the back of the
-envelope. If it'll make you think better of me I'll confess that I
-wanted to look nice on that trip with Babbitts, the first real jaunt
-we'd ever taken, for I didn't count those times in New York when we were
-sleuthing after Cokesbury. Just once in my life I was going to have a
-real blowout, and I wanted the chap who was taking me to feel he'd some
-lady with him.
-
-With three of us in the office I fixed things so I got Saturday
-afternoon and I hiked over to town with that bill burning in my purse
-like a live coal. And, my it was great spending it! I was cool on the
-outside, looking haughty at the goods and casting them aside
-contemptuous on chairs, but inside I was drunk with the feeling of
-riches.
-
-I bought a one-piece silk dress that fitted me like every measure was
-mine and a long black plush coat, rich fine plush like satin, that was
-draped something elegant and fastened in front with a novelty ornament.
-For a hat I selected a small dark felt, nothing flashy, no trimming,
-just a rosette at one side. And with the last three dollars a purse,
-black striped silk, oval shaped with a ribbon to hang it to your wrist.
-
-It was six when I got home, carrying the boxes myself—all but the coat;
-that I *had* to wear—pretty nearly dead with the weight of them, but
-not regretting—neither the Jew nor the Irish—one nickel of it.
-
-Midday Monday, when I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was
-waiting, he put his hand over his eyes like the Indians in front of
-cigar stores and pretended to stagger.
-
-.. _`I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting`:
-
-.. figure:: images/illus5.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting
-
- I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting
-
-"What good deed have I ever done," says he, "that I'm allowed to walk
-the world with such a queen!"
-
-Then I felt certain that to break loose now and again is a healthy
-change.
-
-
-
-
-XVI
-===
-
-
-It was a long ride to Cresset's Crossing, first on the main line to the
-Junction and then just time to make a close connection with the branch
-line to the Crossing.
-
-It was three when we reached there and started out to walk to Cresset's
-Farm. There'd been rain the day before and the road was muddy, with
-water standing here and there in the ruts. The weather was still
-overcast, the sky covered with clouds, heavy and leaden colored. It was
-cold, a raw, piercing air, and we walked fast, I—careful of my new
-dress—picking my steps on the edge of the road and Babbitts tramping
-along in the mud beside me.
-
-I'd never been up there at that season and I thought it was a gloomy,
-lonesome spot. The land rolled away with fences creeping across it like
-gray snakes. Here and there were clumps of woods, purplish against the
-sky, and between them the brown stretches of plowed land, that in the
-springtime would be green with the grain. Now, under those dark,
-low-hanging clouds with the naked trees and the bare, empty fields, it
-looked forlorn and dreary. It was as still as a picture, not a thing
-moving, but one man, someways off, walking along the top of a hill. You
-could see him like a silhouette, going slow, with a bundle on a stick
-over his shoulder, and a bit of red round his neck. When he got to the
-highest point he stopped and looked down on the road. He couldn't see
-us—the trees interfered—and he seemed, as Babbitts said, like the
-spirit of the landscape—sort of desolate and lonely, plodding along
-there, solitary and slow, between the earth and the sky. Then presently
-even he was gone, disappearing over the brow of the hill.
-
-When we passed the Riven Rock Road and I could see the Firehill one,
-making a curving line through the country beyond, I had a creepy
-feeling, thinking of what had happened there eight weeks ago.
-
-"Where's the place?" I said, almost in a whisper, and Babbitts pointed
-ahead with his cane.
-
-"A little further on, where the bushes grow thick there."
-
-Right along from the station, clumps and bunches of small trees had
-edged the way like a hedge. After we passed the Riven Rock Road they
-grew thicker, making a sort of shrubbery higher than our heads. I
-remembered that just before the murder men had been cutting these for
-brushwood and even now we passed piles of branches, dry and dead, with
-little leaves clinging to them like brown rags. Where the Firehill Road
-ran into the turnpike the growth was tangled and close, almost a small
-wood.
-
-It wasn't far beyond that Babbitts pointed out the place. There was an
-edge of shriveled grass and on this she had been found with the
-branches piled over her. He drew with his cane where she had lain
-between the trees and the road.
-
-"You can see just how the murderer worked," he said. "He attacked Miss
-Hesketh here, burst out of the darkness on her and killed her with one
-blow—you remember there was no sign either about her or the
-surroundings of a struggle—and almost immediately heard the Doctor's
-auto horn. We can place that by the scream the Bohemian woman heard."
-
-"Do you think he was there when the Doctor passed?" I asked.
-
-"Of course he was. He hadn't had time to arrange the body. That was done
-after the Doctor had gone by—done after the moon came out. Reddy said
-it was as bright as day when he got there. By that brightness the
-murderer did the work of concealment."
-
-I stepped back into the mud and looked down to where the Firehill Road
-entered the turnpike a few yards farther on.
-
-"He must have heard Mr. Reddy's horn before the car came in sight. By
-that time he had probably finished and stolen away."
-
-"I don't think so," said Babbitts. "He couldn't have done it without
-some noise and Reddy, who was listening and watching for Sylvia, was
-positive there wasn't a sound. That human devil was back among the
-bushes when Reddy's car came round the turn. And he must have stayed
-there—afraid to move—watching Reddy, first as he waited, then as he
-slowly ran back and forth. God, what a situation—one man looking for
-the woman he loved, her murderer hidden a few yards from him, and
-between them both her dead body!"
-
-I seemed to see it: the road bathed in moonlight, the murderer huddled
-down in the black shadow, and Reddy in the car looking now this way and
-now that, expecting her to come. How terribly still it must have been,
-not a sound except the rustling of the withered leaves. I could imagine
-the light from the racer's lamps, shooting out in two long yellow rays,
-showing every rut and ridge, so that that grim watching face had to draw
-down lower still in the darkness of the underbrush. Did he know who
-Reddy was waiting for? What did he feel when the auto moved and one
-swerve sideways would have sent those yellow rays over the heap of
-branches on the grass? As Babbitts said, he must have been afraid to
-move, must have cowered there and seen the racer glide away and then
-come back; and still bent behind the network of twigs have watched the
-man at the wheel, as he looked up and down the road, waited and
-listened, every now and then sounding the horn, that broke into the
-silence like a weird, hollow cry.
-
-"Oh, come on," I said suddenly, seizing Babbitts' arm. "Let's go up to
-Cresset's where it's bright and cheerful."
-
-We had a lovely time at Cresset's. My, but they were a nice family!
-Farmer Cresset, a big, kind, jolly man and his two sons, splendid,
-sun-burned chaps, and his little daughter, as fresh as a peach and as
-shy as a kitten. I loved them all, and Mrs. Cresset best. She made me
-think of my mother, not that she looked like her, but I guess because
-she had something about her that's about all women who've had families
-they loved.
-
-They gave us tea and cake and they joked Babbitts good and hard about
-coming out there and pretending to be a tourist.
-
-"Never mind, son," Farmer Cresset said, "you got it out of the old
-woman. I couldn't make her tell; seemed like she thought she'd be
-arrested for the crime if she up and confessed about that feller."
-
-It was getting on for evening when we left to go to the Wayside Arbor.
-We'd planned to have our supper there and then go back by the branch
-line, catching a train at the Crossing at eight-thirty. The Cressets
-were real sorry to have us go, especially there.
-
-"It ain't a nice place," said Mrs. Cresset, as she kissed me good-bye,
-"but we're hoping to see it cleared out soon. Tom's stirring Heaven and
-earth to get Hines' license revoked."
-
-"I guess Heaven's lending a hand," said the farmer, "for I hear Hines'
-business is bad since the fatality. We've a lot of foreign labor round
-here and they're mighty superstitious and are giving his place the
-go-by."
-
-It was dark when we saw the lights of the Wayside Arbor, shining out
-across the road. We'd expected a moon to light us home, but the clouds,
-though they weren't as thick as they had been, were all broken up into
-little bits over the sky, like Heaven was paved with them.
-
-The Arbor was quiet as we stepped up and opened the bar door, and there,
-just like on the night of the murder, was Hines, sitting by the stove
-reading a newspaper. He jumped up quick and greeted us very cordial and
-you could see he was glad to get a customer. He sure was a tough looking
-specimen with a gray stubble all over his chin, and a dirty sweater
-hanging open over a dirtier shirt that had no collar and was fastened
-with a fake gold button that left a black mark on his neck. If I thought
-his looks were bad that day in the summer I thought they were worse now,
-for he seemed more down and dispirited than he was then.
-
-We asked him if we could have supper and he went out, calling to Mrs.
-Hines, and we could hear someone clattering down the stairs and then a
-whispering going on in the hall. When he came back he said they'd get us
-a cold lunch, but they didn't keep a great deal on hand, seeing as how
-they hadn't much call for meals at that season.
-
-You could see that was true. I never was in such a miserable,
-poverty-stricken hole. Leaving Babbitts talking to Hines in the bar, I
-went back into the dining-room, a long, shabby place that crossed the
-rear of the house. It was as dingy as the rest of it, with the paper all
-smudged and peeling off the walls and worn bits of carpet laid over the
-board floor. At the back two long windows looked out on the garden.
-Glancing through these I could see the arch of the arbor, with the wet
-shining on the tables and a few withered leaves trembling on the vines.
-
-When I turned back to the room I got a queer kind of scare—a thing I
-would have laughed at anywhere else, but in that house on that night it
-turned me creepy. There was a long, old-fashioned mirror on the opposite
-wall with a crack going straight across the middle of it. As I caught my
-reflection in it, I raised my head, wanting to get the effect of my new
-hat, and it brought the crack exactly across my neck. Believe me I
-jumped and then stood staring, for it looked just as if my throat was
-cut! Then I moved away from it, pulling up my collar, ashamed of myself
-but all the same keeping out of range of the mirror.
-
-In the bar I could hear the voices of Babbitts and Hines, Hines droning
-on like a person who's complaining. From behind a door at the far end of
-the room came a noise of crockery and pans and then a woman's voice,
-peevish and scolding, and another woman's answering back. I don't think
-I ever was in a place that got on my nerves so and what with the cold of
-the room—it was like a barn with no steam and the stove not lit—I sat
-all hunched up in my coat thinking of Sylvia Hesketh coming *there* for
-shelter!
-
-Suddenly the door at the end of the room opened and Mrs. Hines came in.
-She was the match of it all, with her red nose and her little watery
-eyes and her shoes dropping off at every step so you could hear the
-heels rapping on the boards where the carpet stopped. She began talking
-in a whining voice, and as she set the table, told me how the business
-had gone off, and they didn't know what they were going to do.
-
-Her hands, all chapped and full of knots like twigs, smoothed out the
-cloth and put on the china so listless it made you tired to look at
-them. It was better talking to her than sitting dumb with no company but
-dismal thoughts, so I encouraged her and between her trailings into the
-kitchen and her trailings out I heard all about their affairs.
-
-For a while after the murder they'd done a lot of business—it made me
-sort of shrivel up to see she didn't mind that; anything that brought
-trade was all the same to her—but now, nothing was doing. Only a few
-automobiles stopped there and the farmhands had dropped off, so their
-custom hardly counted. And Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, who was a
-first-class girl, if she did have grouchy spells, had got so slack she'd
-have to be fired, and she, Mrs. Hines, didn't see how she was to get
-another one what with the low wages and the lonesomeness.
-
-She trailed off into the kitchen again and I could hear her snapping at
-someone and that other woman's voice growling back. I supposed it was
-Tecla Rabine, though it didn't sound like her, my memory of her at the
-inquest being of a fat, good-natured thing that wouldn't have growled at
-anybody. And then the door was opened with one swift kick and Tecla
-came in, carrying a plate of bread in one hand and a platter with ham on
-it in the other. She didn't look grouchy at all, but gave me that broad,
-silly sort of smile I remembered and put the things down on the table!
-
-"Well, Tecla," I asked for something to say, "how are *you* getting on?"
-
-"Ach!" she answered disgusted, and pounded over the creaky floor to a
-cupboard out of which she took some dishes. "Me? I get out. What for do
-I stay? No luck here, no money. Who comes—nobody. Everything goes on
-the blink."
-
-She put the things on the table and then stood looking at me, squinting
-up her little eyes and with her big body, in a dirty white blouse and a
-skirt that didn't meet it at the waist, slouched up against the table.
-
-"I heard business was bad," I said, and thought that in spite of her
-being such a coarse, fat animal, she was rosy and healthy looking,
-which was more than you could say for the other two.
-
-"What do I get?" she said, spreading out her great red hands, "not a
-thing. Maybe five, ten cents. Every long time maybe a quarter. Since
-that lady gets killed all goes bad. The dagoes say 'evil eye.' They walk
-round the house that way," she made a half-circle in the air with her
-arm, "looking at it afraid. Me, too, I don't like it."
-
-"It sure is awful dismal," I agreed.
-
-"No good," she said. "Last year this time all the room
-full—to-night—\ *one* man"—she held up a finger in the air—"one only
-man, and he have lost what makes us to laugh. When I see him, I say,
-'Hein, Tito, good luck now you come. Make the bear to dance.' And he
-says this way"—she hunched up her shoulders and pushed out her hands
-the way the Guineas do—"'Oh, Gawda, there is no more bear; he makes
-dead long time.'"
-
-"Bear?" I said, and then I remembered. "You mean the one that went
-round with the acrobats. It's dead, is it?"
-
-Tecla nodded.
-
-"Gone dead in the country. And he says he starve now with no bear to get
-pennies. The boss says we all starve, and gave him a drink and cheese
-and bread. Ach!"—she shook her head, as if the loss of the bear was the
-last straw—"I no can stand it—nothing doing, no money, no more
-laughs—I quit."
-
-I didn't blame her. If you gave me two hundred a month I wouldn't have
-stayed there.
-
-Just then Babbitts came in and we began our supper; cold ham and stale
-bread and coffee that I know was the morning's heated over. Tecla went
-into the kitchen and I said to him, low and guarded:
-
-"What's Hines been saying to you?"
-
-He answered in the same key:
-
-"Oh, putting up a hard luck story. Cresset needn't bother. He wants to
-pull up stakes and go West."
-
-"Will they let him?"
-
-"That's one of the things he's been talking about. He says if he makes a
-move it'll look suspicious, and if he stays he'll be ruined. He
-certainly is up against it."
-
-I shot a glance from the kitchen to the bar door and then leaned across
-the table, almost whispering:
-
-"I don't see that our investigations have got us anything but a bad
-supper."
-
-"Neither do I," he whispered back. "The place looks like a stage setting
-for The Bandits' Den, but the people don't impress me that way at all."
-
-The kitchen door swung back and Mrs. Hines came in with a pumpkin pie
-that tasted like it was baked for Thanksgiving. She hovered round,
-fussing about us and joining in the conversation. You could see she was
-hungry for someone to talk to. Both she and her husband impressed me
-that way, as if they were most crazy with the dreariness of the place,
-and were ready to fasten on anybody who'd speak civil to them and
-listen to their troubles.
-
-Before we left, Babbitts went into the bar to settle up and I,
-remembering Tecla's complaints, called her in from the kitchen and
-fished a quarter out of my new purse. She was as pleased as a child,
-grinning all over, and wanting to shake hands with me, which I hated but
-couldn't avoid.
-
-When we were once more in the road I gave a gasp of relief. I felt as if
-I'd crept out from under a shadow, that was gradually sinking into me,
-down to the marrow of my bones. The night was cold, but a different
-kind; fresh and clear, the smell of the damp fields in the air, and the
-country quiet and peaceful.
-
-We had a good two miles before us and stepped out lively. It was dark;
-the clouds mottled over the sky; and in one place, where the moon was
-hidden, a little brightness showing through the cracks. Babbitts said he
-thought they'd break and that we'd have the moonlight on our way back.
-
-All around us the landscape stretched black and still. When you got
-accustomed to it, you could see the outlines of the hills against the
-sky, one darkness set against another, and the line of the road showing
-faint between the edgings of bushes. We couldn't hear anything but our
-own footsteps, soft and padding because of the mud, and off and on the
-rustling of the twigs as I brushed against them. I don't remember ever
-being out on a quieter night, and there was something lovely and
-soothing about it after that horrible house.
-
-We hadn't gone far—about ten minutes, I should think—when I suddenly
-clasped my wrist and felt that my purse was gone. I had taken it off to
-give Tecla the quarter and I remember I'd laid it on the supper table
-when she made me shake hands.
-
-"Oh dear!" I said, stopping short. "What shall I do—I've left my purse
-there."
-
-Babbitts stared at me through the dark.
-
-"At Hines'?"
-
-"Yes, on the supper table. And it's new, I'd only just bought it. Oh, I
-*can't* lose it."
-
-"You needn't. We've time, but you'll have to hit up the pace. Come on
-quick—that's not just the place I'd select to leave a purse in."
-
-He turned to go but I stood still. I hated going back there and it was
-lovely walking slowly along through the sharp chill air and the peaceful
-night.
-
-"You go," I said, coaxing. "I'll saunter on and you can catch me up."
-
-"Don't you mind being alone? Aren't you afraid?"
-
-"Afraid?" I gave a laugh. "I'm much more afraid in that queer joint.
-Besides, I can't go as fast as you can and whatever happens we've got to
-catch that train."
-
-"If you don't mind that's the best plan. I'll run both ways."
-
-"Then hustle and I'll walk on slowly. But come whether you find the
-purse or not, for that's the last train to the Junction to-night, and we
-mustn't lose it."
-
-"Right you are, and we won't lose anything, the train or the purse. I'll
-make it a rush order. Go slow till I come."
-
-He turned and went off at a run and I walked on. At first I could hear
-the thud of his feet quite plainly and then the sound was suddenly
-deadened and I knew he was on the moist turf by the roadside. The
-silence closed down around me like a black curtain that seemed to be
-shutting me off from the rest of the world. I walked on slowly,
-gathering my skirts up from the wet and the twigs, as noiseless as a
-shadow in the dark of the trees.
-
-I don't know how much further I went, but not very far because I could
-just make out the line of the Firehill Road curving down between the
-fields, when I heard behind me a fitful, stealthy rustling in the
-bushes.
-
-
-
-
-XVII
-====
-
-
-In beginning this chapter, which is going to end my story of the Hesketh
-Mystery, I want to say right here that I'm no coward. The reason that
-things happened as they did was that I was worn out—more than I
-knew—by the strain and excitement of the last two months. Also I do
-think that most any girl would have lost her nerve if she'd been up
-against what I was.
-
-The gloom of that dreadful Wayside Arbor was still on me as I walked
-along with Babbitts. After a few moments I thought it had gone off and
-when I told him I wasn't afraid I said what seemed to me the truth. But
-when the sound of his footsteps died away, the loneliness crept in on
-me, seemed to be telling me something that I didn't want to hear. Down
-deep I knew what it was, and that every step was taking me closer to
-what I was afraid of—the place where Sylvia Hesketh had been murdered.
-
-It was when I was peering out ahead, trying to locate it, telling myself
-not to be a fool and gathering up my courage, that I heard that faint,
-stealthy rustling behind me.
-
-I stopped dead, listening. I was scared but not clear through yet, for I
-knew it might be some little animal, a rabbit or a chipmunk, creeping
-through the underbrush. I stood waiting, feeling that I was breathing
-fast, and as still as one of the telegraph poles along the road. The
-trees hid me completely. A person could have passed close by and not
-seen me standing there in my black cloak against the black background.
-
-Then I heard it again, very soft and cautious, a crackle of branches and
-then a wait, and presently—it seemed hours—a crackle of branches
-again. I moved forward, stepping on tiptoe, stifling my breath, my head
-turned sideways, listening, listening with every nerve. Even then I
-wasn't so terribly frightened, but I was shivery, shivery down to my
-heart, for I could hear that, whether it was beast or human, it was on
-the other side of the trees, just a little way back, going the way I
-was.
-
-It only took a few minutes—me stealing forward and it coming on, now
-soft as it stepped on the earth, now with a twig snapping sharp—to tell
-me I was being followed.
-
-When I got that clear, the last of my courage melted away. If it had
-been anywhere else, if it hadn't been so dark, if there'd been a house
-or a person within call, but, oh, Lord, in that lonesomeness, far off
-from everything—it was awful! And the awfullest part was that right
-there in front of me, getting nearer every minute, was the place where
-another girl had been murdered on a night like this.
-
-I tried to pull myself together, to remember that Babbitts would be back
-soon, but I couldn't stop my heart from beating like a hammer, terrible
-thuds up in my throat. Way off through the trees I could see the
-twinkle of Cresset's lights and I thought of them there; but it was as
-if they were at the other end of the world, too far for me to reach them
-or for them to hear my call.
-
-I don't know why I walked on, but I think it was pure fear. I was afraid
-if I stopped that dreadful following thing would overtake me. Once I
-tried to look back but I couldn't. I thought I might see it and I stole
-forward, now and then stopping and listening and every time hearing the
-crackle and snap of the twigs as it crept after me. I could see now the
-place where Sylvia was found, the shrubs curving back from the road as
-if to leave a space wide enough for her body.
-
-The sight made me stop and, as I stood there still as a statue, I heard
-the sounds behind me get louder, as if a big body was feeling and
-pushing its way between the trees, not so careful now, but trampling and
-crushing through the interlaced boughs. Then for the first time in my
-life I knew what it means when they say your hair stands on end. Down
-at the roots of mine there was a stirring all over my head and my heart!
-It was banging against my chest, blow after blow, as if it was trying to
-break a hole.
-
-The sky began to brighten. I got a sort of impression of those cracks in
-the clouds parting and the moonlight leaking through; but I didn't seem
-to see it plain, everything in me was turned to terror. The noise behind
-me was closer and louder and through it I heard a breathing, deep,
-panting breaths, drawn hard. Then I knew if I turned I could have seen
-what was following me, seen its awful face, glaring between the branches
-and its bent body, crouched, ready to spring.
-
-It's hard for me to tell what followed—everything came together and I
-couldn't see or think. I remember trying to scream, to give one shriek
-for Babbitts, and no sound coming, and that the thing, as if it knew
-what I was doing, made a sudden crashing close at my back. The
-brightness of the sky flashed in my eyes. I saw the clouds broken open,
-and the moon, big and white, whirling round like a silver plate. I tried
-to run but the earth rose up in waves and I staggered forward over them,
-wave after wave, with the moon spinning close to my eyes, and then
-blackness shutting down like the lid of a box.
-
-The next thing I remember was the sky with clouds all over it and in one
-place an opening with a little star as big as a pinhead set in the
-middle. I looked at that star for a long time, having a queer feeling
-that I was holding on to it and it was pulling me up. Then I felt as if
-something was helping the star, a strong support under my shoulders that
-raised me still further, and while I seemed to be struggling out of a
-darkness like water, I heard Babbitts' voice close to my ear:
-
-"Thank God, she's coming out of it."
-
-I turned my head and there was his face close to mine. A strong yellow
-light shone on it—afterward I saw it came from a lantern on the
-ground—and without speaking I looked into his eyes, and had a lovely
-feeling of rest as if I'd found something I was looking for.
-
-"You're all right?" he said; "you're not hurt?"
-
-"I'm very well, thank you," I said back, and my voice was like a
-whisper.
-
-The support under my shoulders tightened, drew me up against him, and he
-bent down and kissed me.
-
-We said no more, but stayed that way, looking at each other. I didn't
-want to move or speak. I didn't feel anything or care about anything. It
-seemed like Babbitts and I were the only two people in the whole world,
-as if there *was* no world, just us, and all the rest nothing.
-
-After that—he's often told me it was only a minute or two, though if
-you'd asked me I'd have said it was hours—I began to look round and
-take notice. I heard queer sounds as if someone was groaning in pain,
-and saw the shrubs and grass plain by the light of two lanterns
-standing on the ground. Near these was a man, lit up as far as his
-knees, and close by him, all crumpled on the earth, another person. The
-lanterns threw a bright glow over the upper part of that figure, and I
-saw the head and shoulders, the hair with leaves and twigs in it and
-round the neck a red bandanna. Then I made out it was a man and that it
-was from him the sounds were coming—moans and groans and words in a
-strange language.
-
-"What is it?" I whispered to Babbitts. "What's happened?"
-
-And he whispered back:
-
-"I'll tell you later. You're all right—that's all that matters now."
-
-It was like a dream and I can only tell it that way—me noticing things
-in little broken bits, as if I was at the "movies" and kept falling to
-sleep, and then woke up and saw a new picture. The man who was standing
-turned round and it was Hines. He looked across the road and gave a
-shout and others answered it, and lights danced up and down, coming
-closer through the dark. Then men came running—Farmer Cresset and his
-sons—and behind them Mrs. Hines, with her clothes held up high and her
-thin legs like a stork's. I could hear them breathing as they raced up
-and one man's voice crying:
-
-"It's all right, is it? There ain't been no harm done?"
-
-After that the men were in a group talking low, the lanterns in their
-hands sending circles and squares of light over the bushes and the
-grass. Presently Farmer Cresset broke away and went to the figure on the
-ground. He tried to pull him up, but the man squirmed out of his hand
-and fell back like a meal sack, his face to the earth, the moans coming
-from him loud and awful.
-
-After a while they put me on something long and hard with a bundle under
-my head and took me away up the road and through the woods. It was dark
-and no one said anything, the Cresset boys carrying what I was on and
-Babbitts walking alongside. As we started I heard someone say the
-Farmer would stay with Hines and "communicate with the authorities." And
-then we went swinging off under the trees, the footsteps of the men
-squashing in the mud. Soon there were lights twinkling through the
-branches, and just as I saw them and heard a dog bark, and a woman call
-out, my heart faded away again and that blackness swept over me.
-
-I didn't know till afterwards how long I was sick—weeks it was—lying
-in Mrs. Cresset's spare room with that blessed woman caring for me like
-her own daughter. No people in this world were ever better to another
-than that family was to me. And others were good—it takes sickness and
-trouble to make you value human nature—for when I got desperate bad Dr.
-Fowler came over and took a hand. Mrs. Cresset herself told me that
-respecting Dr. Graham as she did, she thought I'd never have come
-through if Dr. Fowler hadn't given himself right up to it, staying in
-the house for two days the time I was worst. And not a cent would he
-ever take for it, only a pair of bed slippers I knitted for him while I
-was getting better.
-
-It was not till I was well along on the upgrade that I heard what
-happened on that gruesome night. I was still in bed, sitting up in a
-pink flannel jacket that Anne Hennessey gave me, with the sunlight
-streaming in through the windows and a bunch of violets scenting up the
-room. Babbitts had brought them and it was he that told me, sitting in a
-rocker by the bedside and speaking very quiet and gentle so as not to
-give me any shock. For without my knowledge, just like an instrument of
-fate, it was I that had solved the Hesketh mystery.
-
-Neither man nor woman had killed Sylvia Hesketh. The murderer was the
-dancing bear.
-
-The man they found on the ground beside me that night was its owner,
-Tito Malti, the dago I had seen nearly three months before making the
-bear dance at Longwood, and the man Babbitts and I had seen that
-afternoon on the hill. Hines and Farmer Cresset carried him—he was
-unable to walk at first—to the Wayside Arbor and in the bar there he
-told them his story.
-
-He had been associated with the acrobats for several years, working over
-the country with them during the summer and lying up in small towns for
-the winter. That spring, when the company went out on their tour, he had
-noticed that his bear (he called it Bruno and spoke of it like a human)
-showed signs of bad temper. It was a big strong beast, but was getting
-old and a viciousness that it had always had was growing on it. He kept
-quiet about it as he hoped to get through the season without trouble and
-knew, if the company thought it was dangerous, they wouldn't stand for
-having it around. All the summer he wandered with them, guarding the
-bear carefully, never leaving it unmuzzled, and sleeping beside it at
-night.
-
-Toward the end of the season it began to grow worse. It had tried to
-attack one of the acrobats and there had been a quarrel. He saw he'd
-have to part from them, but they patched up the fight and he stayed on
-for their last performance at Longwood, where the business was always
-good.
-
-After that they separated, the company going into winter quarters at
-Bloomington and Malti telling them he would take Bruno across country
-and make a little extra money at the farms and villages. He did intend
-to do this but he really wanted to get off by himself, watch the animal,
-and try and gain his old control over it.
-
-He started, working round by the turnpike, letting Bruno perform when he
-seemed good tempered, but a good part of the time being afraid to. In
-this way he made enough money to keep himself, sleeping when the nights
-were bad, in barns and on the lee side of hayricks, the bear chained to
-him.
-
-On the night of the murder he had got round as far as the Wayside Arbor.
-His intention had been to take his supper there—he knew the place
-well—and have the bear dance for the Italian customers. But by the time
-he reached the Arbor he didn't dare. For some days Bruno had been sullen
-and savage—that afternoon Malti had had to beat him with the
-iron-spiked staff he always carried. The poor man said he was half crazy
-with fright and misery. He told Hines and Cresset, who said he was as
-simple as a young child, that what between his fear of getting into
-trouble with the authorities and his fear of losing the bear which was
-all he had in the world, he was distracted.
-
-In the afternoon he had begged some food at a farm and with this in his
-pocket he tracked across the fields and woods to the turnpike near the
-Firehill Road. Here—it being a lonely spot—he sat down in the shade of
-the trees that hid him from the highway and ate his supper. As he had
-been on the tramp for days he was dropping with fatigue and, seeing the
-bear seemed quiet, he stretched out and with the chain in his hand, had
-fallen asleep.
-
-He was wakened by a scream—the most awful he had ever heard. Half
-asleep as he was, he leaped to his feet, feeling in the dark for the
-chain. It was gone and the bear with it.
-
-The scream had come from the other side of the trees. With his staff in
-his hand he burst through them and in the darkness saw dimly the shape
-of that fearful, great beast reared upon its hind legs, with a black
-thing lying at its feet. He yelled and struck it in the face with the
-staff and it dropped down to all fours, growling and terrible, but as if
-the sound of his voice and the blows had cowed it. Then he grabbed for
-the chain, moving along the ground like a snake, and holding it, knelt
-and looked at the black thing—the thing the scream had come from.
-
-He raised it and saw the faint white of the face and hands and felt by
-the clothes it was a woman. He knew the way an enraged bear
-attacks—rising up to its hind legs and giving a blow with its paw, a
-blow that if the body it strikes is unprotected, can break bones and
-tear muscles out of their place. In the dark he felt the woman till his
-hand came on the trickle of blood on her face. That told him the brute
-had struck at her head, and sick and trembling, he lit a match and held
-it low over her. The hat had protected her from the claws; without it
-they would have torn through the scalp like the teeth of a rake. But
-when he saw her face and felt of her pulse, he knew that that savage
-blow had broken her skull and she was dead.
-
-At first he was too paralyzed to think, kneeling there beside her with
-the bear crouched at the end of his chain, not stirring as if it was
-scared at what it had done. Then the horn of the Doctor's auto woke him
-and, clutching the body, he drew back into the shadow. The car passed at
-furious speed, its noise drowning any sound that that strange and awful
-group might have made. Shaking in every limb he laid his burden on the
-grass and tried to compose it, putting back the hat which was torn off,
-but was caught to the hair by its long pin.
-
-While he was doing this the clouds broke and he was drawing the coat
-about her when the moon came out bright as day. By its light he saw the
-pearl necklace and in his own words, "All the badness in his heart came
-up into his head."
-
-When he told that part of his story he wrung his hands and sobbed,
-declaring over and over that he was an honest man and a good Catholic.
-Never before had he stolen, though often he had gone cold and hungry.
-But he knew now that he must kill the bear, and then he would be left an
-old man without a penny or any way to earn one. "And the pearls," he
-moaned out, "what are they to the dead? And to me, who must live, they
-mean riches forever."
-
-He said his hands shook so he couldn't find the clasp and to get at it
-he pulled open the coat. And then he gave a cry and drew back like he
-was burnt, for there on the breast of the dead woman, sparkling like a
-thing of fire, was the cross.
-
-Babbitts said the two men were greatly impressed by the way he acted
-when he told this. The perspiration broke out on his face and he crossed
-himself, bowing his head and shuddering. "It was God's voice," he
-whispered. "It said: 'Stop, Tito; hold your hand. No man can rob the
-dead.'"
-
-So he closed the coat, folded the arms across the chest and covered all
-with branches he found in a pile near by. As he moved about the bear
-watched him, not stirring, as if it knew it was guilty and was waiting
-to see what he would do to it.
-
-When the work was finished the two of them stole away, as noiseless as
-shadows. His head was clear enough to think of the footprints and he
-kept on the grass till he was near the Firehill Road. He was approaching
-this when he heard Reddy's horn, and with the bear following, he slipped
-through a break in the trees into the open space beyond. Here, huddled
-into the blackness under the boughs, he saw the car swing past. It went
-a little way down the road and then stopped and stood for what seemed to
-him a long time, every now and then the horn sounding. When it finally
-started again he moved on, the bear padding silently beside him. He said
-the car came back soon and passed and repassed him a number of times.
-Each time he was ready for it, the noise and the lamps warning him of
-its approach. Crowded up against the bear, he watched it through the
-branches, all the road bright in front of it where the lamps threw their
-two long shoots of light.
-
-When they asked him if he wasn't afraid of the bear making some sound he
-shook his head and said just like a child:
-
-"Bruno? No—he is wise like a man. When I look him in the eye I see he
-knows he is a murderer and must die, and it makes him very quiet."
-
-He had made up his mind to kill Bruno. As he told the men about it the
-tears ran down his face, for he said the bear was like his brother.
-When Reddy had gone, he made off, Bruno walking at the end of the chain
-behind him, both keeping to the grass edges of the fields. All night
-they walked, those two—and strange they must have looked slipping
-across the moonlit spaces, two black shadows moving over the
-lonesomeness, not a sound from either of them, one leading the other to
-his execution.
-
-At dawn they entered the woods. There, when the light was clear enough
-to see, that poor, scared dago killed the bear with the knife he had
-carried all summer. The rest of the day he spent scooping a grave for
-him. When he told how he dragged the great body into the hole and
-covered it with earth, he put his hands over his face, rocking back and
-forth, and crying like a baby.
-
-After that he went to Bloomington and joined the acrobats, telling them
-the bear had died. They thought no more about it and welcomed him back,
-sharing their quarters with him and promising him a place with them in
-the summer.
-
-But his knowledge of the crime haunted him. Like all those dagoes, he
-was superstitious and full of queer notions. Babbitts said he was as
-ignorant as the animal he was so fond of, seeming to think as they
-couldn't hang the bear they might hang him in its place. He wanted to go
-to the priest and confess, but when he heard people talking of the
-murder he was afraid. After a while he couldn't eat or sleep and the
-torment of his terror and remorse was like to drive him crazy.
-
-Finally he couldn't stand it any more and got the idea that if he could
-go back to the place and offer up prayers there he might get some
-relief. He told the acrobats he was going to hunt for work on a farm,
-left Bloomington and once again walked across the country.
-
-It was night when he reached the region he was bound for, and feeling
-too weak and sick to go straight to the spot, he went to the Wayside
-Arbor to beg for food which would give him strength to bear the task he
-had set himself. They gave him what he asked for and he took it to his
-old nook under the trees and there in the cold and dark ate ravenously.
-Then, just as on that other night, he lay down and the sleep that had
-left him for so long came back to him.
-
-He never heard us pass, but I guess without his knowing it we wakened
-him, for he said he was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, when he heard
-Babbitts' footsteps as he ran back to the inn.
-
-He listened and, making sure no one else was on the road, got up and
-began to steal cautiously forward. He felt sure that God would hear his
-prayers after he had walked so far and his misery had been so great.
-
-I guess the poor thing was about all in, and was as scared when he came
-near the place as I was. Of course he had no idea I was in front of him
-and wasn't following me as I thought. With the trees between, both of us
-were making for the same spot, the only difference being that while I
-heard him he never heard me.
-
-What he saw when he broke through the hedge would have terrified anyone,
-let alone a man in the state he was. For there, just as he had last seen
-her, lay a woman in a black coat with the moonlight shining on her dead
-white face—a ghost waiting to accuse him.
-
-They say the shriek he gave was the most awful that man ever heard.
-Babbitts, who was on his way back, said it sounded like it came from a
-lost soul in Hell. He tried to yell back, but couldn't and ran like a
-madman, and when he got there saw me lying as if I was dead in the
-moonlight and a wild, screaming figure crouched on the ground beside me.
-The two Hines heard it. Hines picked up a lantern and ran with Mrs.
-Hines at his heels. When he came up he found Babbitts kneeling over me,
-half crazy, thinking I was murdered, too. They felt my pulse and found
-it was going and sent Mrs. Hines on the run to Cresset's. She lit out,
-calling and crying as she flew through the woods, and met the Cresset
-crowd, hiking along with their lanterns, having heard her and not
-knowing *what* had happened.
-
-Well—that's the end of my story. Oh, I forgot the reward—\ *I* got it. I
-oughtn't to have for I didn't do anything but fall in a faint, which was
-the easiest thing I could do. But Mrs. Fowler and the Doctor wouldn't
-have it any other way, so I gave in. Not that I didn't want to. Believe
-me, Jew or Gentile gets weak when ten thousand dollars is pressed into
-her palm. It's invested and I get good interest on it, but I'm saving
-that up. You never can tell what may happen in this world.
-
-As to the rest of us—the bunch that in one way or another were drawn
-into the Hesketh mystery—we're all scattered now.
-
-Jack Reddy's not living at Firehill any more. He's taken an apartment in
-town where the two old Gilseys look after him like he was their only
-son, and he's studying law in Mr. Whitney's office. Sometimes Sunday he
-comes to see us, just as cordial and kind and handsome as ever, and it's
-I that'll be glad when he tells me he's found the right girl—God bless
-him!
-
-Cokesbury Lodge is sold and Cokesbury's living in town, too. They say
-his part in the Hesketh case sort of finished him. High society wouldn't
-stand for it, which shows you can't believe all you hear about the idle
-rich. I've heard that he's seen round a lot with an actress-lady and one
-of the papers had it he was going to marry her.
-
-The Fowlers went to Europe. They're living in Paris now and I hear from
-Anne Hennessey, who corresponds with Mrs. Fowler, that they're going to
-reside there. Anyway, Jim Donahue told me last time I was down at
-Longwood that Mapleshade was to let.
-
-Annie's got a new job in town, on Fifth Avenue, grand people who never
-quarrel. She dines with us most every Sunday and we sit till all hours
-talking over the past, like people who've been in some great disaster
-and when they get together always drift back to the subject.
-
-Me?—you want to know about me?
-
-Well, I'm living uptown on the West Side in the cutest little flat in
-New York—five rooms, on a corner, all bright and sunny. And furnished!
-Say, I wish I could show them to you. When Mrs. Fowler broke up she gave
-me a lot of the swellest things. Why, I've got a tapestry in the parlor
-that cost five hundred dollars and cut glass you couldn't beat on Fifth
-Avenue.
-
-It's on 125th Street, near the Subway. We had to be near that for
-Himself—he likes to stay as late as he can in the morning and get up as
-quick as he can at night. If you're passing that way any time, just drop
-in. I'd love to see you and have you see my place—and me, too. You'll
-see the name on the letter-box—Morganthau? Oh, quit your kidding—it's
-*Babbitts* now.
-
-
-THE END
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diff --git a/35503-rst/images/cover.jpg b/35503-rst/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e772c44..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503-rst/images/illus1.jpg b/35503-rst/images/illus1.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0f408d2..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/illus1.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503-rst/images/illus2.jpg b/35503-rst/images/illus2.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index aad3b5d..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/illus2.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503-rst/images/illus3.jpg b/35503-rst/images/illus3.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4ec2f7f..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/illus3.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503-rst/images/illus4.jpg b/35503-rst/images/illus4.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2182a9b..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/illus4.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503-rst/images/illus5.jpg b/35503-rst/images/illus5.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 61e6c85..0000000 --- a/35503-rst/images/illus5.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/35503.txt b/35503.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f1c4627..0000000 --- a/35503.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6462 +0,0 @@ - THE GIRL AT CENTRAL - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Girl at Central - -Author: Geraldine Bonner - -Release Date: March 06, 2011 [EBook #35503] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL *** - - - - -Produced by Darleen Dove, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - -This file was produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries. - - - - THE GIRL AT CENTRAL - BY GERALDINE BONNER - - - - - Author of "The Emigrant Trail," "The Book of Evelyn," etc. - - - - - ILLUSTRATED BY - ARTHUR WILLIAM BROWN - - - - - NEW YORK AND LONDON - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1915 - - - - - Copyright, 1915, by - _D. Appleton and Company_ - - - - - _Copyright, 1914, 1915, by The Curtis Publishing Company_ - - - - - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - - - -[Illustration: _'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at -Mapleshade'"_] - - - - -CONTENTS - - - - LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - I - - II - - III - - IV - - V - - VI - - VII - - VIII - - IX - - X - - XI - - XII - - XIII - - XIV - - XV - - XVI - - XVII - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - -'Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade' -Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture -A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail -I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting - - - - -I - - -Poor Sylvia Hesketh! Even now, after this long time, I can't think of it -without a shudder, without a comeback of the horror of those days after -the murder. You remember it--the Hesketh mystery? And mystery it surely -was, baffling, as it did, the police and the populace of the whole -state. For who could guess why a girl like that, rich, beautiful, -without a care or an enemy, should be done to death as she was. Think of -it--at five o'clock sitting with her mother taking tea in the library at -Mapleshade and that same night found dead--murdered--by the side of a -lonesome country road, a hundred and eighteen miles away. - -It's the story of this that I'm going to tell here, and as you'll get a -good deal of me before I'm through, I'd better, right now at the start, -introduce myself. - -I'm Molly Morganthau, day operator in the telephone exchange at -Longwood, New Jersey, twenty-three years old, dark, slim, and as for my -looks--well, put them down as "medium" and let it go at that. My name's -Morganthau because my father was a Polish Jew--a piece worker on -pants--but my two front names, Mary McKenna, are after my mother, who -was from County Galway, Ireland. I was raised in an East Side tenement, -but I went steady to the Grammar school and through the High and I'm not -throwing bouquets at myself when I say I made a good record. That's how -I come to be nervy enough to write this story--but you'll see for -yourself. Only just keep in mind that I'm more at home in front of a -switchboard than at a desk. - -I've supported myself since I was sixteen, my father dying then, and my -mother--God rest her blessed memory!--two years later. First I was in a -department store and then in the Telephone Company. I haven't a relation -in the country and if I had I wouldn't have asked a nickel off them. I'm -that kind, independent and--but that's enough about me. - -Now for you to rightly get what I'm going to tell I'll have to begin -with a description of Longwood village and the country round about. I've -made a sort of diagram--it isn't drawn to scale but it gives the general -effect, all right--and with that and what I'll describe you can get an -idea of the lay of the land, which you have to have to understand -things. - - -Longwood's in New Jersey, a real picturesque village of a thousand -inhabitants. It's a little over an hour from New York by the main line -and here and there round it are country places, mostly fine ones owned -by rich people. There are some farms too, and along the railway and the -turnpike are other villages. My exchange is the central office for a -good radius of country, taking in Azalea, twenty-five miles above us on -the main line, and running its wires out in a big circle to the -scattered houses and the crossroad settlements. It's on Main Street, -opposite the station, and from my chair at the switchboard I can see the -platform and the trains as they come down from Cherry Junction or up -from New York. It's sixty miles from Longwood to the Junction where you -get the branch line that goes off to the North, stopping at other -stations, mostly for the farm people, and where, when you get to -Hazelmere, you can connect with an express for Philadelphia. Also you -can keep right on from the Junction and get to Philadelphia that way, -which is easier, having no changes and better trains. - -When I was first transferred from New York--it's over two years now--I -thought I'd die of the lonesomeness of it. At night, looking out of my -window--I lived over Galway's Elite Millinery Parlors on Lincoln -Street--across those miles and miles of country with a few lights dotted -here and there, I felt like I was cast on a desert island. After a while -I got used to it and that first spring when the woods began to get a -faint greenish look and I'd wake up and hear birds twittering in the -elms along the street--hold on! I'm getting sidetracked. It's going to -be hard at first to keep myself out, but just be patient, I'll do it -better as I go along. - -The county turnpike goes through Longwood, and then sweeps away over the -open country between the estates and the farms and now and then a -village--Huntley, Latourette, Corona--strung out along it like beads on -a string. A hundred and fifty miles off it reaches Bloomington, a big -town with hotels and factories and a jail. About twenty miles before it -gets to Bloomington it crosses the branch line near Cresset's Farm. -There's a little sort of station there--just an open shed--called -Cresset's Crossing, built for the Cresset Farm people, who own a good -deal of land in that vicinity. Not far from Cresset's Crossing, about a -half mile apart, the Riven Rock Road from the Junction and the Firehill -Road from Jack Reddy's estate run into the turnpike. - -This is the place, I guess, where I'd better tell about Jack Reddy, who -was such an important figure in the Hesketh mystery and who--I get red -now when I write it--was such an important figure to me. - -A good ways back--about the time of the Revolution--the Reddy family -owned most of the country round here. Bit by bit they sold it off till -in old Mr. Reddy's time--Jack's father--all they had left was the -Firehill property and Hochalaga Lake, a big body of water, back in the -hills beyond Huntley. Firehill is an old-fashioned, stone house, built -by Mr. Reddy's grandfather. It got its name from a grove of maples on -the top of a mound that in the autumn used to turn red and orange and -look like the hillock was in a blaze. The name, they say, came from the -Indian days and so did Hochalaga, though what that stands for I don't -know. The Reddys had had lots of offers for the lake but never would -sell it. They had a sort of little shack there and before Jack's time, -when there were no automobiles, used to make horseback excursions to -Hochalaga and stay for a few days. After the old people died and Jack -came into the property everybody thought he'd sell the lake--several -parties were after it for a summer resort--but he refused them all, had -the shack built over into an up-to-date bungalow, and through the summer -would have guests down from town, spending week-ends out there. - -Now I'm telling everything truthful, for that's what I set out to do, -and if you think I'm a fool you're welcome to and no back talk from -me--but I was crazy about Jack Reddy. Not that he ever gave me cause; -he's not that kind and neither am I. And let me say right here that -there's not a soul ever knew it, he least of all. I guess no one would -have been more surprised than the owner of Firehill if he'd known that -the Longwood telephone girl most had heart failure every time he passed -the window of the Exchange. - -I will say, to excuse myself, that there's few girls who wouldn't have -put their hats straight and walked their prettiest when they saw him -coming. Gee--he was a good looker! Like those advertisements for collars -and shirts you see in the back of the magazines--you know the ones. But -it wasn't that that got me. It was his ways, always polite, never fresh. -If he'd meet me in the street he'd raise his hat as if I was the Queen -of Sheba. And there wasn't any hanging round my switchboard and asking -me to make dates for dinner in town. He was always jolly, but--a girl in -a telephone exchange gets to know a lot--he was always a gentleman. - -He lived at Firehill--forty miles from Longwood--with two old servants, -David Gilsey and his wife, who'd been with his mother and just doted on -him. But everybody liked him. There wasn't but one criticism I ever -heard passed on him and that was that he had a violent temper. Casey, -his chauffeur, told a story in the village of how one day, when they -were passing a farm, they saw an Italian laborer prod a horse with a -pitchfork. Before he knew, Mr. Reddy was out of the car and over the -fence and mashing the life out of that dago. It took Casey and the -farmer to pull him off and they thought the dago'd be killed before they -could. - -There was talk in Longwood that he hadn't much money--much, the way the -Reddys had always had it--and was going to study law for a living. But -he must have had some, for he kept up the house, and had two motors, one -just a common roadster and the other a long gray racing car that he'd -let out on the turnpike till he was twice arrested and once ran over a -dog. - -My, how well I got to know that car! When I first came I only saw it at -long intervals. Then--just as if luck was on my side--I began to see it -oftener and oftener, slowing down as it came along Main Street, swinging -round the corner, jouncing across the tracks, and dropping out of sight -behind the houses at the head of Maple Lane. - -"What's bringing Jack Reddy in this long way so often?" people would say -at first. - -Then, after a while, when they'd see the gray car, they'd look sly at -each other and wink. - -There's one good thing about having a crush on a party that's never -thought any more about you than if you were the peg he hangs his hat -on--it doesn't hurt so bad when he falls in love with his own kind of -girl. - -And that brings me--as if I was in the gray car speeding down Maple -Lane--to Mapleshade and the Fowlers and Sylvia Hesketh. - - - - -II - - -About a mile from Longwood, standing among ancient, beautiful trees, is -Mapleshade, Dr. Dan Fowler's place. - -It was once a farmhouse, over a century old, but two and a half years -ago when Dr. Fowler bought it he fixed it all up, raised the roof, built -on a servants' wing and a piazza with columns and turned the farm -buildings into a garage. Artists and such people say it's the prettiest -place in this part of the State, and it certainly is a picture, -especially in summer, with the lawns mown close as velvet and the -flower-beds like bits of carpet laid out to air. - -The Doctor bought a big bit of land with it--I don't know how many -hundred acres--so the house, though it's not far from the village, is -kind of secluded and shut away. You get to it by Maple Lane, a little -winding road that runs between trees caught together with wild grape and -Virginia creeper. In summer they're like green walls all draped over -with the vines and in winter they turn into a rustling gray hedge, woven -so close it's hard to see through. About ten minutes' walk from the gate -of Mapleshade there's a pine that was struck by lightning and stands up -black and bare. - -When the house was finished the Doctor, who was a bachelor, married Mrs. -Hesketh, a widow lady accounted rich, and he and she came there as bride -and groom with her daughter, Sylvia Hesketh. I hadn't come yet, but from -what I've heard, there was gossip about them from the start. What I can -say from my own experience is that I'd hardly got my grip unpacked when -I began to hear of the folks at Mapleshade. - -They lived in great style with a housekeeper, a butler and a French maid -for the ladies. In the garage were three automobiles, Mrs. Fowler's -limousine, the Doctor's car and a dandy little roadster that belonged to -Miss Sylvia. Neither she nor the Doctor bothered much with the -chauffeur. They left him to take Mrs. Fowler round and drove themselves, -the joke going that if Miss Sylvia ever went broke she could qualify for -a chauffeur's job. - -After a while the story came out that it wasn't Mrs. Fowler who was so -rich but Miss Hesketh. The late Mr. Hesketh had only left his wife a -small fortune, willing the rest--millions, it was said--to his daughter. -She was a minor--nineteen--and the trustees of the estate allowed her a -lot of money for her maintenance, thirty thousand a year they had it in -Longwood. - -In spite of the grand way they lived there wasn't much company at -Mapleshade. Anne Hennessey, the housekeeper, told me Mrs. Fowler was so -dead in love with her husband she didn't want the bother of entertaining -people. And the Doctor liked a quiet life. He'd been a celebrated -surgeon in New York but had retired only for consultations and special -cases now and again. He was very good to the people round about, and -would come in and help when our little Dr. Pease, or Dr. Graham, at the -Junction, were up against something serious. I'll never forget when Mick -Donahue, the station agent's boy, got run over by Freight No. 22. But -I'm sidetracked again. Anyhow, the Doctor amputated the leg and little -Mick's stumping round on a wooden pin almost as good as ever. - -But even so they weren't liked much. They held their heads very high, -Mrs. Fowler driving through the village like it was Fifth Avenue, -sending the chauffeur into the shops and not at all affable to the -tradespeople. The Doctor wouldn't trouble to give you so much as a nod, -just stride along looking straight ahead. When the story got about that -he'd lost most of the money he'd made doctoring I didn't bear any -resentment, seeing it was worry that made him that way. - -But Miss Sylvia was made on a different measure. My, but she was a -winner! Even after I knew what brought Jack Reddy in from Firehill so -often I couldn't be set against her. Jealous I might be of a girl like -myself, but not of one who was the queen bee of the hive. - -She was a beauty from the ground up--a blonde with hair like corn silk -that she wore in a loose, fluffy knot with little curly ends hanging on -her neck. Her face was pure pink and white, the only dark thing in it -her big brown eyes, that were as clear and soft as a baby's. And she was -a great dresser, always the latest novelty, and looking prettier in each -one. Mrs. Galway'd say to me, with her nose caught up, scornful, - -"To my mind it's not refined to advertise your wealth on your back." - -But I didn't worry, knowing Mrs. Galway'd have advertised hers if she'd -had the wealth or a decent shaped back to advertise it on, which she -hadn't, being round-shouldered. - -There was none of the haughty ways of her parents about Miss Sylvia. -When she'd come into the exchange to send a call (a thing that puzzled -me first but I soon caught on) she'd always stop and have a pleasant -word with me. On bright afternoons I'd see her pass on horseback, -straight as an arrow, with a man's hat on her golden hair. She'd always -have a smile for everyone, touching her hat brim real sporty with the -end of her whip. Even when she was in her motor, speeding down Main -Street, she'd give you a hail as jolly as if she was your college chum. - -Sometimes she'd be alone but generally there was a man along. There were -a lot of them hanging round her, which was natural, seeing she had -everything to draw them like a candle drawing moths. They'd come and go -from town and now and then stay over Sunday at the Longwood Inn--it's a -swell little place done up in the Colonial style--and you'd see them -riding and walking with her, very devoted. At first everybody thought -her parents were agreeable to all the attention she was getting. It -wasn't till the Mapleshade servants began to talk too much that we heard -the Fowlers, especially the Doctor, didn't like it. - -I hadn't known her long before I began to notice something that -interested me. A telephone girl sees so many people and hears such a lot -of confidential things on the wire, that she gets to know more than most -about what I suppose you'd call human nature. It's a study that's always -attracted me and in Miss Sylvia's case there was a double attraction--I -was curious about her for myself and I was curious about her because of -Jack Reddy. - -What I noticed was that she was so different with men to what she was -with women--affable to both, but it was another kind of affability. I've -seen considerably many girls trying to throw their harpoons into men and -doing it too, but they were in the booby class beside Miss Sylvia. She -was what the novelists call a coquette, but she was that dainty and sly -about it that I don't believe any of the victims knew it. It wasn't what -she said, either; more the way she looked and the soft, sweet manner she -had, as if she thought more of the chap she was talking to than anybody -else in the world. She'd be that way to one in my exchange and the next -day I'd see her just the same with another in the drugstore. - -It made me uneasy. Even if the man you love doesn't love you, you don't -want to see him fooled. But I said nothing--I'm the close sort--and it -wasn't till I came to be friends with Anne Hennessey that I heard the -inside facts about the family at Mapleshade. - -Anne Hennessey was a Canadian and a fine girl. She was a lady and had a -lady's job--seventy-five a month and her own bathroom--and being the -real thing she didn't put on any airs, but when she liked me made right -up to me and we soon were pals. After work hours I'd sometimes go up to -her at Mapleshade or she'd come down to me over the Elite. - -I remember it was in my room one spring evening--me lying on the bed and -Anne sitting by the open window--that she began to talk about the -Fowlers. She was not one to carry tales, but I could see she had -something on her mind and for the first time she loosened up. I was -picking over a box of chocolates and I didn't give her a hint how keen I -was to hear, acting like the candies had the best part of my attention. -She began by saying the Doctor and Miss Sylvia didn't get on well. - -"That's just like a novel," I answered, "the heroine's stepfather's -always her natural enemy." - -"He's not that in this case," said Anne--she speaks English fine, like -the teachers in the High--"I'm sure he means well by her, but they can't -get on at all, they're always quarreling." - -"There's many a gilded home hides a tragedy. What do they fight about?" - -"Things she does he disapproves of. She's very spoiled and self-willed. -No one's ever controlled her and she resents it from him." - -"What's he disapprove of?" - -Anne didn't answer right off, looking thoughtful out of the window. Then -she said slow as if she was considering her words: - -"I'm going to tell you, Molly, because I know you're no gossip and can -be trusted, and the truth is, I'm worried. I don't like the situation up -at Mapleshade." - -I swung my feet on to the floor and sat up on the edge of the bed, -nibbling at a chocolate almond. - -"Here's where I get dumb," I said, sort of casual to encourage her. - -"Sylvia Hesketh's a girl that needs a strong hand over her and there's -no one has it. Her father's dead, her mother--poor Mrs. Fowler's only a -grown-up baby ready to say black is white if her husband wants her -to--and Dr. Fowler's trying to do it and he's going about it all wrong. -You see," she said, turning to me very serious, "it's not only that -she's head-strong and extravagant but she's an incorrigible flirt." - -"Is there a place in the back of the book where you can find out what -incorrigible means?" I said. - -Anne smiled, but not as if she felt like it. - -"Uncontrollable, irrepressible. Her mother--Mrs. Fowler's ready to tell -me anything and everything--says she's always been like that. And, of -course, with her looks and her fortune the men are around her like flies -round honey." - -"Why does the Doctor mind that?" - -"I suppose he wouldn't mind if they just came to Mapleshade or Longwood. -But--that's what the quarreling's about--he's found out that she meets -them in town, goes to lunch and the matinee with them." - -"Excuse me, but I've left my etiquette book on the piano. What's wrong -about going to the matinee or to lunch?" - -"Nothing's really wrong. Mind you, Molly, I know Sylvia through and -through and there's no harm in her--it's just the bringing-up and the -spoiling and the admiration. But, of course, in her position, a girl -doesn't go about that way without a chaperone. The Doctor's perfectly -right to object." - -I was looking down, pretending to hunt over the box. - -"Who does she go with?" I said. - -"Oh, there are several. A man named Carisbrook----" I'd seen him often, -a swell guy in white spats and a high hat--"and a young lawyer called -Dunham and Ben Robinson, a Canadian like me. People see her with them -and tell the doctor and there's a row." - -I looked into the box as careful as if I was searching for a diamond. - -"Ain't Mr. Reddy one of the happy family?" I asked. "Ah, here's the last -almond!" - -"Oh, of course, young Reddy. I think it would be a good thing if she -married him. Everybody says he's a fine fellow, and I tell you now, -Molly, with Sylvia so willful and the doctor so domineering and Mrs. -Fowler being pulled to pieces between them, things at Mapleshade can't -go on long the way they are." - -That was in May. At the end of June the Fowlers went to Bar Harbor with -all their outfit for the summer. After that Jack Reddy didn't come into -Longwood much. I heard that he was spending a good deal of his time at -the bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, and I did see him a few times meeting -his company at the train--he had some week-end parties out there--and -bringing them back in the gray car. - -At the end of September the Fowlers came home. It was great weather, -clear and crisp, with the feel of frost in the air. Most everybody was -out of doors and I saw Sylvia often, sometimes on horseback, sometimes -driving her motor. She was prettier than ever for the change and seemed -like she couldn't stay in the house. I'd see her riding toward home in -the red light of the sunset, and as I walked back from work her car -often would flash past me, speeding through the early dark toward Maple -Lane. - -Anne said they'd had a fairly peaceful summer and she hoped they were -going to get on better. There had only been one row--that was about a -man who was up at Bar Harbor and had met Sylvia and paid her a good deal -of attention. The Doctor had been very angry as he disapproved of the -man--Cokesbury was his name. - -"Cokesbury!" I cut in surprised--we were in Anne's room that -evening--"why, he belongs round here." - -Anne had heard that and wanted to know what I knew about him, which I'll -write down in this place as it seems to fit in and has to be told -somewhere. - -When I first came to Longwood, Mr. and Mrs. Cokesbury were living on -their estate, Cokesbury Lodge, about twenty-five miles from us, near -Azalea. They had been in France for a year previous to that, then come -back and taken up their residence in Mr. Cokesbury's country seat, and -it was shortly after that Mrs. Cokesbury died there, leaving three -children. For a while the widower stayed on with nurses and governesses -to look after the poor motherless kids. Then, the eldest boy taking sick -and nearly dying, he decided to send them to his wife's parents, who had -wanted them since Mrs. Cokesbury's death. - -So the establishment at the Lodge was broken up and Mr. Cokesbury went -to live in town. There were rumors that the house was to be sold, but in -the spring Sands, the Pullman conductor, told me that Mr. Cokesbury had -been down several times, staying over Sunday and had said he had given -up the idea of selling the place. He told Sands he couldn't get his -price for it and what was the sense of selling at a loss, especially -when he could come out there and get a breath of country air when he was -scorched up with the city heat? - -I'd passed the house one day in August when I was on an auto ride with -some friends. It was a big, rambling place with a lot of dismal-looking -pines around it, about five miles from Azalea and with no near -neighbors. Mr. Cokesbury only kept one car--he'd had several when his -wife was there--and used to drive himself down from the Lodge to the -station, leave his car in the Azalea garage, and drive himself back the -next time he came. He had no servants or caretaker, which he didn't -need, as, after Mrs. Cokesbury's death, all the valuable things had been -taken out of the house and sent to town for storage. - -It gave me a jar to hear that Sylvia Hesketh--who, in my mind, was as -good as engaged to Jack Reddy--would have anything to do with him. I'd -never seen him, but I'd heard a lot that wasn't to his credit. He hadn't -been good to his wife--everybody said she was a real lady--but was the -gay, wild kind, and not young, either. Anne said he was forty if he was -a day. When I asked her what Sylvia could see in an old gink like that, -she just shrugged up her shoulders and said, who could tell--Sylvia was -made that way. She was like some woman whose name I can't remember who -sat on a rock and sang to the sailors till they got crazy and jumped -into the water. - -My head was full of these things one glorious afternoon toward the end -of October when--it being my holiday--I started out for a walk through -the woods. The woods cover the hills behind the village and they're -grand, miles and miles of them. But wait! There was a little thing that -happened, by the way, that's worth telling, for it gave me a -premonition--is that the word? Or, maybe, I'd better say connected up -with what was in my mind. - -I was walking slow down Main Street when opposite the postoffice I saw -all the loafers and most of the tradespeople lined up in a ring staring -at a bunch of those dago acrobats that go about the State all summer -doing stunts on a bit of carpet. I'd seen them often--chaps in dirty -pink tights walking on their hands and rolling round in knots--and I -wouldn't have stopped but I got a glimpse of little Mick Donahue -stumping round the outside trying to squeeze in and trying not to cry -because he couldn't. So I stopped and hoisted him up for a good view, -telling the men in front to break a way for the kid to see. - -There was a dago scraping on a fiddle and while the acrobats were -performing on their carpet, a big bear with a little, brown, -shriveled-up man holding it by a chain, was dancing. And when I got my -first look at that bear, in spite of all my worry I burst out laughing, -for, dancing away there solemn and slow, it was the dead image of Dr. -Fowler. - -You'd have laughed yourself if you'd seen it--that is, if you'd known -the Doctor. There was something so like him in its expression--sort of -gloomy and thoughtful--and its little eyes set up high in its head and -looking angry at the crowd as if it despised them. When its master -jerked the chain and shouted something in a foreign lingo it hitched up -its lip like it was trying to smile, and that sideways grin, as if it -didn't feel at all pleasant, was just the way the Doctor'd smile when he -came into the Exchange and gave me a number. - -It fascinated me and I stood staring with little Mick sitting on my arm, -just loving it all, his dirty little fist clasped round a penny. Then -the music stopped and one of the acrobats came round with a hat and -little Mick gave a great sigh as if he was coming out of a dream. "If -you hadn't come, Molly, I'd have missed it," he said, looking into my -face in that sweet wistful way sickly kids have, "and it's the last time -they'll be round this year." - -I kissed him and put him down and told the men as I squeezed out to keep -him in the front or they'd hear from me. Then I walked off toward the -woods thinking. - -It was a funny idea I'd got into my head. I'd once read in a paper that -when people looked like animals they resembled the animals in their -dispositions--and I was wondering was Dr. Fowler like a bear, grouchy -and when you crossed him savage. Maybe it was because I'd been so -worried, but it gave me a kind of chill. My thoughts went back to -Mapleshade and I got one of those queer glimpses (like a curtain was -lifted for a second and you could see things in the future) of trouble -there--something dark--I don't know how to explain it, but it was as if -I got a new line on the Doctor, as if the bear had made me see through -the surface clear into him. - -I tried to shake it off for I wanted to enjoy my afternoon in the woods. -They are beautiful at that season, the trees full of colored leaves, and -all quiet except for the rustlings of little animals round the roots. -There's a road that winds along under the branches, and trails, soft -under foot with fallen leaves and moss, that you can follow for miles. - -I was coming down one of these, making no more noise than the squirrels, -when just before it crossed the road I saw something and stopped. There, -sitting side by side on a log, were Sylvia Hesketh and a man. Close to -them, run off to the side, was a motor and near it tied to a tree a -horse with a lady's saddle. Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a -picture, her eyes on the ground and slapping softly with her whip on the -side of her boot. The man was leaning toward her, talking low and -earnest and staring hard into her face. - - -[Illustration: _Sylvia was in her riding dress, looking a picture_] - - -To my knowledge I'd never seen him before, and it gave me a start--me -saying, surprised to myself, "Hullo! here's another one?" He was a big, -powerful chap, with a square, healthy looking face and wide shoulders on -him like a prize fighter. He was dressed in a loose coat and -knickerbockers and as he talked he had his hands spread out, one on each -knee, great brown hands with hair on them. I was close enough to see -that, but he was speaking so low and I was so scared that they'd see me -and think I was spying, that I didn't hear what he was saying. The only -one that saw me was the horse. It looked up sudden with its ears -pricked, staring surprised with its soft gentle eyes. - -I stole away like a robber, not making a speck of noise. All the joy I'd -been taking in the walk under the colored leaves was gone. I felt kind -of shriveled up inside--the way you feel when someone you love is sick. -I couldn't bear to think that Jack Reddy was giving his heart to a girl -who'd meet another man out in the woods and listen to him so coy and yet -so interested. - -As far as I can remember, that was a little over a month from the fatal -day. All the rest of October and through the first part of November -things went along quiet and peaceful. And then, suddenly, everything -came together--quick like a blow. - - - - -III - - -For two days it had been raining, heavy straight rain. From my window at -Galway's I could see the fields round the village full of pools and -zigzags of water as if they'd been covered with a shiny gray veil that -was suddenly pulled off and had caught in the stubble and been torn to -rags. Saturday morning the weather broke. But the sky was still overcast -and the air had that sort of warm, muggy breathlessness that comes after -rain. That was November the twentieth. - -It was eleven o'clock and I was sitting at the switchboard looking out -at the streets, all puddles and ruts, when I got a call from the -Dalzells'--a place near the Junction--for Mapleshade. - -Now you needn't get preachy and tell me it's against the rules to -listen--suspension and maybe discharge. I know that better than most. -Didn't the roof over my head and the food in my mouth depend on me doing -my work according to orders? But the fact is that at this time I was -keyed up so high I'd got past being cautious. When a call came for -Mapleshade I _listened_, listened hard, with all my ears. What did I -expect to hear? I don't know exactly. It might have been Jack Reddy and -it might have been Sylvia--oh, never mind what it was--just say I was -curious and let it go at that. - -So I lifted up the cam and took in the conversation. - -It was a woman's voice--Mrs. Dalzell's, I knew it well--and Dr. -Fowler's. Hers was trembly and excited: - -"Oh, Dr. Fowler, is that you? It's Mrs. Dalzell, yes, near the Junction. -My husband's very sick. We've had Dr. Graham and he says it's -appendicitis and there ought to be an operation--now, as soon as -possible. _Do_ you hear me?" - -Then Dr. Fowler, very calm and polite: - -"Perfectly, madam." - -"Oh, I'm so glad--I've been so _terribly_ worried. It's so unexpected. -Mr. Dalzell's never had so much as a _cramp_ before and now----" - -"Just wait a minute, Mrs. Dalzell," came the Doctor. "Let me understand. -Graham recommends an operation, you say?" - -"Yes, Dr. Fowler, as soon as possible; something awful may happen if -it's not done. And Dr. Graham suggested you if you'd be so kind. I know -it's a favor but I _must_ have the best for my husband. _Won't_ you -come? Please, to oblige me." - -Dr. Fowler asked some questions which I needn't put down and said he'd -come and if necessary operate. Then they talked about the best way for -him to get there, the Doctor wanting to know if the main line to the -Junction wouldn't be the quickest. But Mrs. Dalzell said she'd been -consulting the time tables and there'd be no train from Longwood to the -Junction before two and if he wouldn't mind and would come in his auto -by the Firehill Road he'd get there several hours sooner. He agreed to -that and it wasn't fifteen minutes after he'd hung up that I saw him -swing past my window in his car, driving himself. - -Later on in the afternoon I got another call from the Dalzells' for -Mapleshade and heard the Doctor tell Mrs. Fowler that the operation had -been a serious one and that he would stay there for the night and -probably all the next day. - -Before that second call, about two hours after the first one, there came -another message for Mapleshade that before a week was out was in most -every paper in the country and that lifted me right into the middle of -the Hesketh mystery. - -It was near one o'clock, an hour when work's slack round Longwood, -everybody being either at their dinner or getting ready for it. The call -was from a public pay station and was in a man's voice--a voice I didn't -know, but that, because of my curiosity, I listened to as sharp as if it -was my lover's asking me to marry him. - -The man wanted to see Miss Sylvia and, after a short wait, I heard her -answer, very gay and cordial and evidently knowing him at once without -any questions. If she'd said one word to show who he was things -afterward would have been very different, but there wasn't a single -phrase that you could identify him by--all anyone could have caught was -that they seemed to know each other very well. - -He began by telling her it was a long time since he'd seen her and -wanting to know if she'd come to town on Monday and take lunch with him -at Sherry's and afterward go to a concert. - -"Monday," she said very slow and soft, "the day after to-morrow? No, I -can't make any engagement for Monday." - -"Why not?" he asked. - -She didn't answer right off and when she did, though her voice was so -sweet, there was something sly and secret about it. - -"I've something else to do." - -"Can't you postpone it?" - -She laughed at that, a little soft laugh that came bubbling through her -words: - -"No, I'm afraid not." - -"Must be something very interesting." - -"Um--maybe so." - -"You're very mysterious--can't I be told what it is?" - -"Why should you be told?" - -That riled him, I could hear it in his voice. - -"As a friend, or if I don't come under that head, as a fellow who's got -the frosty mit and wants to know why." - -"I don't think that's any reason. I have no engagement with you and I -have with--someone else." - -"Just tell me one thing--is it a man or a woman?" - -She began to laugh again, and if I'd been the man at the other end of -the wire that laugh would have made me wild. - -"Which do you think?" she asked. - -"I don't think, I _know_," and _I_ knew that he was mad. - -"Well, if you know," she said as sweet as pie, "I needn't tell you any -more. I'll say good-bye." - -"No," he shouted, "don't hang up--wait. What do you want to torment me -for?" Then he got sort of coaxing, "It isn't kind to treat a fellow this -way. Can't you tell me who it is?" - -"No, that's a secret. You can't know a thing till I choose to tell you -and I don't choose now." - -"If I come over Sunday afternoon will you see me?" - -"What time?" - -"Any time you say--I'm your humble slave, as you know." - -"I'm going out about seven." - -"Where?" - -"That's another secret." - -I think a child listening to that conversation would have seen he was -getting madder every minute and yet he was so afraid she'd cut him off -that he had to keep it under and talk pleasant. - -"Look here," he said, "I've something I want to say to you awfully. If I -run over in my car and get there round six-thirty, can you see me for a -few minutes?" - -She didn't answer at once. Then she said slow as if she was undecided: - -"Not at the house." - -"I didn't mean at the house. Say in Maple Lane, by the gate. I won't -keep you more than five or ten minutes." - -"Six-thirty's rather late." - -"Well, any time you say." - -"Can't you be there exactly at six-fifteen?" - -"If that's a condition." - -"It is. If you're late you won't find me. I'll be gone"--she began to -laugh again--"taking my secret with me." - -"I'll be there on the dot." - -"Very well, then, you can come--at the gate just as the clock marks one -quarter after six. And, maybe, if you're good, I'll tell you the secret. -Good-bye until then--try not to be too curious. It's a bad habit and -I've seen signs of it in you lately. Good-bye." - -Before he could say another word she'd disconnected. - -I leaned back in my chair thinking it over. What was she up to? What was -the secret? And who was the man? "Run over in his car"--that looked like -someone from one of the big estates. How many of them _had_ she buzzing -round her? - -And then, for all I was so downhearted, I couldn't help smiling to think -of those two supposing they were talking so secluded and an East Side -tenement girl taking it all in. Little did I guess then that me breaking -the rules that way, instead of destroying me was going to----But that -doesn't come in here. - -And now I come to Sunday the twenty-first, a date I'll never forget. - -It seemed to me afterward that Nature knew of the tragedy and prepared -for it. The weather was duller and grayer than it had been on Saturday, -not a breath of air stirring and the sky all mottled over with clouds, -dark and heavy looking. A full moon was due and as I went to the -Exchange I thought of the sweethearts that had dates to walk out in the -moonlight and how disappointed they'd be. - -Things weren't cheerful at the Exchange either. I found Minnie Trail, -the night operator, as white as a ghost, saying she felt as if one of -her sick headaches was coming on and if it did would I stay on over -time? I knew those headaches--they ran along sometimes till eight or -nine. I told her to go right home to bed and I'd hold the fort till she -was able to relieve me. We often did turns like that, one for the other. -It's one of the advantages of being in a small country office--no one -picks on you for acting human. - -About ten I had a call from Anne Hennessey. "Have you got anything on -for this evening, Molly?" - -"I have not. This is Longwood, not gay Paree." - -"Then I'll come round to Galways, about seven and we'll go to the Gilt -Edge for supper. I want to talk to you." - -The Gilt Edge Lunch was where I took my meals, a nice clean little joint -close to the office. But I didn't know when I'd get my supper that -night, so I called back: - -"That's all right, sister, but come to the Exchange. Minnie's head's on -the blink and I'll stay on here late. Anything up?" - -"Yes. I don't want to talk about it over the wire. There's been another -row here--yesterday morning. It's horrible; I can't stand it. I'll tell -you more this evening. So long." - -I put my elbows on the table and sat forward thinking. If you'd asked me -a year ago what I wanted most in the world I'd have said money. But I'd -learnt considerable since then. "Money don't do it," I said to myself. -"Look at the Fowlers with their jewels and their millions scrapping till -even the housekeeper on a fancy salary with a private bath can't stand -it." - -And there came up in my mind the memory of the East Side tenement where -I was raised. I thought of my poor father, most killed with work, and my -mother eking things out, doing housecleaning and never a hard word to -each other or to me. - -The night settled down early, black, dark and very still. At seven Anne -Hennessey came in and sat down by the radiator, which was making queer -noises with the heat coming up. Supper time's like dinner--few calls--so -I turned round in my chair, ready for a good talk, and asked about the -trouble at Mapleshade. - -"Oh, it was another quarrel yesterday morning at breakfast and with -Harper, the butler, hearing every word. He said it was the worst they'd -ever had. He's a self-respecting, high-class servant and was shocked." - -"Sylvia and the Doctor again?" - -"Yes, and poor Mrs. Fowler crying behind the coffee pot." - -"The same old subject?" - -"Oh, of course. It's young Reddy this time. Sylvia's been out a good -deal this autumn in her car; several times she's been gone nearly the -whole day. When the Doctor questioned her she'd either be evasive or -sulky. On Friday someone told him they'd seen her far up on the turnpike -with Jack Reddy in his racer." - -I fired up, I couldn't help it. - -"Why should he be mad about that? Isn't Mr. Reddy good enough for her?" - -"_I_ think he is. I told you before I thought the best thing she could -do would be to marry him. But----" she looked round to see that no one -was coming in----"don't say a word of what I'm going to tell you. I have -no right to repeat what I hear as an employee but I'm worried and don't -know what's the best thing to do. Mrs. Fowler has as good as told me -that her husband's lost all his money and it's Sylvia's that's running -Mapleshade. And what _I_ think is that the Doctor doesn't want her to -marry _anyone_. It isn't her he minds losing; it's thirty thousand a -year." - -"But when she comes of age she can do what she wants and if he makes it -so disagreeable she won't want to live there." - -"That's two years off yet. He may recoup himself in that time." - -"Oh, I see. But he can't do any good by fighting with her." - -"Molly, you're a wise little woman. _Of course_ he can't, but he doesn't -know it. He treats that hot-headed, high-spirited girl like a child of -five. Mark my words, there's going to be trouble at Mapleshade." - -I thought of the telephone message I'd overheard the day before and it -came to me suddenly what "the secret" might be. Could Sylvia have been -planning to run away? I didn't say anything--it's natural to me and you -get trained along those lines in the telephone business--and I sat -turning it over in my mind as Anne went on. - -"I'd leave to-morrow only I'm so sorry for Mrs. Fowler. She's as -helpless as a baby and seems to cling to me. The other day she told me -about her first marriage--how her husband didn't care for her but was -crazy about Sylvia--that's why he left her almost all his money." - -I wasn't listening much, still thinking about "the secret." If she _was_ -running away was she going alone or with Jack Reddy? My eyes were fixed -on the window and I saw, without noticing particular, the down train -from the city draw into the station, and then Jim Donahue run along the -platform swinging a lantern. As if I was in a dream I could hear Anne: - -"I call it an unjust will--only two hundred thousand dollars to his wife -and five millions to his daughter. But if Sylvia dies first, all the -money goes back to Mrs. Fowler." - -The train pulled out, snorting like a big animal. Jim disappeared, then -presently I saw him open the depot door and come slouching across the -street. I knew he was headed for the Exchange, thinking Minnie Trail was -there, he being a widower with a crush on Minnie. - -He came in and, after he'd got over the shock of seeing me, turned to -Anne and said: - -"I just been putting your young lady on the train." - -Anne gave a start and stared at him. - -"Miss Sylvia?" she said. - -"That's her," said Jim, warming his coat tails at the radiator. - -I could see Anne was awful surprised and was trying to hide it. - -"Who was she with?" she asked. - -"No one. She went up alone and said she was going to be away for a few -days. Where's she going?" - -Anne gave me a look that said, "Keep your mouth shut," and turned quiet -and innocent to Jim. "Just for a visit to friends. She's always visiting -people in New York and Philadelphia." - -Jim stayed round a while gabbing with us, and then went back to the -station. When the door shut on him we stared at each other with our eyes -as round as marbles. - -"Oh, Molly," Anne said, almost in a whisper, "it's just what I've been -afraid of." - -"You think she's lighting out?" - -"Yes--don't you see, the Doctor being at the Dalzells' has given her the -chance." - -"Where would she go to?" - -"How do I know? Heaven send she hasn't done anything foolish. But this -morning she sent Virginie, that French woman, up to the village for -something--on Sunday when all the shops are shut. The housemaid told me -they'd been trying to find out what it was and Virginie wouldn't tell. -Oh, dear, _could_ she have gone off with someone?" - -We were talking it over in low voices when a call came. It was from -Mapleshade to the Dalzells'. As I made the connection I whispered to -Anne what it was and she whispered back, "Listen." - -I did. It was from Mrs. Fowler, all breathless and almost crying. She -asked for the Doctor and when he came burst out: - -"Oh, Dan, something's happened--something dreadful. Sylvia's run away." - -I could hear the Doctor's voice, small and distant but quite clear: - -"Go slow now, Connie, it's hard to hear you. Did you say _Sylvia'd run -away_?" - -Then Mrs. Fowler said, trying to speak slower: - -"Yes, with Jack Reddy. We've been hunting for her and we've just found a -letter from him in her desk. Do you hear--her desk, in the top drawer? -It told her to meet him at seven in the Lane and go with him in his car -to Bloomington." - -"Bloomington? That's a hundred and fifty miles off." - -"I can't help how far off it is. That's where the letter said he was -going to take her. It said they'd go by the turnpike to Bloomington and -be married there. And we can't find Virginie--they've evidently taken -her with them." - -"I see--by the turnpike, did you say?" - -"Yes. Can't you go up there and meet them and bring her back?" - -"Yes--keep cool now, I'll head them off. What time did you say they -left?" - -"The letter said he'd meet her in the Lane at seven and it's a little -after eight now. Have you time to get up there and catch them?" - -"Time?--to burn. On a night like this Reddy can't get round to the part -of the pike where I'll strike it under three and a half to four hours." - -"But can you go--can you leave your case?" - -"Yes--Dalzell's improving. Graham can attend to it. Now don't get -excited, I'll have her back some time to-night. And not a word to -anybody. We don't want this to get about. We'll have to shut the mouth -of that fool of a French woman, but I'll see to that later. Don't see -anyone. Go to your room and say nothing." - -Just as the message was finished Minnie Trail came in. I made the record -of it and then got up asking her, as natural as you please, how she -felt. Anne did the same and you'd never have thought to hear us -sympathizing with her that we were just bursting to get outside. - -When we did we walked slow down the street, me telling her what I'd -heard. All the time I was speaking I was thinking of Sylvia and Jack -Reddy tearing away through that still, black night, flying along the -pale line of the road, flashing past the lights of farms and country -houses, swinging down between the rolling hills and out by the open -fields, till they'd see the glow of Bloomington low down in the sky. - -It was Anne who brought me back to where I was. She suddenly stopped -short, staring in front of her and then turned to me: - -"Why, how can she be eloping with Reddy by the turnpike when Jim Donahue -saw her get on the train?" - - - - -IV - - -When I come to the next day I can't make my story plain if I only tell -what I saw and heard. I didn't even pick up the most important message -in the tragedy. It came at half-past nine that night through the Corona -Exchange and was sent from a pay station so there was no record of it, -only Jack Reddy's word--but I'm going too fast; that belongs later. - -What I've got to do is to piece things together as I got them from the -gossip in the village, from the inquest, and from the New York papers. -All I ask of you is to remember that I'm up against a stunt that's new -to me and that I'm trying to get it over as clear as I can. - -The best way is for me to put down first Sylvia's movements on that -tragic Sunday. - -About five in the afternoon Sylvia and Mrs. Fowler had tea in the -library. When that was over--about half-past--Sylvia went away, saying -she was going to her room to write letters, and her mother retired to -hers for the nap she always took before dinner. What happened between -then and the time when Mrs. Fowler sent the message to the Doctor I -heard from Anne Hennessey. It was this way: - -They had dinner late at Mapleshade--half-past seven--and when Sylvia -didn't come down Mrs. Fowler sent up Harper to call her. He came back -saying she wasn't in her room, and Mrs. Fowler, getting uneasy, went up -herself, sending Harper to find Virginie Dupont. It wasn't long before -they discovered that neither Sylvia nor Virginie were in the house. - -When she realized this Mrs. Fowler was terribly upset. Sylvia's room was -in confusion, the bureau drawers pulled out, the closet doors open. Anne -not being there, Harper, who was scared at Mrs. Fowler's excitement, -called Nora Magee, the chambermaid. She was a smart girl and saw pretty -quickly that Sylvia had evidently left. The toilet things were gone from -the dresser; the jewelry case was open and empty, only for a few old -pieces of no great value. It was part of Nora's job to do up the room -and she knew where Sylvia's Hudson seal coat hung in one of the closets. -A glance showed her that was gone, also a gold-fitted bag that the -Doctor had given his stepdaughter on her birthday. - -All the servants knew of the quarreling and its cause and while Mrs. -Fowler was moaning and hunting about helplessly, Nora went to the desk -and opened it. There, lying careless as if it had been thrown in in a -hurry, was Jack Reddy's letter. She gave a glance at it and handed it to -Mrs. Fowler. With the letter in her hand Mrs. Fowler ran downstairs and -telephoned to the Doctor. - -The poor lady was in a terrible way and when Anne got back she had to -sit with her, trying to quiet her till the Doctor came back. That wasn't -till nearly two in the morning, when he reached home, dead beat, saying -he'd come round the turnpike from the Riven Rock Road and seen no sign -of either Sylvia or Jack Reddy. - -No one at Mapleshade saw Sylvia leave the house, no one in Longwood saw -her pass through the village, yet, two and a half hours from the time -she had made the date with Mr. Reddy, she was seen again, over a hundred -miles from her home, in the last place anyone would have expected to -find her. - -Way up on the turnpike, two miles from Cresset's Crossing, there's a -sort of roadhouse where the farm hands spend their evenings and -automobilists stop for drinks and gasoline. It's got a shady reputation, -being frequented by a rough class of people and once there was a dago--a -laborer on Cresset's Farm--killed there in a drunken row. It's called -the Wayside Arbor, which doesn't fit, sounding innocent and rural, -though in the back there is a trellis with grapes growing over it and -tables set out under it in warm weather. - -At this season it's a dreary looking spot, an old frame cottage a few -yards back from the road, with a broken-down piazza and a door painted -green leading into the bar. Along the top of the piazza goes the sign -"Wayside Arbor," with advertisements for some kind of beer at each end -of it, and in the window there's more advertisements for whisky and -crackers and soft drinks. Nailed to one of the piazza posts is a public -telephone sign standing out very prominent. - -At the time of the Hesketh mystery I'd only seen it once, one day in the -summer when I was out in a hired car with Mrs. Galway and two gentlemen -friends from New York. We'd been to Bloomington by train and were -motoring back and stopped to get some beer. But we ladies, not liking -the looks of the place, wouldn't go in and had our beer brought out to -us by the proprietor, Jake Hines, a tough-looking customer in a shirt -without a collar and one of his suspenders broken. - -It's very lonesome round there. The nearest house is Cresset's, a half -mile away across the fields. Back of it and all round is Cresset's land, -some of it planted in crops and then strips of woods, making the country -in summer look lovely with the dark and the light green. - -Sunday evening there were only two people in the Wayside Arbor bar, -Hines and his servant, Tecla Rabine, a Bohemian woman. Mrs. Hines was -upstairs in the room above in bed with a cold. There was a fire burning -in the stove, as a good many of Hines's customers were the dagoes that -work at Cresset's and the other farms and they liked the place warm. -Hines was reading the paper and Tecla Rabine was cleaning up the bar -before she went upstairs, she having a toothache and wanting to get off -to bed. - -At the inquest Hines swore that he heard no sound of a car or of -wheels--which, he said, he would have noticed, as that generally meant -business--when there was a step on the piazza, the door opened and a -lady came in. He didn't know who she was but saw right off she wasn't -the kind that you'd expect to see in his place. She had on a long dark -fur coat, a close-fitting plush hat with a Shetland veil pushed up round -the brim, and looked pale, and, he thought, scared. It was Sylvia -Hesketh, but he didn't know that till afterward. - -She asked him right off if she could use his telephone and he pointed to -the booth in the corner. She went in and closed the door and Hines -stepped to the window and looked out to see if there was a car or a -carriage that he hadn't heard, the mud making the road soft. But there -was nothing there. Before he was through looking he heard the booth door -open and turning back saw her come out. He said she wasn't five minutes -sending her message. - -That telephone message was the most mysterious one in the case. It was -transmitted through the Corona Exchange to Firehill and there was no one -in the world who heard it but Jack Reddy. I'm going to put it down here, -copied from the newspaper reports of the inquest: - - Oh, Jack, is that you? It's Sylvia. Thank Heavens you're there. - I'm in trouble, I want you. I've done something dreadful. I'll - tell you when I see you. I'll explain everything and you won't - be angry. Come and get me--start now, this minute. Come up the - Firehill Road to the Turnpike and I'll be there waiting, where - the roads meet. Don't ask any questions now. When you hear - you'll understand. And don't let anyone know--the servants or - anyone. You've got to keep it quiet, it's vitally important, for - my sake. Come, come quick. - -That was all. Before he could ask her a question she'd disconnected. -And, naturally, he made no effort to find out where the call had come -from, being in such a hurry to get to her--Sylvia who was in trouble and -wanted him to come. - -When she came out of the booth she carried a small purse in her hand and -Hines then noticed that she had only one glove on--the left--and that -her right hand was scratched in several places. Thinking she looked cold -he asked her if she would have something to drink and she said no, then -pushed back her cuff and looked at a bracelet watch set in diamonds and -sapphires that she wore on her wrist. - -"Twenty minutes to ten," she said. "I'll wait here for a little while if -you don't mind." - -She went over to the stove, pulled up a chair and sat down, spreading -her hands out to the heat, and when they were warm, opening her coat -collar, and turning it back from her neck. Both Hines and Tecla Rabine -noticed that her feet were muddy and that there were twigs and dead -leaves caught in the edge of her skirt. As she didn't seem inclined to -say anything, Hines, who admitted that he was ready to burst with -curiosity, began to question her, trying to find out where she'd come -from and what she was waiting for. - -"You come a long way, I guess," he said. - -She just nodded. - -"From Bloomington maybe?" he asked. - -"No, the other direction--toward Longwood." - -"Car broken down?" he said next, and she answered sort of indifferent, - -"Yes, it's down the road." - -"Maybe I might go and lend a hand," he suggested and she answered quick -to that: - -"No, it's not necessary. They can fix it themselves," then she added, -after a minute, "I've telephoned for someone to come for me and if the -car's really broken we can tow it back." - -That seemed so straight and natural that Hines began to get less -curious, still he wanted to know who she was and tried to find out. - -"You come a long ride if you come from Longwood," he said. - -But he didn't get any satisfaction, for she answered: - -"Is it a long way there?" - -"About a hundred and eighteen miles by the turnpike--a good bit shorter -by the Firehill Road, but that's pretty bad after these rains. - -"Most of the roads _are_ bad, I suppose," she said, as if she wasn't -thinking of her words. - -They were silent for a bit, then he tried again: - -"What's broke in your auto?" - -And she answered that sharp as if he annoyed her and she was setting him -back in his place: - -"My good man, I haven't the least idea. That's the chauffeur's business, -not mine." - -He asked her some more questions but he couldn't get anything out of -her. He said she treated him sort of haughty as if she wanted him to -stop. So after a while he said no more, but sat by the bar pretending to -read his paper. Tecla Rabine came and went, tidying up for the night and -none of them said a word. - -A little before ten she got up and buttoned her coat, saying she was -going. Hines was surprised and asked her if she wouldn't wait there for -the auto, and she said no, she'd walk up the road and meet it. - -He asked her which way it was coming and she said: "By the Firehill -Road. How far is that from here?" - -He told her about a quarter of a mile and she answered that she'd just -about time to get there and catch it as it came into the turnpike. - -Hines urged her to stay but she said no, she was cramped with sitting -and needed a little walk; it was early yet and there was nothing to be -afraid of. She bid him good night very cordial and pleasant and went -out. - -He stood in the doorway watching her as far as he could see, then told -Tecla, whose toothache was bad, to go to bed. After she'd gone he locked -up, went upstairs to his wife and told her about the strange lady. His -wife said he'd done wrong to let her go, it wasn't right for a person -like that to be alone on such a solitary road, especially with some of -the farm hands, queer foreigners, no better than animals. - -She worked upon his feelings till she got him nervous and he was going -to get a lantern and start out when he heard the sound of an auto horn -in the distance. He stepped to the window and watched and presently saw -a big car with one lamp dark coming at a great clip down from the -Firehill Road direction. The moon had come out a short while before, so -that if he'd looked he could have seen the people in the car, but -supposing it was the one the lady was waiting for, he turned from the -window, and, thinking no more about it, went to bed. - -Before he was off to sleep he heard another auto horn and the whirr of a -car passing. He couldn't say how long after this was, as he was half -asleep. - -How long he'd slept he didn't know--it really was between four and five -in the morning--when he was roused by a great battering at the door and -a sound of voices. He jumped up just as he was, ran to the window and -opened it. There in the road he could see plain--the clouds were gone, -the moon sailing clear and high--a motor and some people all talking -very excited, and one voice, a woman's, saying over and over, "Oh, how -horrible--how horrible!" - -He took them for a party of merry-makers, half drunk and wanting more, -and called down fierce and savage: - -"What in thunder are you doing there?" - -One of them, a man standing on the steps of the piazza, looked up at him -and said: - -"There's a murdered woman up the road here, that's all." - -As he ran to the place with the men--there were two of them--they told -him how they were on a motor trip with their wives and that night were -going from Bloomington to Huntley. The moon being so fine they were -going slow, otherwise they never would have found the body, which was -lying by the roadside. A pile of brushwood had been thrown over it, but -one hand had fallen out beyond the branches and one of the women had -seen it, white in the moonlight. - -They had unfastened an auto lamp and it was standing on the ground -beside her. Hines lifted it and looked at her. She lay partly on her -side, her coat loosely drawn round her. The right arm was flung out as -if when the body stiffened it might have slipped down from a position -across the chest. As he held the lantern close he saw below the hat, -pulled down on her head, with the torn rags of veil still clinging to -it, a thin line of blood running down to where the pearl necklace -rested, untouched, round her throat. - -It was Sylvia Hesketh, her skull fractured by a blow that had cracked -her head like an egg shell. - - - - -V - - -There were so many puzzling "leads" and so much that was inexplicable -and mysterious in the Hesketh case that it'll be easier to follow if, in -this chapter, I put down what the other people, who were either suspects -or important witnesses, did on that Sunday. - -Some of it may not be interesting, but it's necessary to know if you're -going to get a clear understanding of a case that baffled the police and -pretty nearly.... There I go again. But it's awfully hard when you're -not used to it to keep things in their right order. - -I've told how Jim Donahue said he put Sylvia on the train for the -Junction that night at seven-thirty. Both Jim and the ticket agent said -they'd seen her and Jim had spoken to her. She carried a hand bag, wore -a long dark fur coat and a small close-fitting hat that showed her hair. -Both men also noticed in her hand the gold mesh purse with a diamond -monogram that she always carried. Over her face was tied a black figured -veil that hid her features, but there was no mistaking the hair, the -voice, or the gold mesh purse. - -Sands, the Pullman conductor, said this same woman rode down in his -train to the Junction, where she got off. Clark, the station agent at -the Junction, saw her step from the car to the platform. After that he -lost track of her as he was busy with the branch line train which left -at eight-forty-five and was the last one up that night. No woman went on -it, there were only two passengers, both men. - -The Doctor didn't make his whole story public till the inquest. They -said afterward the police knew it, but it was his policy to say little -and keep quiet in Mapleshade. What we in the village did know--partly -from the papers, partly from people--was that after the message from -Mrs. Fowler saying Sylvia had eloped, he told Mrs. Dalzell he would have -to leave, having been called away to an important case. When the -Dalzells' chauffeur brought his car round he asked the man several -questions about the shortest way to get to the turnpike. The chauffeur -told him that the best traveling would be by the Riven Rock Road, which -he would have to go to the Junction to get. The Doctor left the -Dalzells' at a little after eight, alone in his car. - -He reached the Junction about eight-thirty-five, a few minutes after the -train from Longwood had arrived. On the platform he spoke to Clark, -asking him how to get to the Riven Rock Road. Clark gave him the -directions, then saw him disappear round the station building. Neither -Clark nor anyone at the Junction--there were very few there at that -hour--saw him leave in his car, though they heard the honk of the auto -horn. - -But it was Jack Reddy's movements that everybody was most interested in. -There was no secret about them. - -Sunday at lunch he told Gilsey that he was going away for a trip for a -few days. If he stayed longer than he expected he'd wire back for his -things, but, as it was, he'd only want his small auto trunk, which he'd -take with him. When Mrs. Gilsey was packing this he joked her about -having a good time while he was gone, and she told him that, as there'd -be no dinner that night, she and Gilsey'd go over to a neighbor's, take -supper there and spend the evening. After that he asked Casey, the -chauffeur, to have the racing car brought round at five, to see that the -tank was full, a footwarmer in it and the heaviest rugs and a drum of -gasoline, as he was going on a long trip. - -At five he left Firehill in the racer. At a quarter to seven two boys -saw him pass the Longwood Station in the direction of Maple Lane. He -said he came back through the outskirts of the village at seven-thirty, -but no one could be found who had seen him. - -After he left Firehill the Gilseys cleared up and walked across the -fields to the Jaycocks' farm, where they spent the evening, coming home -at ten and finding the house dark and quiet. Casey went to another -neighbor's, where he stayed till midnight, playing cards. - -He slept over the garage, and about four in the morning--he looked at -his watch afterward--was awakened by a sound down below in the garage. -He listened and made sure that someone was trying to roll the doors back -very slow and with as little noise as possible. Casey's a bold, nervy -boy, and he reached for his revolver and crept barefooted to the head of -the stairs. On the top step he stooped down and looked through the -banisters, and saw against the big square of the open doors a man -standing, with a car behind him shining in the moonlight. - -He thought it was a burglar, so, with his revolver up and ready, he -called: - -"Hello, there. What are you doing?" - -The man gave a great start, and then he heard Mr. Reddy's voice: - -"Oh, Casey, did I wake you? I've come back unexpectedly. Help me get -this car in." - -They ran the car in, and, when Casey went to tell how he thought it was -a burglar and was going to shoot, he noticed that Mr. Reddy hardly -listened to him, but was gruff and short. All he said was that he'd -changed his mind about the trip, and then unstrapped his trunk from the -back and turned to go. In the doorway he stopped as if he'd had a sudden -thought, and said over his shoulder: - -"You don't want to mention this in Longwood. I'm getting a little sick -of the gossip there over my affairs." - -Casey went back to bed and in the morning, when he looked at the car, -found it was caked with mud, even the wind-guard spattered. At seven he -crossed over to the house for his breakfast and told the Gilseys that -Mr. Reddy was back. They were surprised, but decided, as he'd been out -so late, they'd not disturb him till he rang for his breakfast. - -Monday morning was clear and sharp, the first real frost of the season. -All the time I was dressing I was thinking about the elopement and how -queer it was Mrs. Fowler saying they'd gone by turnpike and Jim Donahue -saying he'd seen Sylvia leave on the train. I worked it out that they'd -made some change of plans at the last moment. But the _way_ they'd -eloped didn't matter to me. Small things like that didn't cut any ice -when I was all tormented wondering if it was for the best that my hero -should marry a wild girl who no one could control. - -I hadn't been long at the switchboard, and was sitting sideways in my -chair looking out of the window when I saw Dr. Fowler's auto drive up -with the Doctor and a strange man in it. I twirled round quick and was -the business-like operator. I'll bet no one would have thought that the -girl sitting so calm and indifferent in that swivel chair was just -boiling with excitement and curiosity. - -The Doctor looked bad, yellow as wax, with his eyes sunk and inflamed. -He didn't take any notice of me beside a fierce sort of look and a -gruff, - -"Give me Corona 1-4-2." - -That was Firehill. I jacked in and the Doctor went into the booth and -shut the door. The strange man stood with his hands behind him, looking -out of the window. I didn't know then that he was a detective, and I -don't think anyone ever would have guessed it. If you'd asked me I'd -have said he looked more like a clerk at the ribbon counter. But that's -what he was, Walter Mills by name, engaged that morning, as we afterward -knew, by the Doctor. - -Watching him with one eye I leaned forward very cautiously, lifted up -the cam and listened in on the conversation: - -"Is this Gilsey?" - -Then Gilsey's nice old voice, "Yes, sir. Who is it?" - -The Doctor's was quick and hard: - -"Never mind that--it doesn't matter. Do you happen to know where Mr. -Reddy is?" - -My heart gave a big jump--he hadn't caught them! They'd got away and -been married! - -"Yes, sir, Mr. Reddy's here." - -There was just a minute's pause before the Doctor answered. In that -minute all sorts of ideas went flashing through my head the way they say -you see things before you drown. Then came the Doctor's voice with a -curious sort of quietness in it. - -"_There_, at Firehill?" - -"Yes, sir. Can I take any message? Mr. Reddy was out very late last -night and isn't up yet." - -The Doctor answered that very cordially, all the hurry and hardness -gone. - -"Oh, that's all right. I'll not disturb him. No, I won't bother with a -message. I'll call up later. Thanks very much. Good-bye." - -I dropped back in my chair, tapping with a pencil on the corner of the -drawer and looking sideways at the Doctor as he came out of the booth. -He had a queer look, his eyes keen and bright, and there was some color -in his face. The strange man turned round, and the Doctor gave him a -glance sharp as a razor, but all he said was: "Come on, Mills," and they -went out and mounted into the car. - -When the door banged on them I drew a deep breath and flattened out -against the chair back. They _hadn't_ eloped! - -Gee, it was a relief! Not because of myself. Honest to God, that's -straight. I knew I couldn't have him any more than I could have had the -Kohinoor diamond. It was because I _knew_--deep down where you feel the -truth--that Sylvia Hesketh wasn't the girl for him to marry. - -That was about half-past eight. It was after ten when a message came for -Mapleshade that made the world turn upside down and left me white and -sick. It was from the Coroner and said that Sylvia Hesketh had been -found that morning on the turnpike, murdered. - -Poor Mrs. Fowler took it! - -Anne Hennessey told me afterward that she heard her scream on the other -side of the house. I heard it, too, and it raised _my_ hair--and then a -lot of words coming thin and shrill along the wire. "Sylvia, my -daughter--dead--murdered?" It was awful, I hate to think of it. - -Nora and Anne ran at the sound and found Mrs. Fowler all wild and -screaming, with the receiver hanging down. I could hear them, a babble -of tiny little voices as if I had a line on some part of Purgatory where -the spirits were crying and wailing. - -Suddenly it stopped--somebody had hung up. I waited, shaking there like -a leaf and feeling like I'd a blow in the stomach. Then Mapleshade -called and I heard Anne's voice, distinct but broken as if she'd been -running. - -"Molly, is that you? Do you by any chance know if the Doctor's in the -village?" - -"He was here a little while ago with a man calling up Firehill. Anne, I -heard--it can't be true." - -"Oh, it is--it is--I can't talk now. I've _got_ to find him. Give me -Firehill. He may have gone there. Quick, for God's sake!" - -I gave it and heard her tell a man at the other end of the line. - -I'll go on from here and tell what happened at Firehill. I've pieced it -out from the testimony at the inquest and from what the Gilseys -afterward told in the village. - -The Doctor and Mills went straight out there from the Exchange. When -they arrived Gilsey told him Mr. Reddy wasn't up yet, but he'd call him. -The Doctor, however, said the matter was urgent and they couldn't lose a -minute, so the three of them went upstairs together and Gilsey knocked -at the door. After he'd knocked twice a sleepy voice called out, "Come -in," and Gilsey opened the door. - -It led into a sitting-room with a bedroom opening off it. On a sofa just -opposite the door was Jack Reddy, dressed and stretched out as if he'd -been asleep. - -At first he saw no one but Gilsey and sat up with a start, saying -sharply: - -"What's the matter? Does anyone want me?" - -Gilsey said, "Yes, two gentlemen to see you," and stepped to one side to -let the Doctor and Mills enter. - -When Reddy saw the Doctor he jumped to his feet and stood looking at -him. He didn't say "Good morning" or any sort of greeting, but was -silent, as if he was holding himself still, waiting to hear what the -Doctor was going to say. - -He hadn't to wait long. The Doctor, in the doorway, went right to the -point. - -"Mr. Reddy," said he, "where's my daughter?" - -Reddy answered in a quiet, composed voice: - -"I don't know, Dr. Fowler." - -"You do!" shouted the Doctor. "You ran away with her last night. What -have you done with her?" - -Reddy said in the same dignified way: - -"I haven't done anything. I know nothing about her. I haven't any more -idea than you where she is." - -At that the Doctor got beside himself. He shouted out furiously: - -"You have, you d----d liar, and I'll get it out of you," and he made a -lunge at Reddy to seize him. But Mills jumped in and grabbed his arm. -Holding it he said, trying to quiet down the Doctor: - -"Just wait a minute, Dr. Fowler. Maybe when Mr. Reddy sees that we -understand the situation, he'll be willing to explain." Then he turned -to Reddy: "There's no good prevaricating. Your letter to Miss Hesketh -has been found. Now we're all agreed that we don't want any talk or -scandal about this. If you want to get out of the affair without trouble -to yourself and others you'd better tell the truth. Where is she?" - -"Who the devil are you?" Reddy cried out suddenly, as mad as the Doctor, -and before Mills could answer, the branch telephone on the desk rang. - -Reddy gave a loud exclamation and made a jump for it. But Mills got -before him and caught him. He struggled to get away till the Doctor -seized him on the other side. They fought for a moment, and then got him -back against the door, all the time the telephone ringing like mad. As -they wrestled with him Mills called over his shoulder to Gilsey: - -"Answer that telephone, quick." - -Gilsey, scared most out of his wits, ran to the phone and took down the -receiver. Anne Hennessey was at the other end with her awful message. - -When he got it Gilsey gave a cry like he was stabbed, and turned to Mr. -Reddy, pinioned against the door. - -"Good Lord, have mercy, Mr. Jack," he gasped out. "Miss Hesketh's dead. -She's murdered--on the turnpike--murdered last night!" - -The Doctor dropped Reddy, tore the instrument out of Gilsey's hand and -took the rest of the message. - -Reddy turned the color of ashes. There wasn't any need to hold him. He -fell back against the door with his jaw dropped and his eyes staring -like a man in a trance. Gilsey thought he was going to die and was for -running to him, crying out, "Oh, Mr. Jack, don't look that way." But -Mills caught the old servant by the arm and held him back, watching -Reddy as sharp as a ferret. - -The Doctor turned from the phone and said: "It's true. Miss Hesketh's -been murdered." - -There was a dead silence. The click of the receiver falling into its -hook was the only sound. The three other men--the Doctor as white as -death, too--stood staring at Reddy. And then, seeing those three faces, -he burst out like he was crazy: - -"No--she's not--she can't be! I was there; I went the moment I got her -message. I was on the turnpike where she said she'd be. I was up and -down there most of the night. And--and----" he stopped suddenly and put -his hands over his face, groaning, "Oh, my God, Sylvia--why didn't you -tell me?" - -He lurched forward and dropped into a chair, his hands over his face, -moaning like an animal in pain. - - - - -VI - - -Longwood was stunned. By noon everybody knew it and there was no more -business that day. The people stood in groups, talking in whispers as if -they were at a funeral. And in the afternoon it _was_ like a funeral, -the body coming back by train and being taken from the depot to -Mapleshade in one of the Doctor's farm wagons. It lay under a sheet and -as the wagon passed through the crowd you couldn't hear a sound, except -for a woman crying here and there. - -Then it was as if a spring that held the people dumb and still was -loosed and the excitement burst up. I never saw anything like it. It -seemed like every village up and down the line had emptied itself into -Longwood. Farmers and laborers and loafers swarmed along the streets, -the rich came in motors, tearing to Mapleshade, and the police were -everywhere, as if they'd sprung out of the ground. - -By afternoon the reporters came pouring in from town. The Inn was full -up with them and they were buzzing round my exchange like flies. Some of -them tried to get hold of me and that night had the nerve to come -knocking at Mrs. Galway's side door, demanding the telephone girl. But, -believe me, I sat tight and said nothing--nothing to them. The police -were after me mighty quick, and there was a seance over Corwin's Drug -Store when I felt like I was being put to the third degree. I told them -all I knew, job or no job, for I guessed right off that that talk I'd -overheard on the phone might be an important clew. They kept it close. -It wasn't till after the inquest that the press got it. - -Before the inquest every sort of rumor was flying about, and the papers -were full of crazy stories, not half of them true. I'd read about places -and people I knew as well as my own face in the mirror, and they'd sound -like a dime novel, so colored up and twisted round the oldest inhabitant -wouldn't have recognized them. - -To get at the facts was a job, but, knowing who was reliable and who -wasn't, I questioned and ferreted and, I guess, before I was done I had -them pretty straight. - -Sylvia had been killed by a blow on the side of her head--a terrible -blow. A sheriff's deputy I know told me that in all his experience he -had seen nothing worse. Her hat had evidently shielded the scalp. It was -pulled well down over her head, the long pin bent but still thrust -through it. Where she had been hit the plush was torn but not the thick -interlining, and her hair, all loosened, was hanging down against her -neck. There was a wound--not deep, more like a tearing of the skin, on -the lower part of her cheek. It was agreed that she had been struck only -once by some heavy implement that had a sharp or jagged edge. Though the -woods and fields had been thoroughly searched nothing had been -discovered that could have dealt the blow. Whatever he had used the -murderer had either successfully hidden it or taken it away with him. -The deputy told me it looked to him as if it might have been some -farming tool like a spade, or even a heavy branch broken from a tree. -The way the body was arranged, the coat drawn smoothly together, the -branches completely covering her, showed that the murderer had taken -time to conceal his crime, though why he had not drawn the body back -into the thick growth of bushes was a point that puzzled everybody. - -It was impossible to trace any footprints, as the automobile party and -Hines had trodden the earth about her into a muddy mass, and the grass -along the edge was too thick and springy to hold any impression. - -Close behind the place where she lay twigs of the screening trees were -snapped and bent as if her assailant had broken through them. - -There were people who said Hines would have been arrested on the spot if -robbery had been added to murder. But the jewelry was all on her, more -than he said he had noticed when she was in the Wayside Arbor. The pearl -necklace alone was worth twenty thousand dollars, and just below it, -clasping her gown over the chest, was a diamond cross, an old ornament -of her mother's, made of the finest Brazilian stones. In the pocket of -her coat was a purse with forty-eight dollars in it. So right at the -start the theory of robbery was abandoned. - -Another inexplicable thing was the disappearance of the French maid, -Virginia Dupont. Jack Reddy denied any knowledge of her. He said Sylvia -had never mentioned bringing her with them and he didn't think intended -to do so. The Mapleshade people thought differently, all declaring that -Sylvia depended on her and took her wherever she went. One of the -mysteries about the woman that was quickly cleared up was the walk she -had taken to the village on Sunday morning. This was to meet Mr. Reddy -and take from him the letter for Sylvia which had been found in the -desk. - -I know from what I heard that the police were keen to find her, but she -had dropped out of sight without leaving a trace. No one at Mapleshade -knew anything about her or her connections. She was not liked in the -house or the village and had made no friends. On her free Sundays she'd -go to town and when she returned say very little about where she'd been. -A search of her rooms showed nothing, except that she seemed to have -left her clothes behind her. She was last seen at Mapleshade by Nora -Magee, who, at half-past five on Sunday, met her on the third floor -stairs. Nora was off for a walk to the village with Harper and was in a -hurry. She asked Virginie if she was going out and Virginie said no, she -felt sick and was going up to lie down till she'd be wanted to help Miss -Sylvia dress for dinner. - -If you ask me was anyone suspected at this stage I'd answer "yes," but -people were afraid to say who. There was talk about Hines on the street -and in the postoffice, but it was only when you were close shut in your -own room or walking quiet up a side street that the person with you -would whisper the Doctor's name. Nobody dared say it aloud, but there -wasn't a soul in Longwood who didn't know about the quarreling at -Mapleshade, whose was the money that ran it, and the will that left -everything to Mrs. Fowler if her daughter died. - -But no arrests were made. Everything was waiting on the inquest, and we -all heard that there were important facts--already known to the -police--which would not be made public till then. - -Wednesday afternoon they held the inquest at Mapleshade. The authorities -had rounded up a bunch of witnesses, I among them. The work in the -Exchange had piled up so we'd had to send a hurry call for help to -headquarters and I left the office in charge of a new girl, Katie -Reilly, Irish, a tall, gawky thing, who was going to work with us -hereafter on split hours. - -Going down Maple Lane it was like a target club outing or a political -picnic, except for the solemn faces. I saw Hines and his party, and the -railway men, and a lot of queer guys that I took to be the jury. Halfway -there a gang of reporters passed me, talking loud, and swinging along in -their big overcoats. Near the black pine the toot of a horn made me -stand back and Jack Reddy's roadster scudded by, he driving, with Casey -beside him, and the two old Gilseys, pale and peaked in the back seat. - -They held the inquest in the dining-room, with the coroner sitting at -one end of the long shiny table and the jury grouped round the other. -Take it from me, it was a gloomy sight. The day outside was cold and -cloudy, and through the French windows that looked out on the lawns, the -light came still and gray, making the faces look paler than they already -were. It was a grand, beautiful room with a carved stone fireplace where -logs were burning. Back against the walls were sideboards with silver -dishes on them and hand-painted portraits hung on the walls. - -But the thing you couldn't help looking at--and that made all the -splendor just nothing--were Sylvia's clothes hanging over the back of a -chair, and on a little table near them her hat and veil, the one glove -she had had on, and the heap of jewelry. All those fine garments and the -precious stones worth a fortune seemed so pitiful and useless now. - -We were awful silent at first, a crowd of people sitting along the -walls, staring straight ahead or looking on the ground. Now and then -someone would move uneasily and make a rustle, but there were moments so -still you could hear the fire snapping and the scratching of the -reporters' pencils. They were just behind me, bunched up at a table in -front of the window. When the Doctor came in everyone was as quiet as -death and the eyes on him were like the eyes of images, so fixed and -steady. Mrs. Fowler was not present--they sent for her later--but Nora -and Anne were there as pale as ghosts. - -The Coroner opened up by telling about how and where the deceased had -been found, the position, the surroundings, etc., etc., and then called -Dr. Graham, who was the county physician and had made the autopsy. - -A good deal of what he said I didn't understand--it was to prove that -death resulted from a fracture of the skull. He could not state the -exact hour of dissolution, but said it was in the earlier part of the -night, some time before twelve. He described the condition of the scalp -which had been partially protected by the hat, thick as it was with a -plush outside and a heavy interlining. This was held up and then given -to the jury to examine. I saw it plainly as they passed it from hand to -hand--a small dark automobile hat, with a tear in one side and some -shreds of black Shetland veil hanging to its edge. She bore no other -marks of violence save a few small scratches on her right hand. She had -evidently been attacked unexpectedly and had had no time to fight or -struggle. - -The automobilists who had found the body came next. Only the men were -present--two nice-looking gentlemen--the ladies having been excused. -They told what I have already written, one of them making the creeps go -down your spine, describing how his wife said she saw the hand in the -moonlight, and how he walked back, laughing, and pulled off the -brushwood. - -After that Mrs. Fowler came, all swathed up in black and looking like a -haggard old woman. The Coroner spoke very kind to her. When she got to -the quarrel between Sylvia and the Doctor her voice began to tremble and -she could hardly go on. It was pitiful to see but she had to tell it, -and about the other quarrels too. Then she pulled herself together and -told about going up to Sylvia's room and finding the letter. - -The Coroner stopped her there and taking a folded paper from the table -beside him said it was the letter and read it out to us. It was dated -Firehill, Nov. 21st. - - "_Dearest_: - - "All right. This evening at seven by the pine. We'll go in my - racer to Bloomington and be married there by Fiske, the man I - told you about. It'll be a long ride but at the end we'll find - happiness waiting for us. Don't disappoint me--don't do what you - did the other time. Believe in my love and trust yourself to - me--_Jack_." - -In the silence that followed you could hear the fire falling together -with a little soft rustle. All the eyes turned as if they were on pivots -and looked at Jack Reddy--all but mine. I kept them on Mrs. Fowler and -never moved them till she was led, bent and sobbing, out of the room. - -Nora Magee was the next, and I heard them say afterward made a good -witness. The coroner asked her--and Anne when her turn came--very -particular about the jewelry, what was gone, how many pieces and such -questions. And then it came out that nobody--not even Mrs. Fowler--knew -exactly what Sylvia had. She was all the time buying new ornaments or -having her old ones reset and the only person who kept track of her -possessions was Virginie Dupont. All any of them could be sure of was -that the jewel box was empty, and the toilet articles, fitted bag, and -gold mesh purse were gone. - -Hines was called after that. He was all slicked up in his store clothes -and looked very different to what he had that day in the summer. Though -anyone could see he was scared blue, the perspiration on his forehead -and his big, knotty hands twiddling at his tie and his watch chain; he -told his story very clear and straightforward. I think everyone was -impressed by it and by Mrs. Hines, who followed him. She was a miserable -looking little rat of a woman, with inflamed eyes and a long drooping -nose, but she corroborated all he said, and--anyway, to me--it sounded -true. - -Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, followed, and when she walked over -to sit in the chair, keyed up as I was, I came near laughing. She was a -large, fat woman with a good-humored red face and little twinkling eyes, -and she sure was a sight, bulging out of a black cloth suit that was the -fashion when Columbus landed. On her head was a fancy straw hat with one -mangy feather sticking straight up at the back, and the last touch was -her face, one side still swollen out from her toothache, and looking for -all the world as if she had a quid in her cheek. - -Though she spoke in a queer, foreign dialect, she gave her testimony -very well and she told something that no one--I don't think even the -police--had heard before. - -While Hines was locking up she went to her room but couldn't sleep -because of the pain of her toothache. - -"Ach," she said, spreading her hand out near her cheek, "it was out so -far--swole out, and, oh, my God--_pain_!" - -"Never mind your toothache," said the Coroner--"keep to the subject." - -"How do I hear noises if my toothache doesn't make me to wake?" she -asked, giving him a sort of indignant look. - -Somebody laughed, a kind of choked giggle, and I heard one of those -fresh write-up chaps behind me whisper: - -"This is the comic relief." - -"Oh, you heard noises--what kind of noises?" - -"The scream," she said. - -"You heard a scream?" - -"Yes--one scream--far away, up toward Cresset's Crossing. I go crazy -with the pain and after Mr. Hines is come upstairs I go down to the -kitchen to make----" she stopped, looking up in the air--"what you call -him?"--she put her hand flat on the side of her face--"for here, to stop -the pain." - -"Do you mean a poultice?" - -She grinned all over and nodded. - -"Yes, that's him. I make hot water on the gas, and then, way off, I hear -a scream." - -"What time was that?" - -"The kitchen clock says ten minutes past ten." - -"What did you do?" - -She looked surprised. - -"I make the--you know the name--for my ache." - -"Didn't you go out and investigate--even go to the door?" - -She shook her head and gave a sort of good-humored laugh as if she was -explaining things to a child. - -"Go out. For why? If I go out for screams I go out when the dagoes -fight, and when the automobiles be pass--up and down all night, often -drunken and making noises;" she shrugged her shoulders sort of careless; -"I no be bothered with screams." - -"Did you go to bed?" - -"I do. I make the medicine for my swole up face and go upstairs." - -"Did you hear any more screams?" - -"No--there are no more. If there are I would have hear them, for I can't -sleep ever all night. All I hear is automobiles--many automobiles -passing up and down and maybe--two, three, four times--the horns -sounding." - -The Coroner asked her a few more questions, principally about Hines' -movements, and her answers, if you could get over the lingo, were all -clear and in line with what Hines had said. - -The railway men followed her, Sands and Clark and Jim Donahue. Jim was -as nervous as a cat, holding his hat in his hands and twisting it round -like a plate he was drying. He told about the woman he put on the -seven-thirty train on Sunday night. - -"Where did you first see this woman?" he was asked. - -"On the platform, just before the train came in. She came down along it, -out of the dark." - -"Can you swear it was Miss Hesketh?" - -Jim didn't think he could swear because he couldn't see her face plain, -it being covered with a figured black veil. But he never thought of it -being anyone else. - -"Why did you think it was she?" - -"Because it looked like her. It was her coat and her gold purse and I'd -know her hair anywhere. And when I spoke to her and said: 'Good evening, -Miss Hesketh, going to leave us?' it was her voice that answered: 'Yes, -Jim, I'm going away for a few days.'" - -"Did you have any more conversation with her?" - -"No, because the train came along then. She got in and I handed her her -bag and said 'Good night.'" - -When he was asked to describe the bag, he said he hadn't noticed it -except that it was a medium sized bag, he thought, dark colored. - -Then he was shown the clothes--that was heart-rending. The Coroner held -them up, the long fur coat, the little plush hat, and the one glove. He -thought they were the same but it was hard to tell, the platform being -so dark--anyway, it was them sort of clothes the lady had on, and though -he couldn't be sure of the glove he had noticed that her gloves were -light colored. - -Sands, the Pullman conductor, and Clark, from the Junction, testified -that they'd seen the same woman on the train and at the Junction. Sands -particularly noticed the gold mesh purse because she took her ticket out -of it. He addressed her as Miss Hesketh and she had answered him, but -only to say "Good evening." - -Then came the Firehill servants. The two old Gilseys were dreadfully -upset. Mrs. Gilsey cried and poor old David kept hesitating and looking -at Mr. Reddy, but the stamp of truth was on every word they said. Casey -followed them, telling what I've already written. - -When Mr. Reddy was called a sort of stir went over the people. Everybody -was curious to hear his story, as we'd only got bits of it, most of them -wild rumors. And there wasn't a soul in Longwood that didn't grieve for -him, plunged down at the moment when he thought he was most happy into -such an awful tragedy. As he sat down in the chair opposite the Coroner, -the room was as still as a tomb, even the reporters behind me not making -so much as the scratch of a pen. - -He looked gray and pinched, his eyes burnt out like a person's who -hasn't slept for nights. You could see he was nervous, for he kept -crossing and uncrossing his knees, and he didn't give his evidence -nearly so clear and continued as the newspapers had it. He'd stop every -now and then as if he didn't remember or as if he was thinking of the -best way to express himself. - -He began by telling how he and Sylvia had arranged to go in his car to -Bloomington, and there be married by his friend Fiske, an Episcopal -clergyman. The Coroner asked him if Fiske expected them and he said no, -he hadn't had time to let him know as the elopement was decided on -hurriedly. - -"Why was the decision hurried?" the Coroner asked and he answered low, -as if he was reluctant to say it. - -"Because Miss Hesketh had a violent quarrel with her stepfather on -Saturday morning. It was not till after that that she made up her mind -she would go with me." - -"Did you know at the time what that quarrel was about?" - -His face got a dull red and he said low. - -"Yes, she told me of it in a letter she wrote me immediately afterward." - -Then he told how on Saturday night he had received a special delivery -letter from her, telling of the quarrel and agreeing to the elopement. -That letter he had destroyed. He answered it the next morning, she -having directed him to bring it in himself and deliver it to Virginie, -who would meet him opposite Corwin's drugstore. This he did, the letter -being the one already in evidence. - -The Coroner asked him to explain the sentence which said "Don't -disappoint me--don't do what you did the other time." He looked straight -in front of him and answered: - -"We had made a plan to elope once before and she had backed out." - -"Do you know why?" - -"It was too--too unusual--too unconventional. When it came to the -scandal of an elopement she hung back." - -"Is it your opinion that the quarrel with Dr. Fowler made her agree the -second time?" - -"I know nothing about that." - -Then he told of leaving Firehill, coming into Longwood, and going down -Maple Lane. - -"I reached there a few minutes before seven and ran down to the pine -tree where I was to meet her. I drew up to one side of the road and -waited. During the time I waited--half an hour--I neither saw nor heard -anybody. At half-past seven I decided she had changed her mind again and -left." - -"You didn't go to the house?" - -"No--I was not welcome at the house. She had told me not to go there." - -"You were in the habit of seeing her somewhere else, though?" - -His face got red again and you could see he had to make an effort not to -get angry. - -"After I had heard from Miss Hesketh and seen from Dr. Fowler's manner -that I was not wanted at Mapleshade, I saw her at intervals. Once or -twice we went for walks in the woods, and a few times, perhaps three or -four, I met her on the turnpike and took her for a drive in my car." - -He then went on to tell how he drove back to Firehill, reaching there a -little after nine. The place was empty and he went up to his room. He -didn't know how long he'd been there when the telephone rang. It was the -mysterious message from her. - -He repeated it slowly, evidently trying to give it word for word. You -could have heard a pin drop when he ended. - -"Did you attempt to question her on the phone?" - -"No, it all went too quick and I was too astonished." - -"Did you get the impression that she was in any grave danger?" - -"No, I never thought of that. She was very rash and impulsive and I -thought she'd done some foolhardy thing and had turned to me as the one -person on whom she could rely." - -"What do you mean by foolhardy?" - -He gave a shrug and threw out his hands. - -"The sort of thing a child might do--some silly, thoughtless action. She -was full of spirit and daring; you never could be sure of what she -mightn't try. I didn't think of any definite thing. I ran to the garage -and got out my car and went northward up the Firehill Road. It was -terrible traveling, and I should say it took me nearly three-quarters of -an hour to make the distance. When I was nearing the pike I sounded my -horn to let her know I was coming. - -"Just before I got there the clouds had broken and the moon come out. -The whole landscape was flooded with light, and I made no doubt I'd see -her as soon as I turned into the pike. But she wasn't there. I slowed up -and waited, looking up and down, for I'd no idea which way she was -coming, but there wasn't a sign of her. As far as I could see, the road -was lifeless and deserted. Then I ran up and down--a mile or two either -way--but there was no one to be seen." - -"Did you hear any sounds in the underbrush--footsteps, breaking of -twigs?" - -"I heard nothing. The place was as still as the grave. I made longer -runs up and down, looking along both sides and now and then waiting and -sounding the auto horn." - -"Did you stop at any of the farms or cottages and make inquiries?" - -"No. I didn't do that because I had no thought of her being in any real -danger and because she'd cautioned me against letting anyone know. After -I'd searched the main road thoroughly for several miles and gone up -several branch roads I began to think she'd played a joke on me." - -"Do you mean fooled you?" - -"Yes--the whole thing began to look that way. Her not being at the -rendezvous in Maple Lane and then phoning me to meet her at a place, -which, when I came to think of it, it was nearly impossible for her to -reach in that space of time. It seemed the only reasonable -explanation--and it was the sort of thing she might do. When I got the -idea in my head it grew and," he looked down on the floor, his voice -dropping low as if it was hard for him to speak, "I got blazing mad." - -For a moment it seemed like he couldn't go on. In that moment I thought -of how he must be feeling, remembering his rage against her while all -the time she was lying cold and dead by the road. - -"I was too angry to go home," he went on, "and not thinking much what I -did, I let the car out and went up and down--I don't know how far--I -don't remember--miles and miles." - -"According to Mr. Casey it was half-past four when you came back to the -garage." - -"I daresay; I didn't notice the time." - -"You were from 9:30 to 4:30 on the road?" - -"Yes." - -"You spent those seven hours going up and down the turnpike and the -intersecting roads?" - -"Yes, but at first I waited--for half hours at a time in different -places." - -He looked straight at the Coroner as he said that, a deep steady look, -more quiet and intent than he'd done since he started. I think it would -have seemed to most people as if he was telling the absolute truth and -wanted to impress it. But when a girl feels about a man as I did about -him, she can see below the surface, and there was something about the -expression of his face, about the tone of his voice, that made me think -for the first time he was holding something back. - -Then he went on and told about going home and falling asleep on the -sofa, and about the doctor and Mills coming. - -"When I saw the Doctor my first thought was that I must keep quiet till -I found out what had happened. When he asked me where his daughter was I -was startled as I realized she wasn't at home. But, even then, I hadn't -any idea of serious trouble and I was determined to hold my tongue till -I knew more than I did. - -"The ring of the telephone gave me a shock. I had been expecting to get -a call from her and instinctively I gave a jump for it. By that time I -was sure she'd got into some silly scrape and I wasn't going to have her -stepfather finding out and starting another quarrel. They," he nodded -his head at the Doctor and Mills, "caught on at once and made a rush for -me. - -"After that----" he lifted his hands and let them drop on his knees--"it -was just as they've said. I was paralyzed. I don't know what I said. I -only felt she'd been in danger and called on me and I'd failed her. I -think for a few moments I was crazy." - -His voice got so husky he could hardly speak and he bent his head down, -looking at his hands. I guess every face in the room was turned to him -but mine. I couldn't look at him but sat like a dummy, picking at my -gloves, and inside, in my heart, I felt like I was crying. In the -silence I heard one of the reporters whisper: - -"Gee--poor chap! that's tough!" - -He was asked some more questions, principally about what Sylvia had told -him of the quarrels with her stepfather. You could see he was careful in -his answers. According to what he said she'd only alluded to them in a -general way as making the life at Mapleshade very uncomfortable. - -He was just getting up when I saw one of the jurors pass a slip of paper -across the table to the Coroner. He looked at it, then, as Mr. Reddy was -moving away, asked him to wait a minute; there was another question--had -he stopped anywhere during Sunday night to get gasoline for his car? - -Mr. Reddy turned back and said very simply: - -"No, I had an extra drum in the car." - -"You used that?" - -"Yes." - -"What did you do with the drum?" - -"Threw it into the bushes somewhere along the road." - -"Do you know the place?" - -He gave a sort of smile and shook his head. - -"No, I don't remember. I don't know where I filled the tank. When it was -done I pitched the drum back into the trees--somewhere along the -turnpike." - -Several more of us came after that, I among them. But the real sensation -of the day was the Doctor's evidence, which I'll keep for the next -chapter. - - - - -VII - - -The Doctor was as calm and matter-of-fact as if he were giving a lecture -to a class of students. He looked much better than he did that morning -in the Exchange; rested and with a good color. As he settled himself in -the chair, I heard one of the reporters whisper: - -"I wouldn't call that the mug of a murderer." - -I looked over my shoulder right at the one who had spoken, a young chap -with a round, rosy, innocent sort of face like a kid's and yellow hair -standing up over his head as thick as sheep's wool. I'd seen him several -times in the Exchange and knew his name was Babbitts and that the other -fellows called him "Soapy." When he caught my eye he winked, and you -couldn't be mad because it was like a big pink baby winking at you. - -The Doctor told his story more straight and continuous than any of the -others. It went along so clear from point to point, that the coroner -didn't have to ask so many questions, and when he did the doctor was -always ready with his answer. It sounded to me as if he'd thought out -every detail, worked it up just right to get the best effect. He began -with Saturday morning, when he'd got the call to go to the Dalzells'. - -"An operation was performed early that afternoon and I stayed during the -night and all the next day, going out on Sunday morning at ten for an -hour's ride in my motor. I had decided to remain Sunday night -too--though the patient was out of danger--when at about eight I -received a telephone message from my wife saying Miss Hesketh had run -away with Jack Reddy. Hearing from her that their route would be by the -turnpike to Bloomington I made up my mind that my best course was to -strike the turnpike and intercept them." - -"You disapproved of their marriage?" - -"Decidedly. Miss Hesketh was too young to know her own mind. Mr. Reddy -was not the husband I would have chosen for her--not to mention the -distress it would have caused Mrs. Fowler to have her daughter marry in -that manner. My desire to keep the escapade secret made me tell Mrs. -Dalzell a falsehood--that I was called away on an important case. - -"The Dalzells' chauffeur told me that the road from their place to the -turnpike was impassable for motors. The best route for me would be to go -to the Junction, where I could strike the Riven Rock Road, which came -out on the turnpike about a mile from Cresset's Crossing. I had plenty -of time, as the distance young Reddy would have to travel before he -reached that point was nearly a hundred and twenty miles. - -"I arrived at the Junction as the train for Philadelphia was drawing -out. I spoke to Clark, the station agent, about the road, and, after -getting the directions, walked round the depot to the back platform, -where my car stood. As I passed the door of the waiting-room it suddenly -opened and a woman came out." - -He stopped--just for a moment--as if to let the people get the effect of -his words. A rustle went over the room, but he looked as if he didn't -notice it and went on as calm and natural as if he was telling us a -fiction story. - -"I probably wouldn't have noticed her if she hadn't given a suppressed -cry and cowered back in the doorway. That made me look at her and, to my -amazement, I saw it was Miss Hesketh's maid, Virginie Dupont." - -Nobody expected it. If he'd wanted to spring a sensation he'd done it. -We were all leaning forward with our mouths open. - -"The moment I saw her I remembered that my wife had told me the woman -had gone with Miss Hesketh. One glance into the waiting-room told me she -was alone and I turned on her and told her I knew of the elopement and -asked her what she was doing there. She was evidently terrified by my -unexpected appearance, but seeing she was caught, she confessed that she -knew all about it, in fact, that she had been instructed by Miss Hesketh -to go to Philadelphia by the branch line, take a room in the -Bellevue-Stratford, and wait there till her mistress appeared. - -"I was enraged and let her see it, pushing her round to the car and -ordering her into the back seat. I vaguely noticed that she carried a -bag and wrap over her arm. She tried to excuse herself but I shut her up -and took my seat at the wheel. There was no one on the platform as we -went out. - -"It took me over an hour to negotiate the distance between the Junction -and the turnpike. The road was in a fearful condition. We ran into chuck -holes and through water nearly to the hubs. Once the right front wheel -dropping into a washout, the lamp struck a stump and was so shattered it -had to be put out. My attention was concentrated on the path, especially -after we left the open country and entered a thick wood, where, with one -lamp out of commission, I had to almost feel my way. - -"I said not a word to the woman nor she to me. It was not till I was -once again in the open that I turned to speak to her and saw she was -gone." - -"Gone!" said one of the jury--a raw-boned, bearded old man like a -farmer--so interested, he spoke right out. - -"Yes, gone. I guessed in a moment what she had done. Either when I had -stopped to put out the lamp or in one of the pauses while I was feeling -my way through the wood she had slipped out and run. It would have been -easy for her to hide in the dark of the trees. I glanced into the -tonneau and saw that the things she had carried, the bag and the wrap, -were also missing. She had been frightened and made her escape. -Unfortunately, in the shock and horror of the next day the whole matter -slipped my mind and she had time to complete her getaway, probably by -the branch line early Sunday morning." - -The Coroner here explained that inquiries had since been made at the -branch line stations for the woman but nobody had been found who had -seen her. - -"I had no time to go back and look for her, and, anyway, it would have -been useless, as she could have hidden from a sheriff's posse in the -wood. Besides, my whole interest was focused on reaching the turnpike. I -could see it before me, a long winding line between the dark edges of -small trees. I turned into it and let the car out. Though the road has -many turns I could have seen the lamps of a motor some distance ahead -and I ran fast, looking neither to the right nor left but watching for -approaching lights. On my ride back I met only a few vehicles, several -farmers' wagons and the car of Dr. Pease, the Longwood practitioner. - -"I reached home about two and went at once to my wife's room. She was in -a hysterical state and I stayed with her an hour or so trying to quiet -her. When she was better I retired to my own apartment and at seven -called up Walter Mills, a detective in New York, telling him to come to -Longwood as soon as he could. By this time I was uneasy, not that I had -any suspicion of a real tragedy, but the disappearance of Miss Hesketh -alarmed me. I met Mills at the train and told him the situation and that -I intended telephoning to Fiske at Bloomington, thinking they might have -reached there by some other way. It was his suggestion that before any -step was taken which might make the matter public, it would be well to -communicate with Firehill and see if the servants knew anything. I did -this and to my amazement learned that Reddy was there." - -That is all of the Doctor's testimony that I need put down as the rest -of it you know. - -It left us in a sort of mixed-up surprise. No one could have told it -better, no one could have been more sure about it or more quiet and -natural. _But_--it seems like I ought to write that word in the biggest -letters to give the idea of how it stood out in my mind. - -Of all the stories it was the strangest and it was so _awfully_ pat. I -don't know how you feel about it, reading it as I've written it here, -but I can say for myself, listening and watching that man tell it, I -couldn't seem to believe it. - -It was near to evening, the room getting dusk and the fire showing up -large and bright when the jury brought in their verdict: "The deceased -met her death at the hands of a person or persons unknown." - -I walked back up Maple Lane. The night was setting in cold and frosty. -The clouds had drawn off, the air was clear as crystal and full of the -sounds of motor horns. Big and little cars passed me, jouncing over the -ruts and swinging round the bend where the pine stood. I was looking up -at it, black like a skeleton against the glow in the West, when a step -came up behind me and a voice said: - -"You're a good witness, Miss Morganthau." - -It was that fresh kid Babbitts and I wasn't sorry to have him join me as -I was feeling as if I'd been sitting in a tomb. He was serious too, not -a wink about him now, his eyes on the ground, his hands dug down in the -pockets of his overcoat. - -"A strange case, isn't it?" he said. - -"Awful strange," I answered. - -"If it wasn't for your story of that man on the 'phone I think they'd -arrest Dr. Fowler to-night." - -"Didn't you believe what he said?" - -I wasn't going to give away my thoughts any more than I'd been willing -to give away what I heard on the wire. And it seemed that he was the -same, for he answered slow and thoughtful: - -"I'm not saying what I believe or don't believe, or maybe it's better if -I say I'm not ready yet to believe or disbelieve anything,"--then he -looked up at the sky, red behind the trees, and spoke easy and careless: -"They say Miss Hesketh had a good many admirers." - -"Do they?" was all he got out of me. - -That made him laugh, jolly and boyish. - -"Oh, you needn't keep your guard up now. Your stuff'll be in the papers -to-morrow, and, take it from me, that fellow that sent the message is -going to get a jar." - -"The man I listened to?" - -"Sure. He hasn't got the ghost of an idea anyone overheard him. Can't -you imagine how he'll feel when he opens his paper and sees that a smart -little hello girl was tapping the wire?" - -It's funny, but I'd never thought of it that way. Why, he'd get a shock -like dynamite! It got hold of me so that I didn't speak for a spell, -thinking of that man reading his paper to-morrow--over his coffee or -maybe going down in the L--and suddenly seeing printed out in black and -white what he thought no one in the world knew except himself and that -poor dead girl. Babbitts went on talking, me listening with one -ear--which comes natural to an operator. - -"We've been rounding up all the men that were after her--not that they -were backward with their alibis--only too glad to be of service, thank -you! Carisbrook was at Aiken, a lawyer named Dunham was up state trying -a case; Robinson, a chap in a bank, was spending the week-end on Long -Island. There was only one of them near here--man named Cokesbury. Do -you know him?" - -Both my ears got busy. - -"Cokesbury," I said, sort of startled, "was Cokesbury at the Lodge last -week?" - -"He was and I know just what he did." - -"What did he do?" - -He laughed out as gay as you please, for he saw he'd got me just where -he wanted. - -"When I've tried to find out things from you you've turned me down." - -"Aw, go on," I said coaxing, "don't you know by experience I'm no -talking machine to give out every word that's said to me." - -"I believe you," he answered, "and it'll be good for your character for -me to set a generous example. Cokesbury was at the Lodge from last -Saturday on the one-ten train to last Monday on the eight-twenty." - -"Gee!" I said, soft to myself. - -"You can quell those rising hopes," he replied. "He wasn't the man you -heard." - -"How do you know?" - -"Because hearing that he was a friend of Miss Hesketh's, I spent part of -yesterday at Azalea and found that Mr. Cokesbury can prove as good an -alibi as any of them." - -"Did you see him?" - -"No, he wasn't there and if he had been I wouldn't have bothered with -him. I saw someone much better--Miner, the man who owns the Azalea -Garage, where Cokesbury puts up his car. It appears that the trip before -last Cokesbury broke his axle and had to have his car towed down to the -garage and left there to be mended. When he came down Saturday he -expected it to be done and when it wasn't, got in a rage and raised the -devil of a row. He had to go out to his place in one of Miner's cars -which left him there and went back for him Monday morning." - -"Then he had no auto on Sunday." - -"Miss Morganthau will take the head of the class," then he said, low, as -if to someone beside him: "She's our prize pupil but we don't say it -before her face for fear of making her proud," then back to me as solemn -as a priest in the pulpit, "That is the situation reduced to its lowest -terms--he had no car." - -"Well that ends _him_," I said. - -"So it seems to me. In fact Cokesbury gets the gate. I won't hide from -you now that I went to Azalea because I'd heard a rumor of that talk on -the phone and thought I'd do a little private sleuthing on my own. -Didn't know but what I was destined to be the Baby Grand Burns." - -"And nothing's come of it." - -"Nothing, except that it drops Cokesbury out with a thud that's dull and -sickening for me, but you can bet your best hat it's just the opposite -for him." - -"Well, I guess yes," I said and walked along wondering to myself whose -voice that _could_ have been. - - - - -VIII - - -After the inquest there was no more question about who was suspected. It -was as if every finger in Longwood was raised and pointed to Mapleshade. -The cautious people didn't say it plain--especially the shop-keepers who -were afraid of losing custom--but those who had nothing to gain by -keeping still came out with it flatfooted. - -It wasn't only that nobody liked the Doctor, or believed his story, it -was because the people were wild at what had been done. They wanted to -find the murderer and put him behind bars and seeing that things pointed -more clearly to Dr. Fowler than to anybody else they pitched on him. All -the gossip about the quarreling came out blacker than ever. The papers -were full of it and the other worse stories, about Sylvia's allowance -and the will of her father. There wasn't a bit of dirty linen in the -Fowler household that wasn't washed and hung out on the line for the -public to gape at, and some of it was dirtier when they'd got through -washing than it had been before. - -There were those who didn't scruple to say that the whole tragedy was a -frame-up between Virginie Dupont and the Doctor. If you talked sensible -to them and asked them how Virginie could have got word to him that -Sylvia was running away, they'd just push that to one side, saying it -could be explained some way, everything wasn't known yet--but one thing -you _could_ be sure of--the one person who knew the whereabouts of that -French woman was Dr. Daniel Fowler. - -I believe there were some days after the inquest when, if there'd been -an anarchist or agitator to stand on the postoffice steps and yell that -Dr. Fowler ought to be jailed, a crowd would have gathered, gone down to -Mapleshade, and demanded him. - -Fortunately there was no one of that kind around, and he stayed quiet in -his home, not even coming to the village. Two days after the inquest I -saw Anne and she said he and Mrs. Fowler hadn't been out of the -house--that they were in a state of siege what with reporters and the -police and morbid cranks who hung round the grounds looking up at the -windows. - -That same evening I stayed over time in the Exchange, lending a hand. -The work was something awful, and Katie Reilly, the new girl, was most -snowed under and on the way to lose her head. I wanted to see her -through and I wanted the credit of the office kept up, but it's also -true that I wanted to be on the job myself and hear all that was -passing. Believe me, it was hard to quiet down in my bedroom at night -after eight hours at the switchboard right in the thick of the -excitement. Besides, I'd got to know the reporters pretty well and it -was fun making them think I could give them leads and then guying them. - -I liked Babbitts the best, but there were three others that weren't bad -as men go. One was Jones, a tall thin chap like an actor, with long -black hair hanging down to his collar, and Freddy Jasper, who was -English and talked with an awful swell dialect, and a sallow-skinned, -consumpted-looking guy called Yerrington who belonged on a paper as -yellow as his face and always went round with a cigarette hanging from -his lip like it was stuck on with glue. - -It was nearly eight and work was slacking off when I started to go home. -What with the jump I'd been on and listening to the gabbing round the -door I'd forgotten my supper. It wasn't till I saw the Gilt Edge window -with a nice pile of apples stacked up round a pumpkin, that I remembered -I was hungry and walked over. There were only three people in the place, -Florrie Stein, the waitress, and a woman with a kid in the corner. - -I was just finishing my corn beef hash with a cup of coffee at my elbow -and stewed prunes on the line of promotion when Soapy and Jones and -Jasper came in and asked me if they could sit at my table. "Please -yourself," said I, "and you'll please me," for politeness is one of the -things I was bred up to, and they sat down, calling out their orders to -Florrie Stein. - -They naturally began talking about "the case"--it was all anybody talked -about just then--and for all I knew so much about it, I generally picked -up some new bits from them. So I went to the extravagance of three cents -worth of jelly roll, not because I wanted it, but because I could crumb -it up and eat it slow and not give away I was sitting on to listen. - -"We can talk before you, Miss Morganthau," said Babbitts, "because while -we all agree you're the belle of Longwood, we've found out by sad -experience you're a belle without a tongue." - -Florrie Stein, bringing the food then, they were silent till she'd set -it out, and when she'd drawn off to the cashier's desk, they started in -again. They were, so to speak, looking over Hines as a suspect. - -"No, Hines won't fit," said Babbitts. "The presence of the jewelry on -the body eliminates him. They've dug up his record and though the place -he ran wasn't to be recommended for Sunday school picnics, the man -himself seems to have been fairly decent." - -"It's odd about the bag--the fitted bag and the jewelry gone from the -room," said Jasper. - -"The police have an idea that Virginie Dupont could tell something of -them." - -"Theft?" - -"Theft on the side." - -"Oh, pshaw!" said Jones, "what's the good of complicating things? If -theft was committed it was a frame-up, part of a plot." - -"You believe in this idea they've got in the village that Fowler and the -French woman worked together?" - -"I do--to my mind the murderer's marked as plain as Cain after he was -branded on the brow or wherever it was." - -Then Jasper spoke up. He's a nice quiet chap, not as fresh as the -others. "Let's hear what you base that assertion on." - -Jones forgot his supper and twisted round sideways in his chair, looking -thoughtful up at the cornice: - -"As I understand it, in a murder two things are necessary--a crime and a -corpse; and in a murderer one, a motive. Now we have all three--the -motive especially strong. If Miss Hesketh married, her stepfather lost -his home and the money he had been living on, so he tried to stop her -from marrying. Saturday night he heard that his efforts had failed. I -fancy that on Sunday morning when he went for that auto drive he stopped -at some village--not as yet located--and communicated with Virginie -Dupont, who was in his pay. She, too, went out that morning, you may -remember." - -"There's a good deal of surmise about this," said Babbitts. - -Jones gave him a scornful look. - -"If the links in the chain were perfect Dr. Fowler'd be eating his -dinner to-night in Bloomington Jail." - -"How do you account for Miss Hesketh--presupposing it was she--being on -the train instead of the turnpike?" said Jasper. - -"A change of plans," Jones answered calmly, "also not yet satisfactorily -cleared up. To continue: Sometime on Sunday the Doctor conceived the -plan of ridding himself of all his cares--his troublesome stepdaughter, -the disturbance of his home and his financial distress. _How_," he -turned and looked solemnly at us, fate played so well into his hands I -can't yet explain--the main point is that it did. He met Miss Hesketh at -the Junction, either by threats, persuasion or coercion made her enter -his auto and carried her up the road to the turnpike. - -"And now," said Babbitts, leaning his arms on the table, "we come to her -appearance in the Wayside Arbor." - -"We do," Jones replied, nodding his head. "You may remember that both -Hines and his servant said there were twigs and leaves on the edge of -her skirt and that her boots were muddy. Traces of this were still -visible in her clothes when they found her body. She _did_ get out of -the automobile, but not so far from the turnpike as he said. Either he -and she had some fierce quarrel and she ran from him in rage or terror, -or he may have told the truth and she slipped out at the turn from the -Riven Rock Road without his knowledge. Anyway she got away from him and -ran for the only light she saw. There she telephoned Reddy, withholding -the main facts from him, perhaps merely to save time, but cautioning him -against letting anyone know of the message. That, as I see it, was a -natural feminine desire to guard against gossip. When she thought Reddy -was due she started out to meet him--and instead met the Doctor." - -"Who'd been hanging about for a half-hour on the roadside?" - -"Precisely. He killed her, concealed the body, and went home." - -"Just a minute," said Yerrington--"what did he kill her with? The weapon -used is a disputed point. Many think it was a farm implement. Did he go -across lots to Cresset's and arm himself with a convenient spade or rake -for the fatherly purpose of slaying his stepdaughter?" - -But you couldn't phase Jones, he said as calm as a May morning: - -"He _could_ have done that. But I don't think he did. He didn't need it. -The tool box of the car was nearer to hand. A large-sized auto wrench is -a pretty formidable weapon, and a tire wrench--did you ever see one? One -well-aimed blow of that would crush in the head of a negro." - -"Gentlemen, the evidence is all in," said Babbitts. - -"Your case might hold water," said Jasper, "if it wasn't as full of -holes as a sieve. Why, you can make out as good a one for almost -anybody." - -"Who, for example?" Jones asked. - -"Well--take Reddy." - -"Jack Reddy?" I said that, sitting up suddenly and staring at them with -a piece of jelly roll halfway to my mouth. - -"He's as good as another," said Jasper, and then he added sort of -dreamy: "I believe I could work up quite a convincing case against -Reddy, allowing for a hole here and there. But our illustrious friend -here admits holes at this stage." - -"Fire away," said Babbitts. "Give it to us, holes and all." - -"Well--off the bat here it is. You may remember that no one saw him -coming back from Maple Lane that night. There is no one, therefore, to -deny that he may have had Miss Hesketh in the car with him. Instead of -going back to Firehill, as he says he did, he followed his original plan -of taking her by the turnpike." - -"Right at the start I challenge that," said Babbitts. "She appeared at -the Wayside Arbor at nine-thirty. The date in Maple Lane was for seven. -Supposing she kept it and was on time--which is a stretch of the -imagination--he would have had to travel one hundred and eighteen miles -in two hours and a half." - -"He could have done it." - -"On a black, dark night? nearly forty-eight miles an hour?" - -"You forget he knew the road and was driving a high-powered racing car. -It's improbable but not impossible." - -"I count that as a hole, but go on." - -"Now in this hypothetical case we'll suppose that as that car flew over -the miles the man and the woman in it had high words?" - -"Hold on," said Jones, holding out his fork--"that's too big a hole. -They were lovers eloping, not an old married couple." - -"I'll explain that later. The high words inflamed and enraged the man to -the point of murder and he conceived a horrible plan. As they neared the -Wayside Arbor he told the woman something was wrong with the car and -sent her to the place ostensibly to telephone, really to establish her -presence there at a time when, had she been with him, she could hardly -have got that far." - -I jumped in there. I knew it was only fooling, but even so I didn't like -hearing Mr. Reddy talked about that way. - -"Who did he send her to telephone to, Mr. Jasper--himself?" - -Babbitts laughed and jerked his head toward me. - -"Listen to our little belle sounding the curfew on Jasper." - -But Mr. Jasper was ready. - -"He could have done that, knowing his house was empty. Hines, you -remember, said she wasn't five minutes in the booth. We've only Reddy's -word for that message. We don't even know if she got a connection. I -telephoned out to the Corona operator Saturday and she answered that -there was no record of the message and she herself remembered nothing -about it." - -"But Sylvia," I said--"she told Hines she was expecting someone to come -for her." - -"Sylvia was eloping. Mightn't she have told Hines--who was curious and -intrusive--what wasn't true?" - -A sort of hush fell on us all. Babbitts's face and Jones's, from being -just amused, were intent and interested. - -"Go ahead, Jasper," said Babbitts, "if this isn't buying the baby a -frock it's good yarning." - -Jasper went on. - -"Her story of the broken automobile _she_ believed to be true. But she -didn't want Hines to know who she was or what she was up to, so she -invented the person coming to take her home. Why she sat so long there -talking is--I'll admit--a hole, but I said in the beginning there would -be some. The end is just like the end of Jones's case. She went back to -Reddy and he killed her with, as our friend has suggested, one of the -auto tools. Very soon after it would have been as that Bohemian--what's -her name?--heard the scream at ten-ten." - -"That's all very well," said Jones, "but before we go further I'd like -you to furnish us with a motive." - -"Nothing easier--jealousy." - -"Jealousy!" I said, sudden and sharp. - -"Jealousy in its most violent form. The lady in this case was a peculiar -type--a natural born siren. She had made the man jealous, furiously -jealous. _That_ was the reason of the high words in the motor." - -"Who was he jealous of?" It was I again who asked that. - -Jasper turned round and looked at me with a smile. - -"Why, Miss Morganthau," he said, "_you_ gave us the clue to that. He was -jealous of the man who made the date you heard on the phone. Don't you -see," he said, turning to the others, "_that_ man kept his date and -Reddy came and found him there." - -I can't tell what it was that fell on us and made us sit so still for a -minute. All of us knew it was just a joke, but--for me, anyway--it was -as if a cloud had settled on the room. Babbitts sat smoking a cigarette -and staring at the rings he was making with his eyes screwed up. -Presently, when Jones spoke, his voice had a sound like his pride was -taken down. - -"A great deal better than I expected, but it's simply riddled with -holes." - -Before Jasper could answer the door opened and Yerrington came in. The -cigarette was hanging off his lip and as he said "Good evening" to me it -wobbled but clung on. Then he pulled out a chair, sat down and, looking -at the other three with a gleam in his eye, said: - -"A little while ago Dr. Fowler's chauffeur in dusting out his car found -the gold mesh purse squeezed down between the back and the cushion." - - - - -IX - - -The finding of the gold purse established the fact that part, anyway, of -the Doctor's story was true--the woman who had gone down to the junction -and then disappeared _had_ disappeared in his auto. Was she Sylvia -Hesketh? - -The general verdict was yes--Sylvia Hesketh, for some unknown reason, -running away from her lover and her home. All the world knew now that -she was wild and unstable, a girl that might take any whim into her head -and act on the spur of the moment. There were theories to burn why she -should have thrown down Reddy and slipped away alone, but those that -knew her said she was a law unto herself and let it go at that. - -The morning after that supper in the Gilt Edge, Anne came in to do the -marketing and stopped at the Exchange. The room was empty but even so I -had to whisper: - -"Are they going to arrest the Doctor?" - -"He's waiting," she whispered back. - -"What do you make of it?" - -"What I always have. I think the woman was Virginie. I think she took -Sylvia's things and lit out on her own account." - -"What does Mrs. Fowler say?" - -"She's going to offer a reward for the murderer. That's her way of -answering. This last seems to have roused her. She knows now it's going -to be a fight for her husband's liberty, perhaps his life. She's -employing Mills and some other detectives and she keeps in close touch -with them." - -The next day the reward was made public. It was in all the papers and -nailed up at the depot and in the post office, the words printed in -black, staring letters: - - TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD! - - TO ANYONE DISCOVERING THE MURDERER OF THE LATE SYLVIA HESKETH, - THIS SUM WILL BE PAID BY HER MOTHER, CONSTANCE GREY FOWLER, - MAPLESHADE, NEW JERSEY. - -Late that afternoon Babbitts came into the office. He was staying at the -Longwood Inn, but it was the first time that day I'd seen him and after -our supper together I'd begun to feel real chummy with him. Contrary to -his usual custom he was short and preoccupied, giving me a number -without more words and then banging shut the door of the booth. It got -me a little riled and seeing he wasn't wasting any manners I didn't see -why I should, so I lifted the cam and quietly listened in. Not that I -expected to hear anything very private. The number he'd given was his -paper. - -The chap at the other end had a way of grunting, "I got you," no matter -what was said. I'd heard _him_ before and he had a most unnatural sort -of patience about him, as if his spirit was broken forever taking -messages off a wire. - -"Say," says Babbitts, "I got a new lead--up country near Hines' place. I -been there all morning. There's a farm up that way. Cresset's"--he -spelled the name and the other one did his usual stunt--"Good people, -years on the soil, self-respecting, stand high. Their house is about -half a mile across woods and fields from the Wayside Arbor, lonely with -a bad bit of road leading up from the pike. Do you hear?" - -"Get on," said the voice. - -"I stopped in there and had a seance with Mrs. Cresset, nice woman, fat -with a white apron. I said I was a tourist thirsting for a drink of -milk." - -The other one seemed to rouse up. "Did you thirst that bad?" - -"For information--and I got it. She's been scared of the notoriety and -has held back something which seems important. Her husband's been prying -her up to the point of going to the District Attorney and she's agreed, -but tried it on me first. Do you hear?" - -"I got you." - -"The night of the murder, about nine, a man knocked at her door saying -he'd lost his way and wanting to know where he was, and how to get to -the turnpike. She spoke to him from an upper window and couldn't see his -face, the night being dark. All she could make out was that he was large -and wore an overcoat. He told her his auto was in the road back of him -and he'd got mixed up in the country lanes. The thing's funny, as there -are very few roads that side of the pike." - -"Hold on--what's that about pike?" - -Babbitts repeated it and went on: - -"Doesn't appear to have been in the least drunk--perfectly sober and -spoke like a gentleman. She gave him the direction and here's what -caught me--describes his voice as very deep, rich and pleasant, almost -the same words the Longwood telephone girl used to describe the voice -she overheard speaking to Miss Hesketh Saturday noon." - -"Any more?" - -"Impossible to identify man but says she'd know the voice again. He -thanked her very politely--she couldn't lay enough stress on how good -his manners were--and she heard him walk away, splashing through the -mud." - -There were a few ending-up sentences that gave me time to pull out a -novel and settle down over it. I seemed so buried in it that when -Babbitts put down his money I never raised my eyes, just swept the coin -into the drawer and turned a page. He didn't move, leaning against the -switchboard and not saying a word. With him standing there so close I -got nervous and had to look up, and as soon as I did it he made a motion -with his hand for me to lift my headpiece. - -"If two heads are better than one," he said, "two ears must be; and the -words I am about to utter should be fully heard to be appreciated." - -Of course I thought he was going to tell me what he'd found out at -Cresset's. It made me feel proud, being confided in by a newspaper man, -and I pushed up my headpiece, all smiling and ready to be smart and -helpful. He didn't smile back but looked and spoke as solemn as an -undertaker. - -"Miss Morganthau, yours is a very sedentary occupation." - -Believe me I got a jolt. - -"If you're asking me to violate the rules for that," I answered, "you're -taking more upon yourself than I'll overlook from a child reporter with -a head of hair like the Fair Circassian in Barnum & Bailey's." - -"I speak only as one concerned for your health. A walk after business -hours should be the invariable practice of those whose work forbids -exercise." - -"Thank you for your interest," says I, very haughty, "but it's well to -look at home before we search abroad. The man who spends all his time -riding in autos at the expense of the Press would be better employed -exercising his own limbs than directing those of others. So start right -along and walk quick." - -He didn't budge, but says slow and thoughtful: - -"Your remarks, Miss Morganthau, are always to the point. I'm going to -take a walk this evening--say about seven-thirty." - -"I hope you'll enjoy it," says I. "As for me, I'm going straight home to -rest. I need it, what with my work and the ginks that stand round here -taking up my time and running the risk of getting me fired"--the door -handle clicked. I looked over my shoulder and saw a man coming in. -"Which way?" I says in a whisper. - -"Down Maple Lane," he whispers back, and I was in front of my board with -my headpiece in place when the man came in. - -We walked up and down Maple Lane for an hour, and it may amuse you to -know that what that simple guy wanted was to tell me to listen to every -voice on my wires. - -I looked at him calm and pitiful. _Me_, that had been listening till, if -your ears grow with exercise, mine ought to have been long enough to tie -in a true lover's knot on top of my head! - -There's a wonderful innocence about men in some ways. It makes you feel -sorry for them, like they were helpless children. - -Then he capped the climax by telling me about Mrs. Cresset that -morning--hadn't thought I'd heard a word. And as he told it, believing -so honest that I didn't know, I began to feel kind of cheap as if I'd -lied to someone who couldn't have thought I'd do such a thing. I didn't -tell him the truth--I was too ashamed--but I made a vow no matter how -sly I was to the others I'd be on the square with Babbitts. And I'll say -right here that I've made good resolutions and broken them, but that one -I've kept. - -There's a little hill part way along the Lane where the road slopes down -toward the entrance of Mapleshade. We stopped here and looked back at -the house lying long and dark among its dark trees. The sky was bright -with stars and by their light you could see the black patches of the -woods and here and there a paler stretch where the land was bare and -open. It was all shadowy and gloomy except where the windows shone out -in bright orange squares. I pointed out to Babbitts where Sylvia's -windows were, not a light in them; and then, at the end of the wing, -four or five in a row that belonged to Mrs. Fowler's suite. Her -sitting-room was one of them where Anne had told me she and the Doctor -always sat in the evenings. - -"They're there now," I said. "What do you suppose they're doing?" - -"Search me," said Babbitts, "I can't answer for another man, but if I -was in the Doctor's shoes I'd be pacing up and down, with my Circassian -Beauty hair turning white while you waited." - -"Yes," I said, nodding. "I'll bet that's what he's doing. I can see -them, surrounded by their riches, jumping every time there's a knock on -the door, thinking that the summons has come." - -And that shows you how you never can tell. For at that hour in that room -the Doctor and Mrs. Fowler were talking to Walter Mills, who had just -come from Philadelphia, bringing them the first ray of hope they'd had -since the tragedy. It was in the form of a diamond and ruby lavalliere -that he had found the day before in a pawn shop and that Mrs. Fowler had -identified as Sylvia's. - -Four days later a piece of news ran like wildfire through Longwood: -Virginie Dupont had been arrested and brought to Bloomington. - -They put her in jail there and it didn't take any third degree to get -the truth out of her. She made a clean breast of it, for she was caught -with the goods, all the lost jewelry being found in the place where she -was hiding. It sent her to the penitentiary, and her lover, too, for -whom--anyway she said so--she had robbed Sylvia's Hesketh's room on the -night that Sylvia Hesketh disappeared. - -If her story threw no light on the murder it exonerated the Doctor, for -it fitted at every point with what he had said. - -I'll write it down here, not in her words, but as I got it from the -papers. - -For some time she had been planning to rob Sylvia, but was waiting for a -good opportunity. This came, when the Doctor, being out of the house, -she discovered that an elopement was on foot. She had read Sylvia's -letters, which were thrown carelessly about, and knew of the affair with -Jack Reddy, and when on Sunday morning she was sent to the village to -get a letter from Reddy she guessed what it was. Before giving it to -Sylvia she went to her own room, opened the envelope with steam from a -kettle, and read it. Then she knew that her chance had come. - -When evening drew on she hung about the halls and saw Sylvia leave at a -few minutes past six, carrying the fitted bag. The coast being clear, -she went to her room, took an old black bag of her own and stole back. -It was while she was getting this bag that the idea came to her of -impersonating her mistress, as in that way she could steal some clothes. -She secured the jewelry in a pocket hanging from her waist, took some -false hair that Sylvia wore when the weather was damp, and covered her -head with it, and selected a little automobile hat of which there were -several, over all tying a figured black lace veil. - -What she particularly wanted was a new Hudson seal coat that had been -delivered a few days before. No one but herself and Miss Hesketh knew of -this coat as there had been so much quarreling about Sylvia's -extravagance, that the girl often bought clothes without telling. After -putting it on she filled her bag with things from the bureau drawers, -and just as she was leaving saw the gold mesh purse on the dresser and -snatched it up. - -All this was done like lightning and she thinks she left the house not -more than twenty or twenty-five minutes after Sylvia. To catch the train -she had to hurry and she ran up Maple Lane behind the hedge. She was -nearing the village when she heard the whirr of an auto and through the -hedge saw the two big headlights of a car, coming slowly down the Lane. -For a moment she paused, peeking through the branches and made out that -there was only one person in it, Jack Reddy. - -She reached the station only a few minutes before the train came in. As -she had a ticket, she stood at the dark end of the platform, not moving -into the light till the engine was drawing near. Then Jim Donahue saw -her and came up, addressing her as Miss Hesketh. She had often tried to -imitate Sylvia's voice and accent which she thought very elegant, and -she did so now, speaking carefully and seeing that Jim had no doubt of -her identity. On the ride to the Junction she had only murmured "Good -evening" to Sands, being afraid to say more. - -At the Junction she was going to get off, take the branch line to -Hazelmere and transfer there to the Philadelphia Express. In the women's -waiting-room, which would probably be deserted at that hour, she -intended taking off Sylvia's coat and hair and reappearing as the modest -and insignificant lady's maid. She had thought this out in the -afternoon, deciding that Sylvia would probably communicate with her -mother in the morning and that the theft would then be discovered. -Inquiries started for the woman who had been seen on the train would -lead to nothing, as that woman would have dropped out of sight at the -Junction. - -Everything worked without a hitch. The waiting-room was empty and she -had ample time to take off the hair and put it in the bag, hang the coat -over her arm with the lining turned out, and even pinch the small, soft -hat into another shape. No one would have thought the woman who went -into the waiting-room was the woman who came out. - -And then came the first mishap--as she opened the door she stepped -almost into Dr. Fowler. She was terror stricken, but even then neither -her luck nor her wits left her, for almost the first sentence he uttered -showed her that he knew of the elopement and gave her a lead what to -say. She must have been a pretty nervy woman the way she jumped at that -lead. Right off the bat she invented the story about being sent by -Sylvia to Philadelphia--to wait there at the Bellevue-Stratford. - -The Doctor was furious and ordered her into his auto. There was nothing -for it but to obey and in she got, sitting in the back. As she was -stepping up, he close beside her, she remembered the gold mesh purse -plain in her hand. Like a flash she bent forward and jammed it down -between the back and seat. - -The ride up the Riven Rock Road was just as the Doctor described it. It -was after the lamp had been broken and he was back in the car starting -it up, that she slipped out. She was determined to get away with all her -loot and took the bag and coat with her, but between the hurry and fear -of the moment forgot the purse. - -She wandered through the woods till she saw a small scattering of lights -which she took for one of the branch line stations. When the dawn came -she had lost some of her nerve and felt it was too risky to carry the -extra things. So she hid them at the root of a tree, took off the hat, -tying the veil over her head, and walked across the fields to the -station. As it was Monday morning there were a lot of laborers, men and -women, on the platform. She mingled with them, looking like them in her -muddy clothes and tied up head, and got away to Hazelmere without being -noticed. - -She was feeling safe in her furnished room in Philadelphia when she read -of the murder in the papers. That scared her almost to death and she lay -as close as a rabbit in a burrow, afraid to go out and cooking her food -on a gas ring. It was the man she had stolen for who gave her away. When -she refused to raise money on the jewels, he stole the lavalliere and -pawned it. - -Under the trees where she said she'd left them, the police found the -coat and hat. Beside them was the bag stuffed full of lingerie, gloves -and silk stockings, and with the false hair crowded down into the inside -pocket. - -Besides clearing the Doctor her confession threw light on two important -points--one that Sylvia had left the house at a little after six, and -the other that Reddy had been at the meeting place at the time he said. - - - - -X - - -After the excitement of the French woman's arrest there was a sort of -lull. For a few days people thought we were going to move right on and -lay our hands on the murderer. But outside of proving that the Doctor -wasn't the guilty one the crime was no nearer a solution than it had -been the day it happened. Though there was still a good deal of talk -about it, it began to die down in the public interest and it was then -that the papers got to calling it "The Hesketh Mystery" in place of "The -Hesketh Murder." - -The reporters left the Inn and went back to live in town, coming in -every few days to snoop around for any new items that might have turned -up. Babbitts came oftener than the others and stayed later, and he and I -had several more walks. We were getting to be like partners in some kind -of secret business, meeting after dark, and pacing along the roads round -the village, with the stars shining overhead and the ground hard and -crumbly under our feet. - -If you'd met us you'd have set us down for a pair of lovers, walking -side by side under the dark of the trees. But if you'd followed along -and listened you'd have got cured of that romantic notion mighty quick. -Our flirtation was all about evidence, and leads, and clues--not so much -as a compliment or a baby stare from start to finish. I don't believe if -you'd asked Babbitts he could have told you whether my eyes were brown -or blue, and as for me--outside his being a nice kid he didn't figure -out any more important than the weathervane on the Methodist Church. - -It was "the case" that drew us together like a magnet drawing nails. -We'd speculate about it, look at it all round as if it was something we -had hold of in our hands. I guess it was the mysteriousness of it that -attracted him, and the reward, too. There was more in it for me as you -know--but he never got a hint of _that_. - -It was one evening, nearly four weeks after the murder that he gave me a -shock--not meaning to, of course, for even then I'd found out he was the -kind that wouldn't hurt a fly. We were talking of Jack Reddy, who we'd -seen that evening in the village, the first time since the inquest. - -"You know," said Babbitts, "it's queer but I keep thinking of that yarn -of Jasper's, that evening in the Gilt Edge." - -I drew away like he'd stuck a pin into me. - -"Why do you think about _that_?" I asked loud and sharp. - -"Why," he said, slow as if he was considering, "I suppose because it was -so plausible. And I've been wondering if many other people have thought -of it." - -"I guess they have," I answered kind of fierce; "there's fools enough in -the world, God knows, to think of anything. I make no doubt there's -people who've tried to work out that _I_ did it, the reward tempting -them to lies and sin." - -Babbitts looked at me surprised. - -"What's there to get mad about?" he asked. "I'm not for a moment -suggesting that Reddy really had any hand in it. Why, he could no more -have killed that girl than _I_ could kill _you_." - -I simmered down--it was awful sweet the way he said it. - -"Then you oughtn't to be casting suspicions on an innocent man," I said, -still grouchy. - -"Oh, you're such a little pepper pot. Do you think for a moment I'd say -this to anybody but you. Look at me!" I looked into his eyes, clear as a -baby's in the starlight. "If you believe I'm the sort of fellow who'd -put a slur on Reddy I wonder you'll come out this way and walk with me." - -I smiled, I couldn't help it, and Babbitts, seeing I was all right -again, tucked his hand inside my arm and we walked on, very friendly. -Being ignorant of the true state of my feelings, he went straight back -to the subject. - -"Now understand that I mean nothing against Reddy and that I've never -said this to a soul but you, but ever since the inquest there's been one -thing that's puzzled me--the length of time he was out that night." - -"He explained that," I said. - -"I know he did, and everybody's accepted his explanation. But seven -hours in a high-powered racing car! He could have gone to Philadelphia, -taken in a show and come back." - -"But he told all about it," I insisted. - -"He did," said Babbitts, "but I'll tell you something, Miss -Morganthau--between ourselves not to go an inch farther--Reddy's story -impressed me as the undiluted truth till he got to _that_ part of it." - -"What do you mean?" I said, low, and being afraid I was going to tremble -I pulled my arm away from him. - -"This--I was watching him very close, and when he began to talk about -that night ride, some sort of change came over him. It was very subtle, -I never heard anyone speak of it, but it seemed to me as if he was -making an effort to give an impression of frankness. The rest of his -testimony had the hesitating, natural tone of a man who is nervous and -maybe uncertain of his facts, but when he came to that he--well, he -looked to me as if he was internally bracing himself, as if he was on -dangerous ground and knew it." - -If I'd been able to speak as well as that those were exactly the words I -would have used. I cleared my throat before I answered. - -"Looks like to me, Mr. Babbitts, that you ought to be writing novels -instead of press stories." - -"Oh, no," he said careless, "but, you see, I've been on a number of -cases like this and a fellow gets observant. It's queer--the whole -thing. If that French woman's evidence is to be trusted Miss Hesketh -_did_ leave the house early to keep that date with the Voice Man." - -I didn't say a word, looking straight before me at the lights of -Longwood through the trees. Babbitts, with his hands in his pockets -swinging along beside me, went on: - -"That's what's made me think of Jasper's hypothetical case. Do you -remember? He said Reddy'd come down to the meeting place, found Miss -Hesketh with the other man and got into a Berserker rage. Say what you -like, it does work out." - -When he bid me good night at Mrs. Galway's side door he wanted to know -why I was so silent? Even if I'd wanted to give a reason I hadn't one to -give. Don't you believe for a minute I was really worried--it was just -that I hated anyone even to yarn that way about Jack Reddy. Poor--me--if -I'd known then what was coming! - -It began to come two days later, the first shadow that was going to -darken and spread till--but I'm going on too quick. - -I'd just had my lunch, put away my box and swept off the crumbs, when I -got a call for the depot from the Rifle Run Camp. That's a summer -resort, way up in the hills beyond Hochalaga Lake. The voice, with a -brogue on it as rich as butter, was Pat Donahue's, Jim's eldest son, a -sort of idle scamp, who'd gone up to the camp to work last summer and -had stayed on because there was nothing to do--at least that's what Jim -said. - -I made the connection and listened in, not because I was expecting -anything worth hearing, but because I wasn't taking any chances. I guess -Pat Donahue was the last person anyone would expect to come jumping into -the middle of the Hesketh mystery--but that's what he did, with both -feet, hard. - -I didn't pay much attention at first and then a sentence caught my ear -and I grew still as a statue, my eyes staring straight in front, even -breathing carefully as if they could hear. - -It was Pat's voice, the voice answering Jim's at the Depot: - -"Me and Bridger was in to Hochalaga Lake yesterday forenoon, fishin' -through the ice. Can you hear me, Paw?" - -"Fine. Are you payin' for a call to tell me you're that idle you have to -play at fishin'?" - -"Jest you listen close and hear me before you come back. I seen in the -papers that Miss Hesketh that was murdered had one glove lost. Do you -mind what the one that wasn't lost looked like?" - -"Sure I do--why shouldn't I? Didn't I see it at the inquest?" - -"Will you be answering me instead of tellin' me what you saw?" - -"Ain't I doin' it? It was a left-hand glove, light gray with three pearl -buttons and a furrener's name stamped in the inside." - -"Well, then, I got the feller to it--right hand. I found it on the wharf -at the lake, in front of the bungalow. Seeing that there's ten thousand -dollars reward offered, I thought I'd be a blowin' in the price of a -call to tell you, though it's so ungrateful ye are for the news I'm -sorry I done it. But I'll not bother you no more, for it's in to the -District Attorney I'll be goin' with the evidence." - -That was what he did, that very afternoon. By the next day everybody in -Longwood knew how Pat Donahue had found Sylvia Hesketh's missing glove -on the wharf just in front of the Reddy bungalow. There was a person who -didn't close an eye that night, and I guess you know what her name was. - -Gee, those were awful days that followed! When I think of them now I can -feel a sort of sinking come back on me and my face gets stiff like it -was made of leather and couldn't limber up for a smile. Each morning I'd -get up scared sick of what I was going to hear that day, and each -evening I'd go to bed filled with a darkness as black as the night -outside. - -I couldn't believe it and yet--well, I'll tell you and you can judge for -yourself. - -The police went out to Hochalaga and made a thorough examination of the -house and its surroundings. - -The bungalow stood at one end of the lake right on the shore, with a -little wharf jutting out in front of it into the water. The door opened -into a big living-room, furnished very pretty and comfortable with green -madras curtains at the windows, a green art rug on the floor, and wicker -chairs with green denim cushions. At one side was a big brick fireplace -with a copper kettle hanging on a crane and over in a corner was a desk -with a telephone on it. Along the walls were bookcases full of books and -in the center was a table with chairs drawn up at either side of it. - -The police noticed right off that it didn't have the damp, musty feel of -a place shut up through a long spell of rain. The air was cold and dry -and they could scent the odor of wood fires and a slight faint smell of -cigar smoke. Then they saw that the fireplace was piled high with ashes -and that several cigarette ends were scattered on the hearth. On the -center table was a shaded lamp and near it a match box with burnt -matches strewn round on the floor. The desk drawer was open and the -papers inside all tossed and littered about as if someone had gone -through them in a hurry. Two armchairs stood on either side of the table -and another was in front of the fireplace. All over the floor were earth -stains as if muddy feet had been walking about. There were no signs that -the place had been broken into--windows and doors were locked and the -locks in good condition. - -Outside against the wall of the house they found a pile of broken china, -what seemed to be the remains of a tea set. It was not till the search -was nearly ended that one of the men, studying the grass along the -roadside for traces of footprints, came on a gasoline drum hidden among -the bushes. - -But that wasn't the worst--leading up the road to within a few yards of -the wharf were the tracks of auto wheels. At the time when these tracks -were made the road was deep in mud which, about the wharf, had evidently -been a regular pool. The driver of the motor had stopped his car at the -edge of this, got out and walked through it to the bungalow. Clear as if -they had been cast in plaster his footprints went from where the ruts -ended to the edge of the wharf. There, just at the corner of the planks, -three small, pointed footprints met them--a woman's. Either the man had -carried the woman or she had picked her way along the grass by the -roadside, and joining him on the planks had made a step or two into the -soft earth. On the wharf the prints were lost in a broken caking of mud. -The man's went back to the car, close to where they had come from it, -and they returned as they had come--alone. - -Jack Reddy's shoes fitted the large prints and Sylvia Hesketh's the -small ones! - -It came on Longwood with an awful shock. The faces of the people were -all dull and dazed looking, as if they were knocked half silly by a -blow. They couldn't believe it--and yet there it was! The papers printed -terrible headlines--"The Earth gives up a Murderer's Secret"--and "Jack -Frost versus Jack Reddy." There were imaginary accounts of how Mr. Reddy -could have done it, and Jasper, in his paper, had a long article worked -out like the story he'd told us that night in the Gilt Edge, but with -all the holes filled up. Everything was against Mr. Reddy, even the -telephone message that Sylvia had sent him from the Wayside Arbor -couldn't be traced. The Corona operator could remember nothing about it -and there was no record--only Jack Reddy's word and nobody believed it. - -They had him up before the District Attorney and his examination was -published in the papers. I can't put it all down--it's not -necessary--but it was bad. After I read it I sat still in my room, -feeling seasick and my face in the glass frightened me. - -When they asked him if he had been at the bungalow that night he said he -had, he had gone there after he had given up his hunt for Sylvia. - -"Why didn't you say this at the inquest?" was asked. - -He answered "that he hadn't thought it was necessary--that----" then he -stopped as if he wasn't sure and after a moment or two said: "I didn't -see that it threw any light on the murder, as I was alone." - -"You wished to conceal the fact that you were there, then?" - -To that he answered sharp: - -"I did not--but I saw no reason to give my movements in detail, as they -were of no importance." - -"Why did you go there?" - -"I was angry and excited and it was a place where I could be quiet." - -Asked how long he had been in the bungalow he said he wasn't sure--it -might have been an hour or two. He had lit the fire and sat in front of -it thinking and smoking cigarettes. - -"Didn't you hunt in the desk for something?" - -He answered with a sort of shrug as if he'd forgotten. - -"Oh, yes--I was hunting for a bill I thought I left there." - -To the questions about Sylvia--whether she had been there with him--he -answered almost violently that she had not, that he had not seen her -there or anywhere else that night. - -"Did you notice any footprints in the mud when you came?" - -"I did not." - -"There were no evidences on the wharf or in the house of anyone having -been there before you?" - -"None. The bungalow was locked and undisturbed." - -Then they switched off on to the gasoline drum and asked him if he had -filled the tank there and he said he might have but he didn't remember. - -"Was it dark when you left the place?" - -"No--very bright moonlight." - -"You remember that?" - -"Yes. I recollect thinking the ride back would be easier than the ride -up in the dark." - -"Why did you say at the inquest that you filled the tank somewhere on -the turnpike?" - -"I suppose I thought I had. In the angry and excited state I was in -small things made no impression on me. I had no clear memory of where -I'd done it." - -All the papers agreed that his testimony was unsatisfactory and made -much of his manner, which, under an effort to be calm, showed a -spasmodic, nervous violence. - -A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to Bloomington jail to -await indictment by the Grand Jury. - - -[Illustration: _A day later he was arrested at Firehill and taken to -Bloomington jail_] - - -That night--shall I ever forget it! I heard the sounds in the street -dying away and then the silence, the deep, lovely silence that comes -over the village at midnight. And in it I could hear my heart beating, -and as I lay with my eyes wide open, I could see on the darkness like a -picture drawn in fire, Jack Reddy in the electric chair. - - - - -XI - - -Looking back now I can remember dressing the next morning, all trembly -and with my hands damp, and my face in the glass, white and pinched like -an East Side baby's in a hot wave. But there wasn't anything trembly -about the thinking part of me. That was working better than it had ever -worked before. It seemed to be made of steel springs going swift and -sure like an engine that went independent of the rest of my machinery. - -And, thank God, it did work that way, for it had thought of something! - -The idea came on me in the second part of the night, flashed out of the -dark like a wireless. I'd been wondering about the man who made the -telephone date with Sylvia--the Unknown Voice they'd got to calling him. -People thought as Jasper had said, that Reddy had found her with this -man and there had been a terrible scene. But whatever had happened the -Unknown Voice was the clew to the mystery. The police had tried to -locate him, tried and failed. Now _I_ was going to hunt for him. - -My plan was perfectly simple. From what I had seen myself and heard from -Anne Hennessey I was sure I knew every lover that Sylvia had had. I was -going to call each one of them up on the phone and listen to their -voices, and I wasn't going to tell a soul about it. Everybody would -say--just as you say as you read this--"but all those men gave -satisfactory alibis." I knew that as well as anyone, but it didn't cut -any ice with me, I didn't care what they'd proved. I was going to hear -their voices and see for myself. If I was successful, then I'd tell -Babbitts and have him advise me what to do. I'd heard Jack Reddy had -retained Mr. Wilbur Whitney, the great criminal lawyer, but I wouldn't -have known whether to go to him or the police or the District Attorney -and if I did it at all I wanted to do it right. - -Now that there were three of us in the Exchange my holiday had been -changed to Monday, and I made up my mind not to put my plan into -execution till that day. I didn't want to be hurried, or confused, by -possible interruptions, and also I wanted to hear the voices at short -range and could do that better from the city. I telephoned over to -Babbitts that I'd be in town Monday to do some shopping, and he made a -date to meet me at the entrance of the Knickerbocker Hotel and dine with -me at some joint near Times Square. - -Monday morning I was up bright and early and dressed myself in my best -clothes. From the telephone book I got the numbers of the four men who -were known to have been Sylvia's lovers and admirers--Carisbrook, -Robinson, Dunham and Cokesbury. I had found out from Anne what their -businesses were and I had no trouble in locating them. With the slip of -paper in my purse I took the ten-twenty train and was in town before -midday. - -On the way over I worked out what I'd say to each of them. I was going -to ask Carisbrook, who was a soft, dressed-up guy, if he knew where -Mazie Lorraine, a manicure who'd once been in the Waldorf, had moved to. -It was nervy but I wanted to give him a dig, he having put on airs and -treated me like a doormat. Robinson was easy--he had a common name and -I'd got the wrong man. Excuse _me_, please, awful sorry. Dunham was a -lawyer and I was a dressmaker that a customer wouldn't pay. And -Cokesbury was easy, too--I'd heard Cokesbury Lodge was for rent and was -looking for a country place. - -I got Carisbrook first and he was as mad as a hornet. - -"I don't know what you're talking about. _Manicure_? I don't know any -manicure called Lorraine or anything else. I've never been manicured in -the Waldorf--or any other hotel--in the city. The woman is a liar----" -and so forth and so on, sputtering and fizzing along the wire. I had -hard work not to laugh and in the middle of it I hung up, for he had a -thin, high squeak on him like an old maid scared by a mouse. - -Robinson was a sport, I liked _him_ fine: - -"Don't apologize. It's the penalty of being called Robinson. Still -there's a bright side to every cloud. It might have been Smith, you -know." - -It wasn't Robinson. He talked with a dialect that sounded like Jasper's, -English, I guess. - -Dunham was very smooth and awful hard to get rid of. He kept on asking -questions and I had to think quick and speak unnaturally intelligent. In -the middle of it--I'd got what I wanted--I said it was too complicated -to tell over the phone and I'd be in to-morrow at two and my name was -Mrs. Pendleton. - -It wasn't Dunham. - -When I tackled Cokesbury I ran into the first snag. I tried his office -and a real pleasant young man (you get to know a young voice from an old -one) asked me what I wanted. I said business, and he answered: - -"What is the nature of your business, Madam?" - -"I'd rather tell that to Mr. Cokesbury," I said. - -"Mr. Cokesbury doesn't like to be interrupted in the office. If you'll -tell me what you want to see him about----" - -"Say, young feller," said I, in a cool, classy way, "suppose we stop -this pleasant little talk, and you trot into Mr. Cokesbury and say a -lady's waiting on the wire." - -"Very well," he answered, calm and cheerful, "I'll do just as you say." - -There was a wait and then he was back. - -"Mr. Cokesbury says it's impossible for him to come to the phone and -will you kindly tell me what your business is." - -"I guess I'll have to wait till he's not so busy," I answered, languid, -like I've heard ladies when they're mad and don't want to show it, and I -hung up. - -Afterward I saw I'd made a mistake, for, when I called up two hours -later that polite guy was still on the job and handed me the same line -of talk. - -I went into a drugstore and looked up Cokesbury--Edward L., residence. -It was in the East Fifties and at six I tried him there. - -I drew a man that I guess was a servant: - -"Is Mr. Cokesbury home?" - -"Who is it?" - -"That doesn't matter. I want to know if he's home." - -"I don't know, ma'am. Will you please give me your name?" - -"Say, you're not taking the census or compiling a new directory, you're -answering the phone. Tell Mr. Cokesbury a party wants to see him on -business." - -"I have orders, ma'am, not to bother Mr. Cokesbury with messages unless -I know who they're from," said the voice, and then I knew he _was_ -there. - -"I'm sure he'll come if you say it's a _lady_," I said, sort of coaxing -and sweet. - -"I'll try, ma'am," said the voice, and I could hear the echo of his feet -as he walked off. - -Presently he was back. - -"Beg pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Cokesbury says he can't possibly come and -please to give me the message." - -By that time I was getting mad. - -"You ought to get double pay, for you seem to be a District Messenger -boy as well as a butler. If it's not too much trouble would you mind -telling me what Mr. Cokesbury's friends do when they want a word with -him over the phone?" - -"They tell the butler who they are and what they want, ma'am. That's the -orders in this house. Good-bye." - -When Babbitts and I were sitting at a table in a little dago joint near -Broadway, I couldn't help but tell him what I'd been doing. - -He looked at me with his eyes as big as half-dollars and then began to -laugh. - -"Well, what do you make of that? Spending your holiday and your nickels -rounding up a lot of men that rounded themselves up weeks ago." - -"I want to get that voice." - -"But everyone of them have proved that voice couldn't be theirs." - -"Maybe they did," said I, "but I want to know it myself." - -"Listen to her," he said, looking round the table as if a crowd was -collected, "calmly brushing aside the police, the detectives, the might -of the law and the strong arm of the press." - -"And anything else that stands round trying to discourage me." - -"Far be it from me to discourage you in any eccentricity that may -develop. But there's no need in following up Cokesbury, for we know that -he was marooned in Cokesbury Lodge." - -"I don't care what we know. The only things I believe are the things I -see myself." - -"Thomas!" he said, laughing, and I didn't see any sense in his calling -me that, but he often said things I wasn't on to. "Do you intend to camp -on his trail all night?" - -"I do," I answered. "As soon as you get through lapping up that red ink -I'm going to go to the nearest pay station and ring up Edward L., -residence." - -"I'll toddle along," he said. "Anything goes with me that adds to the -entertainment of Mary McKenna Morganthau." - -He held up his glass as if he was drinking a toast, and something about -the look of him--I don't know what--made me get all embarrassed. It -never happened before and it took me so by surprise I blushed and was -glad I'd dropped my gloves on the floor so I could bend down and hide -how red my face was. - -I tried Edward L., residence, at a drug store on Broadway and again I -drew that butler gink, who was sort of sassy and hung up quick. Then we -walked along and I could see that Babbitts was getting interested. - -"Tell you what," he said, "that servant knows you. I'll make the -connection, say I want to see Cokesbury on business, and if I get him, -hand on the receiver to you." - -We fixed it that way, went into a hotel, and I stood at the door of the -booth while Babbitts got the house. Standing at his elbow I could see he -was up against the same proposition as I had been. He finally had to say -he wanted to see Mr. Cokesbury about renting Cokesbury Lodge. - -He turned to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and said: - -"He's there and he won't come." - -"Has the servant gone to get him?" - -"Yes. He wouldn't say whether his boss was home or not, but his -willingness to take the message gave him away. Now stand close and if -it's a new voice I won't say a word, just get up and let you slide into -my place." He started and turned back to the instrument. "Yes. What?" I -could see a look of surprise come over his face. "Soon? You don't -know--in a few days. Hasn't any idea of renting. Thanks. That's -all--good-bye." - -He hung up and turned to me: - -"It was the servant. Cokesbury hasn't any intention of renting and is -leaving for Europe." - -"For Europe!" I cried out. "_When?_" - -"The man didn't know exactly. He said he thought in a few days." - -We walked down the street silent and thoughtful. The only feeling I had -at first was disappointment. I didn't get the whole thing clear as -Babbitts did. It came on him all in a minute, he told me afterward. - -We were on Broadway as light as day with the signs and people walking by -us and crowding in between us as if they were hurrying to catch trains. -I felt Babbitts' hand go round my arm, steering me into a side street. -It was darker there and there were only a few passers-by. We slackened -up and still with his hand around my arm, he bent his face down toward -my ear and said low, as if he was afraid someone was listening: - -"Kiddo, are you on?" - -"To what?" - -"Cokesbury. Don't you get it? He won't answer the phone." - -"Do you mean he won't answer at all?" - -"Not unless it's someone he knows. He's got his clerks in the office -holding the fort and his servants at home." - -We were just under a lamp and I stopped with my mouth falling open, for -sudden, like a flash of light, it came to me. - -"Soapy!" I gasped and wheeled round on him. His face bent down toward -me, was intent like a hunting dog's when it sees a bird, his eyes, -bright and fixed, looking straight into mine. - -"You've made the first real discovery in this case, Molly Morganthau. -Cokesbury's scared, d----d scared, so scared he's lost his nerve and is -lighting out to Europe." - -We walked round into Bryant Park and sat down on a bench. We were so -excited we didn't notice anything--that I'd grabbed Babbitt's hand and -kept hold of it, that it was freezing cold, that we'd got on a bench -with a drunk all huddled up on the other end. We were as certain as if -he'd confessed it that Cokesbury was the Unknown Voice and that he'd -killed Sylvia Hesketh. We just brushed his alibi aside as if he'd never -made one and planned how I was to hear him before he got away to Europe. -We laid plots there in the dark, sitting close together to keep warm, -with the drunk all lopped over and muttering to himself on the seat -beside us. - -When Babbitts left me at the Ferry we'd fixed it that he was to call me -up the next day and tell me what he'd done in town and I was to tell him -what I'd accomplished at my end of the line. - -The next morning I tried Cokesbury's office with the same results. At -one Babbitts called me and said he'd tried twice to get him as a test -and been told that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't down to-day and his whereabouts -were unknown. By inquiries at the steamship offices he'd found that Our -Suspect--that's what we called him on the wire--had taken passage on the -_Caronia_ for the following Saturday. That was four days off--four days -to hear the man who wouldn't answer the phone. - -That afternoon I had an idea, called up Anne Hennessey and asked her to -meet me at the Gilt Edge for supper. She came and afterward in my room -at Galway's I told her--I had to, but she's true-blue and I knew it--and -she agreed to help. She was to come to the Exchange the next morning, -call up Cokesbury and say she was Mrs. Fowler, who wanted to bid him -good-bye before he left. While she spoke--imitating Mrs. Fowler--I was -to listen. We did it--though she'd have lost her job if she'd been found -out--and I heard the clerk tell her that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't in his -office, that he didn't know where she could find him, and that it was -very little use trying to get him on the phone as he was so much -occupied prior to his departure. - -When Anne came out of the booth I was crying. I guess I never before in -my life had my nerves as strung up as they were then. - -It wasn't long after that that I had a call from Babbitts. He'd been -able to do nothing. When he heard of my last attempt he said: - -"He's not answering any calls at all now. His own mother couldn't get -him. It's no use trying that line any more. We've got to think up some -other way." - -That was Wednesday--I had only three days. Three days and I hadn't an -idea how to do it. Three days and Jack Reddy was waiting indictment in -Bloomington jail. We couldn't stop Cokesbury going or get anybody else -to stop him unless we could light on something more definite than a -hello girl's suspicions. - - - - -XII - - -Thursday afternoon I was sitting in the Exchange, feeling as if the -bottom had fallen out of the world. I hadn't given up yet--I'm not the -giving-up kind--but I _couldn't_ think of anything else to do. I'd -tossed on my bed all night thinking, I'd dressed thinking, I'd tried to -eat thinking, I'd put in the plugs and made the connections -thinking--and nothing would come. - -Two days more--two days more--two days more--those three words kept -going through my head as if they were strung on an endless chain. - -And then--isn't it always that way in life? Just when you're ready to -throw up the sponge and say you're beaten, Bang--it comes! - -It came in the shape of a New York call for Azalea. - -Like a dream, for I was pretty nearly all in, I could hear the -operator's voice: - -"That you, Longwood? Give me Azalea, 383." - -And then me answering: - -"All right. Azalea 383. Wait a minute." - -I plugged in and heard that queer grating sound as if the wires were -rubbing against each other: - -"Hello, New York. All right for Azalea 383." - -And then a woman's voice, clear and small. - -"Here's your party. Just a minute. There you are--Azalea 383." - -Then a man's voice far away as if it might be in Mars: - -"Hello, is that Azalea 383?" - -"Yep--the Azalea Garage," that was close and plain. - -"This is Mr. Cokesbury's butler----" Believe _me_, I came to life. -"Cokesbury, Cokesbury of Cokesbury Lodge--get it?" - -"Yep." - -"I've a message for Miner--the manager." - -"Fire away, I'm Miner." - -"He wants to know if you found a raincoat in that auto he had from you -last time he was down? _Raincoat_, waterproof. Do you hear?" - -"Yes sir, I hear perfect. We've got it and I'd 'a' sent it back but I -thought he'd be down again any time and it was just as well to keep it -here." - -"That's all right. The coat doesn't matter--but he's lost a key that -does. Thinks maybe he left it in the pocket. Have you found any key?" - -"I haven't looked. Hold the wire while I see?" - -There was a pause while I prayed no one would come in or call up. My -prayer was answered. There was nothing to interrupt when I heard the -garage man's voice again: - -"The key's there." - -"Good work! Mr. Cokesbury's had the house here upside down looking for -it. He wants you to do it up careful and give it to Sands the Pullman -conductor on the six-twenty to-night. I'll come across and get it off -him at Jersey City." - -"All right. Will I send the raincoat along, too?" - -"No, he don't want that. He's goin' to Europe Saturday and I guess he's -calculating to buy a new one. Thanks for your trouble. Good-bye." - -"Good-bye." - -I dropped the cam, sat tight, and thought. People kept coming in and out -and calls came flashing along the wires and I worked swift and steady -like an operator that's got no thought but for what's before her. - -But my mind was working like a steam engine underneath. How could I get -him--how could I get him? It was as if I had two brains, one on the top -that went mechanical like a watch and one below that was doing the real -business. - -Before the afternoon was over I'd decided on a line of action. - -I called up Katie Reilly and asked her if she'd relieve me at -five-thirty instead of six--that I'd an invitation to go down to a party -at Jersey City and I was keen to get there early. She agreed and at six -I was on the platform of the station waiting for the New York train. - -I took a seat in the common coach and at Azalea watched from the window -and saw a man on the platform give Sands a packet. I knew Sands well and -when he passed back through my car nodded to him and he stopped and -stood in the aisle talking. - -It wasn't long before I said, careless: - -"I hear Cokesbury Lodge is for rent." - -"I ain't heard it," said Sands, "but I ain't surprised. Now he's sent -his family away he don't want a house that size on his hands." - -"Has he been down lately?" - -"No--not for--lemme see--it's several weeks. Yes--the last time was the -Sunday before Sylvia Hesketh's murder." - -I knew all that but it doesn't do to jump at what you're after too -quick. - -"Lucky for him he could prove his car was on the blink that time," I -said, looking languid out of the window. - -"Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking -distance. But no one ever'd suspicion Cokesbury. He ain't the murderin' -kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he's goin' to Europe." - -"Is he now? Where'd you hear that?" - -"From Miner, that runs the Azalea Garage. He come down to the station -just now and gave me a package. Something Cokesbury left in the motor -the last time he was down. I'm to hand it over to his servant at Jersey -City." - -"Is it love letters that he don't want to leave behind?" - -"No, I guess he's careful of them. Here it is," he drew out of his -breast pocket an envelope with Cokesbury's name and address written on -it and held it out to me. "That ain't no love letter." - -I pinched it. - -"It's a key. It may open the desk where the love letters are kept." - -"I guess he's too fly to keep any dangerous papers like that around." - -"Yes," I says, "they might set the house on fire." - -"Well, ain't you the sassy kid," says he and then the train slowing up -for a station he walked on up the aisle. - -In the Jersey City depot I went like a streak for the Telephone -Exchange. My one chance was to catch him at dinner and I gave the -operator the number of his house. When she pointed to the booth I was -trembling like a leaf. - -The voice that answered me was a woman's--Irish--the cook's, I guess. -She began right off: "Yes, this is Mr. Cokesbury's residence, but you -can't see him." - -"Wait," I almost screamed, scared that she was going to disconnect, -"this is important. It's about a key I've just found. If Mr. Cokesbury's -there tell him a lady wants to see him about a key she picked up a few -minutes ago on the New Jersey train." - -"All right. Hold the wire." - -I knew he'd come. My heart was beating so I had to hold it hard with my -free hand and I had to bite my lips to make them limber. But, honest to -God, when I heard him--clear and distinct right in my ear--I thought I -was going to faint. For at last I'd got the Voice! - -"What's this about finding a key?" he said gruff and sharp. - -"Am I speaking to Mr. Cokesbury?" - -"You are. Who is it?" - -"No one you know, sir. I've just come in from Philadelphia and on the -Pullman step I found a package which seems to have a key in it. I -noticed that it was addressed to you and I looked you up in the -telephone book and am phoning now from Jersey City." - -He was very cordial then. His voice was the same deep, pleasant one he'd -used to Sylvia. - -"That's very kind of you and very thoughtful. I can't thank you enough. -The package was given to the Pullman conductor and he's evidently -dropped it." - -"Then shall I give it to the Pullman conductor now?" - -"If you'll be so kind. My servant's gone over there to get it. Just hand -it to the conductor--a tall, thin man, whose name is Sands." - -"I'll do it right off. Ain't it lucky I found it?" - -"Very. I'm deeply grateful. It would have put me to the greatest -inconvenience if it had been lost. I'd like to know to whom I'm -indebted." - -"Oh, that don't need to bother you. I'm just a passenger traveling down -on the train. Awful glad I could be of any service. Good-bye." - -I waited a minute till I got my heart quieted down, then took a call for -Babbitts' paper. Luck was with me all round that night, for he was -there. I couldn't tell him everything--I was afraid--but I told him -enough to show him I'd landed Cokesbury and he answered to come across -to town and he'd meet me at the Ferry. I caught a boat as it pulled out -of the slip and at the other side he was waiting for me. - -"Come on," he said, putting his hand through my arm and walking quick -for the street, "I got a taxi here. We'll charge it up to the defense." - -I got in, supposing he was going to take me somewhere to dinner, but he -wasn't. When I heard where we were bound I was sort of scared--it was to -Wilbur Whitney's house, Jack Reddy's lawyer. - -"He's expecting us," Babbitts explained. "I called him up right after -I'd heard from you. You see, Kiddo, we don't want to lose a minute for -we can't stop Cokesbury going unless we got something to stop him for." - -Mr. Whitney's house was a big, grand mansion just off Fifth Avenue. A -butler let us in and without waiting to hear who we were showed us into -a room with lights in bunches along the walls, small spindly gold chairs -and sofas, and a floor that shone like glass between elegant soft rugs. -There was some class to it and Babbitts and I looked like a pair of -tramps sitting side by side on two of the gold chairs. I was nervous but -Babbitts kept me up, telling me Mr. Whitney was a delightful gentleman -and was going to jump for all I had to say. Then we heard steps coming -down the stairs--two people--and I swallowed hard being dry in the -mouth, what with fright and having had no supper. - -Mr. Whitney was the real thing. He was a big man, with a square jaw and -eyes deep in under thick eyebrows. He spoke so easy and friendly that -you forgot how awful sharp and keen those eyes were and how they watched -you all the time you were talking. A young man came with him--a real -classy chap--that he introduced to me as his son, George. - -They couldn't have acted more cordial to me and Babbitts if we'd been -the King and Queen of Spain. When they sat down and asked me to tell -them what I knew I loosened up quite natural and told the whole story. - -The young man sat sideways on the gold sofa, smoking a cigarette and -looking into the air with his eyes narrowed up as if he was spying at -something a long ways off. Mr. Whitney was sort of slouched down in an -easy chair with his hands--white as a woman's--hanging over the arms. -Now and then he'd ask me a question--always begging my pardon for -interrupting--and though they were so calm and quiet I could feel, as if -it was in the air, that they were concentrated close on every word I -said. - -When I got through Mr. Whitney said, very cheerful, as if I'd been -telling some yarn in a story book: - -"That's very interesting, Miss Morganthau, and very well told. Quite a -narrative gift, eh George?" and he looked at his son. - -"First-class story," said George, and as careless as you please flicked -off his cigarette ashes on the rug. - -Mr. Whitney leaned forward clasping his big white hands between his -knees and looking into my face, half-smiling but with something terrible -keen behind the smile. - -"How can you be so sure of the voice, Miss Morganthau? I don't know -whether on the phone I could recognize the voice of my own son here." - -"You get that way in my work," I answered. "Your ear gets trained for -voices." - -"You're absolutely certain," said young Mr. Whitney, "that in that -message you overheard, the man spoke of coming to the meeting place in -his auto?" - -"Yes, sir, I'm certain he said that." - -He turned and looked at his father. - -"And investigations have shown he had no auto, he telephoned to no other -garage for one, he kept no horses, and to get there on his own feet, -would have had to walk through bad country roads a distance of -twenty-five miles." - -"Um," answered old Mr. Whitney as if he wasn't interested and then he -said to me: "In this message you heard to-day no suggestion was given of -what that key was the key of?" - -"No, sir. The man just said it was important and Mr. Cokesbury'd had the -house upside down looking for it." - -"Um," said Mr. Whitney again. "I rather fancy, Miss Morganthau, you've -done us a double service; in hunting for a voice, you've stumbled on a -key." - -Young Mr. Whitney laughed. - -"It's probably the key of his front door." - -"Perhaps," said his father, and looked down on the carpet as if he was -thinking. - -Then Babbitts spoke up: - -"Don't criminals, no matter how careful they are, often overlook some -small clew that maybe is the very thing that gives them away?" - -"Often," said Mr. Whitney. "In most crimes there's a curious lack of -attention to detail. The large matters are well conceived and skillfully -carried out. And then some minor point is neglected, sometimes -forgotten, sometimes not realized for its proper value." - -He got up and shook himself like a big bear and we all rose to our feet. -I was feeling pretty fine, not only the relief of having delivered the -goods, but proud of myself for getting through the interview so well. -Mr. Whitney added to it by saying: - -"You're a pretty smart girl, Miss Morganthau. _You_ don't know and _I_ -don't know yet the full value of the work you've done for me and my -client. But whatever the outcome may be you've shown an energy and -keenness of mind that is as surprising as it is unusual." - -I just swelled up with importance and didn't know what to say. Behind -Mr. Whitney I could see Babbitts' face, all beaming and grinning, and I -was so glad he was there to hear. And then--just when I was at the -top-notch of my pride--Mr. George Whitney, who'd been silent for a -while, said suddenly: - -"If you don't mind me asking, Miss Morganthau, I'd like to know what -lucky chance made you listen in to that conversation between Miss -Hesketh and the Unknown Man." - -Believe me I came down to earth with a thud. How could I tell them? Say -I listened to everything in the hope of hearing Jack Reddy talking to -Sylvia. I looked down on the floor, feeling my cheeks getting as red as -fire. - -"Go ahead," said Babbitts. "Don't be afraid to say anything." - -"We're as close here as the confessional," said old Mr. Whitney, smiling -at me like a father. - -I had to say something and took what seemed to me the most natural. - -"I'd heard Miss Hesketh was a great one for jollying up the men and I -wanted to hear how she did it." - -And they all--that means Babbitts, too--just burst out and _roared_. - -"Good for you, Miss Morganthau," said Mr. Whitney, and he put his hand -on my shoulder and gave it a shake. "Only I'll bet a hat you didn't need -any teaching." - -He turned to his son and said something about "the car being there," and -then back to me: - -"Now for a few days, Miss Morganthau, I'll expect you to be off duty in -a place accessible by telephone." - -"Off duty!" I exclaimed. "How can I do that?" - -He smiled in his easy way and said: - -"We'll attend to that, don't you worry about it. Go home and stay there -till you get a call from me. If anyone asks what's the matter say you're -ill and laid off for a few days. Don't bother about reporting at the -office; that'll be arranged. And I need hardly tell you not to speak a -word of what you've discovered or of this interview here to-night." - -"She won't," said Babbitts. "I'll go bail for that." - -He gave Mr. George Whitney Mrs. Galway's telephone number and then we -shook hands all round. I was just wondering what was the quickest way to -the Ferry when Mr. Whitney said: - -"The motor's waiting for you and I'm sure Mr. Babbitts will escort you -to the boat. Good night and remember--hold yourself ready for a call to -come to my office." - -The car waiting outside was Mr. Whitney's own. Gee, it was swell! A -footwarmer and a fur rug and a clock and a bottle of salts for me to -sniff at. I didn't tell Babbitts I'd had no dinner, for I was ashamed to -have the chauffeur stop at the kind of joints we patronize, and so I -bore the ache in my insides and tried to believe the footwarmer and the -salts made up for it. - - - - -XIII - - -At noon the next day--Friday--I was called to Mrs. Galway's phone. It -was Mr. George Whitney telling me to come over to the city at once. I -wasn't to bother about addresses or finding my way. I'd be met at the -Ferry and taken to Mr. Whitney's office in Broad Street--all I was to do -was to say nothing to anybody and come. - -I did both. - -At the Ferry a fine-looking chap came up to me, with his hat in his -hand, and asked me if I was Miss Morganthau. For a moment I was uneasy, -thinking maybe he was a masher, when he turned to a kind-faced elderly -woman beside him and said: - -"This is Mrs. Cresset, who's come over on the boat with you and is going -to Mr. Whitney's office, too." - -Then I knew it was all right and we three got into a taxi. On the way -across to Broad Street he told us what we were to do. It was nothing -much. All Mr. Whitney wanted of us was that we'd sit in the inner office -and listen to some gentleman talking in the next room. If we heard the -voice I'd got on the wire and Mrs. Cresset had heard the night of the -murder we were to say nothing, but sit perfectly still till we were -called. - -"If you recognize the voice make no sign or sound. All we ask of you is, -if you're not certain of the identification, to say so." - -The office was a great big place, rooms opening out of rooms, and a -switchboard with a girl at it, dressed very neat and not noticing us as -we passed her. Mr. George Whitney met us and took us into a room -furnished fine with leather armchairs and books all up the walls and a -wide window looking out over the roofs and skyscrapers. There was a door -at one side, and this he opened a crack and told Mrs. Cresset to sit -down close to it with me opposite. He cautioned us to be quiet and not -to move or even whisper till we were called. - -We sat there for a while with nothing happening. We could hear voices, -and now and then people walking and doors shutting, and once a bell -tinkled far off in the distance. Then suddenly I heard someone--Mr. -George Whitney, I think--say, "Show him in, the private office," and -heavy steps coming up the passage, past our door and into the next room, -then old Mr. Whitney's voice, very loud and cheerful. - -"Ah, Mr. Cokesbury, this is truly kind of you. I have to apologize for -taking up your time, just as you're leaving, too, but we hoped you might -help us in some minor points of this curious case." - -The voice that answered was Cokesbury's; I knew it well now. At the -sound of it Mrs. Cresset gave a start and leaned forward, her ear close -to the door. - -He was as cordial and hearty as if he was at a pink tea. - -"Only too glad to be of service, Mr. Whitney. If I had thought I could -be of any help I would have offered before. Fortunately for me--as you -probably know--I was held up in my place on the day of the murder. If my -car had been in working order I suppose I'd have been quite a prominent -figure in the case by now." - -He laughed out, a deep, rich sort of laugh, and it made my flesh creep -to think he could do it with that girl's death at his door. - -The talk went on for a bit, back and forth between them, Mr. Whitney -asking him some questions about the roads, the distances, and Miss -Hesketh's friends; he answering as calm and fluent as if he'd hardly -known her at all. - -In the middle of it the clerk who had met us at the Ferry came softly -in, and without a word, beckoned us to follow him through a door that -led into another room. We rose up as stealthily as burglars and stole -across the carpet without making so much as a creak or a rustle. When we -were in he shut the door, told us to wait there, and left us. We sat, -afraid to speak, staring at each other and wondering what was going to -happen next. In a few minutes the door opened and Mr. Whitney came in. - -"Well?" he said, turning to me, "are you as sure as you were over the -phone?" - -"Certain," I answered. "It's the man." - -He looked at Mrs. Cresset. - -"How about you, Mrs. Cresset? Remember, a mistake in a matter like this -is a pretty serious thing." - -Mrs. Cresset was as sure as I was. - -"I couldn't tell the man from Adam," she said, "but I knew his voice the -minute I heard it." - -"Very well. Now I want you to come into the private office. Don't be -frightened; nothing disagreeable's going to happen. All you have to do -is to answer simply and truthfully any questions I may put to you. Come -along." - -We followed him up the passage to the room where he'd been talking. -Sitting in a large chair by the desk was the man I'd seen that day in -the woods with Sylvia Hesketh. He didn't look so robust and hearty as he -had then; his skin was paler and his forehead lined; but I noticed his -large coarse hands with the hair on them--a murderer's hands--_they_ -were the same. - -When he saw us, walking in solemn behind Mr. Whitney, his face changed. -It's hard to explain how it looked, but it was as if the muscles -tightened up and the eyes got a fixed startled expression like you see -in the eyes of an animal you've come on sudden and scared. He rose to -his feet and I saw one of his hands close till the knuckles turned -white. Mr. George Whitney, who was standing near by, watched him like a -cat watching a mouse. - -Old Mr. Whitney spoke up as genial as if he was introducing us at a -party. - -"These ladies, Mr. Cokesbury, come from Longwood and its vicinity. Miss -Morganthau is one of the operators in the Telephone Exchange, and Mrs. -Cresset you've met before, I think, one night at Cresset's Farm." - -Mrs. Cresset bowed very polite and made as if she was going to shake -hands. But Cokesbury didn't meet her half or a quarter way. He turned to -the men and--I guess he did it without knowing--looked like lightning -from one to the other--a sort of wild glance. They never took their eyes -off him, and there was something awful about their stare, for all both -of them were behaving so pleasant. Under that stare he got as white as a -sheet, but he tried to put up a bluff. - -"Cresset," he said, "Cresset? There's some mistake. I never saw her -before in my life." - -"That's quite true," said Mr. Whitney, "you didn't see her nor she you. -If you remember it was very dark. But you spoke to her and she's willing -to swear that yours was the voice she heard. Aren't you, Mrs. Cresset?" - -"Yes, sir," said Mrs. Cresset, as solid and sure as the Bartholdi -statue. "This is the gentleman that asked me the way that night. I'd -know his voice among a thousand." - -"What night?" said Cokesbury. "I don't know what she's talking about." - -It was pitiful to see him trying to keep it up with his face gray and -his hands trembling. - -Mr. Whitney went on as if he didn't notice anything. - -"And Miss Morganthau here is also ready to swear to your voice as the -one she overheard on the phone Saturday, November the twentieth, in a -conversation with the late Miss Hesketh--a message you've probably seen -a good deal about in the papers." - -I saw one of those big, hairy hands make a grip at the back of the -armchair. I thought he was going to fall and couldn't take my eyes off -him till Mr. Whitney turned to me and said in that bland society way: - -"Perhaps you'll be so good, Miss Morganthau, as to tell Mr. Cokesbury of -your efforts during the past week to get him on the phone." - -I told him the whole thing and ended up with the story of how I fooled -him about the key. And, honest to God, though I thought I was talking to -a murderer, I was sorry for him. - -All the life seemed to leave him and he got as haggard as an old man, -with his lips shaking and the perspiration in beads on his forehead. -When I got through he suddenly gave a sort of groan, dropped back into -his chair and put his hands over his face. I was glad it was hidden, and -I was glad when Mr. Whitney turned to me and Mrs. Cresset and said quick -and commanding: - -"That'll do. You can go into the other room. Ring the bell, George." - -We huddled out into the passage where we met that spry clerk coming up -on the jump. He went into the office and shut the door, and we could -hear a murmur of voices, we standing up against the wall not knowing -what to do next. - -Presently the clerk came out again, rounded us up and sent us into the -room down the hall where Mr. Whitney had talked to us. He told us to -wait there for a minute, then lit out as if he was in a great hurry. We -stood stiff in the middle of the floor, expecting to hear the tramp of -policemen and then Cokesbury being dragged off to jail. But it was all -very still. I never supposed when you caught a criminal the proceedings -would be so natural and dignified. - -After a while the clerk came back. He said Mr. Whitney'd sent us his -thanks for our kindness in coming--I never saw people waste so many -words on politeness--and hoped we'd excuse him from thanking us in -person, but he was just now very busy. He warned us not to say a word to -anyone of what had transpired, and then a boy coming to the door and -saying, "It's here," he told us a taxi was waiting below to take us to -the Ferry. - -If we couldn't talk to anyone else we could to each other and I guess we -did more gabbing going down in the taxi and across in the boat than Mrs. -Cresset had done for years. She told me about the night when Cokesbury -had come to her house. It was wonderful to see how luck was with -him--the way it sometimes is with sinners. Usually at that hour she was -round in the kitchen and when he knocked would have opened the door and -seen his face in the lamplight. But she'd gone upstairs early as her -little daughter had a cold. - -To go back over the small things that happened would make you sure some -evil power was protecting him. That morning the little girl's cold -wasn't bad and she'd gone to school as usual. But at the schoolhouse she -heard that the dancing bear--the one I saw in Longwood which had been -performing along the pike on its way back to Bloomington--had been at -Jaycock's farm and might be round by Cresset's that afternoon. Like all -children, she was crazy about the bear, and after school hours she and a -chum slipped off and stood around in the damp, waiting. But the bear did -not show up and when she came home, crying with disappointment, the cold -was heavy on her. Her mother bundled her off to bed and went up early to -sit with her. Only for that, Cokesbury would probably have been landed -in jail weeks before, the State saved money and two innocent men saved -shame and suffering. - -"That's the way it is with the Devil's own," I said. "I guess he takes -care of them for a while; jollies them along the downward path." - -"It looks like that was the case," said Mrs. Cresset, her kind, rosy -face very solemn. "But the power of evil gets broke in the end. 'Murder -will out'--that's true if anything is. Think of that man feeling so safe -and every hour the cords tightening round him." - -"And _we_ did it," said I, awful proud. "We found the cords and then -pulled on them." - -"We did," says she. "I never thought to be the one to put a -fellow-creature behind bars, but I have and my conscience tells me I've -done right." - -My, but we both felt chesty! - -The next morning Babbitts phoned me to say he'd be over Sunday evening. -The information of "Our Suspect" would be given to the press Sunday -morning for the Monday papers and after it was in he'd come across and -tell me about it. - -Mr. Whitney had arranged for me not to go back to work till Tuesday and -though I suppose the rest was good for me, the strain of waiting wore on -me something dreadful. I kept wondering how Cokesbury had done it, and -how he was going to explain this and account for that. Most of Sunday I -lay on the bed trying to read a novel, but a great deal more interested -in the hands of the clock than I was in the printed pages. - -When it began to darken up for evening I told Mrs. Galway I was -expecting a gentleman caller and asked for the loan of the parlor. She's -a great one for love affairs and it always discouraged her that I had no -regular company. Now she thought I'd got a steady at last and wanted to -lend me her cameo pin, and decked up the parlor as if the minister was -coming to call, with the hand-painted leather cushion and the punch-work -tablecloth. - -Long before Babbitts was due I was sitting by the stove, burning bright -and clear, with the drop light throwing a glow over the center table. -Upstairs I could hear Mrs. Galway tramping round as she went to bed, -which was considerate of her as she was something of a night bird. When -I heard his knock at the side door, I gave a sort of squeal of -excitement and ran to let him in. - -"Well?" I said, grabbing his arm, too worked up to say good evening, -"has he confessed?" - -"Yes," he said, "he has and he's told an uncommon queer story." - -"He killed her?" - -"That's the queerest part of it," said Babbitts slowly, "he didn't." - - - - -XIV - - -Now I don't believe if I gave you twenty guesses you'd know what I did -when I heard those words--burst out crying. - -It wasn't because I wanted Cokesbury to be executed; it wasn't because I -wanted the reward; it wasn't even that I was so crazy to have Jack Reddy -exonerated--it was just because I was so disappointed--so _foiled_--that -I couldn't seem to bear it. - -I cried so hard I didn't know what I was doing, and I suppose that's the -reason I leaned on Babbitts' shoulder, it being the nearest thing handy. -He brought me to my senses, patting me on the arm and saying sort of -soothing as if he was comforting a child who'd broken her doll: - -"There, there--don't cry--it'll be all right soon. We'll get the right -man. Don't take it to heart that way." - -Then I began to laugh, for it did seem so comical--me crying because -Cokesbury wasn't a murderer, and Babbitts telling me not to take it to -heart as if I'd been disappointed in not seeing the electrocution. The -laughter and tears got mixed up together and I don't know where I'd have -landed if I hadn't seen he was getting frightened and wanted to call -Mrs. Galway. That pulled me up, and I got a hold on myself. In a few -minutes we were sitting side by side in front of the stove, the storm -over, all but a little hiccupy kind of sob, that came upon me unexpected -at intervals. - -For the next hour we sat there without moving while Babbitts told me -Cokesbury's story. - -I'll put down what he said as near his words as I can remember it. The -way he told it was better than any of the newspaper accounts, even his, -though he got a raise of salary for the way he'd handled it: - -"Cokesbury says he didn't kill Sylvia Hesketh and I believe him and so -do the Whitneys. Besides the corroborative evidence is absolutely -convincing. He's not a murderer but he's a coward--no good at all--and -that explains why he didn't come out after the crime and tell what he -knew. Instead he got in a panic, lost what little nerve he had, and was -skipping out to Europe when you nabbed him. - -"He was in love with Sylvia Hesketh, if you call that sort of thing -love. Anyway, instead of being simply what you might describe as a beau -of hers, he was mad about her. I fancy even she, poor girl, didn't -realize the passion she'd kindled, but was like a child playing with a -dynamite bomb. It appears she saw more of him than anybody guessed. -After the first flirtation at Bar Harbor, he came down to Cokesbury -Lodge nearly every Sunday and used to meet her in the woods and on the -side roads, and make dates with her for theaters and concerts in town. -He kept it quiet for he knew without being told that the Doctor wouldn't -stand for it. His hope was that, willful and unstable as he knew her to -be, he'd eventually win her by his persistence and devotion. - -"It was one of those situations that may end in nothing or may end as -this one did in a tragedy. The girl was foolhardy and flirtatious; the -man infatuated. Very quickly he got on to the fact that he was not the -only victim of her beauty and her wiles. He watched and questioned and -found out about the other men. Of them he soon saw that Reddy was the -favored one and a deadly jealousy seized him, for Reddy might have -attracted any woman. - -"When he tried to find out from her how she stood with Reddy he could -get no satisfaction. She'd tell him one thing one day and another the -next. She kept them all guessing, but it didn't mean to any of the -others what it meant to Cokesbury. All through October he spied and -queried, and learnt that she was meeting Reddy in his car and going off -for long jaunts with him. He says he was half mad with jealousy and -fear, but he hid it from her. - -"That's the way things were when he sent the phone message that you -caught. You sized him up just right. When she told him she had a date -that was a secret, he got a premonition of the truth, the way a man does -when his reason is under the dominion of his emotions. He felt certain -she was going off with Reddy, and the brakes that he'd kept down till -then were lifted. He determined he'd find out and if it was true stop -them if the skies fell. - -"And now here comes the queer part of the story. If anybody'd guessed it -a lot of things that were dark would have been as clear as daylight. He -_did_ keep the date you heard him make on the phone." - -"How could he? He had no car, or horse, or anything." - -"Only part of that's true--he had no car, or horse, but he _did_ have -something." - -"What?" - -"An aeroplane." - -I fell back staring at him. - -"An aeroplane--in Cokesbury Lodge?" - -"In the garage there. _That's_ why he wouldn't rent the house; _that's_ -why he kept going down over Sunday all summer. The year he was in France -he'd done a lot of flying and was fascinated by it. Before he left there -he was an expert aviator, but his wife hated it and it was one of their -grounds of dissension. After she died he had a machine brought down in -sections, set it up himself, and kept it in the garage. Not a soul knew -it. He only flew at night for he wanted it kept a secret." - -"Why--what for?" - -"Because--here's the best thing I've heard about him--he carried a heavy -life insurance policy secured to his children. Cokesbury's not a rich -man, though he has a good business, and if he died his children would -have had to live on what their mother left them, which wasn't much. If -it was known that he was aviating the policy would have been -invalidated, so he indulged his secret passion at night. The isolated -position of the house made it easy to escape detection and his machine -was equipped with a very silent muffler. No one had a glimmering of it, -not even Sylvia. - -"The phone message you heard was sent from the station at Jersey City -and when he sent it he _did_ intend coming to Mapleshade in his motor. -When he got to Azalea and found the car unmended in the garage he flew -into a rage, as he thought his plans were blocked. Alone in the Lodge, -ravaged by jealousy, he lost all caution and decided to take out the -aeroplane. - -"You remember that there was a moon that night, but that in the evening -the skies were clouded and the air breathless. The darkness and the -weather were on his side and he came down in a field about ten minutes -walk from the house, closing the cut-out as he descended. He was early -and hid himself among some trees where he could watch the front door. He -says it was while he was waiting there for her that the idea came to him -of frustrating an elopement by carrying her off. - -"He was laying round in his mind how he would get the truth from her, -when he saw her come out and gave a low whistle. She heard it and came -toward him. It was not till she was close to him and he could see the -outlines of her figure through the dark, that he made out a bag in her -hand. _Then_ he knew for certain she was going and decided on his -course. - -"In all his other dealings with her he had found her subtle and evasive. -Now, perhaps because for the first time in her life she had decided on a -positive action, she went straight to the point. Without any preamble -she told him what she was going to do and that within a half-hour Reddy -would be waiting for her in the Lane. - -"He showed no anger or surprise, apparently accepting the situation in -the most friendly spirit. He says he thought she was relieved, having -expected a scene with him. When he had disarmed her of her suspicions, -he told her of the airship and asked her if she wouldn't like to come up -for a spin before Reddy arrived. They had over half an hour and he could -take her for a short flight and would bring her down in ten or fifteen -minutes. - -"Everybody agrees that she was a bold, venturesome girl, and the idea -appealed to her, as she had never been up. They walked quickly through -the fields and bit of woodland to the aeroplane. She was in high spirits -as she tucked herself in; he could hear her laughter as he took his -seat, and then, closing the cut-out, they soared up. - -"They rose high--about two thousand feet, he thought--and then he headed -East. They were winging their way over Cokesbury Lodge on toward the -hills in the distance when Reddy must have sighted the lights of -Longwood as he came down the Firehill Road. - -"Cokesbury swears he had no intention of kidnapping her. He says he had -no definite idea of where he was going, that his plan was simply to get -her away from Reddy and put an end to the marriage. Personally, I don't -believe him. I think he had a perfectly clear idea of carrying her off -to Cokesbury Lodge, and that his chivalrous scheme was to put her into -such a compromising position she would be willing to marry him. Maybe -I'm wrong--I don't know. Anyway, he very soon saw you can't abduct a -high-spirited, hot-tempered girl against her will. - -"After about fifteen or twenty minutes he was conscious of her getting -uneasy and speaking to him--words that he couldn't hear but that he knew -to be at first startled questions, then angry commands. He shouted -replies, but the great machine kept steadily on its way, neither turning -nor dipping downward. Then she realized and broke into a fury, turning -upon him in the dark, putting her face close to his and screaming for -him to bring her down. The noise made it impossible to argue with her, -and fearful of what she might do, he held her off with his elbow, the -delicately balanced machine swaying as she seized his arm and shook it, -lunging up against him, her cries of rage rising above the thunder of -the screw. - -"Can't you imagine it? The big ship sailing through the night with the -lights of farms and little towns sliding by far below, and above the sky -muffled deep in black clouds. Poised between them the man and woman, -each gripped by a different passion--suspended there like two naked -souls in a sort of elemental battle of the sexes. - -"He admits he was scared and if he could have spoken to her would have -pacified her with all sorts of assurances. But speech was out of the -question, and when she made a sudden lunge across him for the wheel he -realized she would kill them both if he didn't bring her to earth. -Throwing her back with a blow of his elbow, he yelled that he was coming -down and as she felt the machine begin its glancing, downward glide she -fell back into her place, suddenly quiet, then leaned forward scanning -the country below them. - -"A momentary break of the clouds let a little light spill through and by -this he saw a bare, bold landscape darkened by woods, and with the gleam -of a large body of water to the right, showing against the blackness -like polished steel. He made a landing in an open space, an uncultivated -field with a hillock in the center covered with grass and surrounded by -trees. The water had drained off this and it was quite dry. - -"She was hardly out on the ground and he was preparing for an -explanation when to his surprise she curtly told him to follow her and -led the way along a ridge that skirted the lake. This, too, was dry, a -fact curiously in his favor, for their feet left no tracks, the grass -closing on the trail they swept through it. She did not address him -again till, the dim shape of a house appearing, he asked her if she was -going there and she answered in the same, curt way: Yes; she was cold. A -wharf jutted out in front of the house and in stepping from the grass to -the planks he made a motion to help her, but she started away from him -as if he was a snake, making two or three steps into the liquid mud that -ran up to the wharf's edge. It was then he thought she dropped the -glove. Once again on the planks she took a key from her purse, fitted it -in the lock and opened the door. - -"The room was pitch dark and Cokesbury stood in the doorway while she -went in. She moved about as if she was accustomed to the place, lit a -lamp, set a match to the fire already laid and gave him a copper kettle -to fill with water from the lake. When he came back with it the table -was set out with tea things and the fire was leaping up the chimney. She -hung the kettle on a crane, swung it over the flames and then, turning -to him, said: - -"'Do you know where you are?' He said he didn't and she answered: -'You're in Jack Reddy's bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, the place where I've -spent the happiest days of my life.' - -"He looked at her in amazement and she smiled scornfully back at him. -'You fool!' she said, 'to think you could come blundering in and stop me -from marrying the only man of all of you who's worth a heartbeat.' - -"She made tea and then motioned him to sit down by the table, taking a -seat at the other side. Facing each other in the lamplight they had a -conversation that put an end to all his dreams. For the first time in -his acquaintance with her he thought she spoke frankly. She told him of -her friendship with Reddy from the start, and how the Doctor's senseless -opposition had fanned a boy-and-girl flirtation into a passionate love -affair. - -"When the quarrels began at Mapleshade they found that they could meet -without fear of detection at the Lake, she going out there in her car -and he in his. She had her own key and often, during the autumn, she had -gone to the bungalow in the morning, Reddy had joined her and they had -spent the day together, canoeing and fishing on the lake, cooking a -picnic meal over the fire, and driving home in the afternoon, the racer -towing her car till they came to the turnpike. - -"Cokesbury says he thinks at first it was only the spirit of romance and -adventure which made her do such a rash thing, but that in the end -Reddy's devotion and chivalrous attitude made a deep impression on her -and she came as near loving him as she could any man. He says there is -no doubt that the meetings were perfectly innocent and that Reddy had -behaved from the start as a gentleman. - -"'Whether she really loved him or not,' he said, 'he'd taught her to -respect him.' - -"They talked for over an hour, taking the tea she had made and Cokesbury -smoking a cigar. He remembered leaving the butt in the saucer of his -cup. It was half-past eight when they rose to go. Sylvia put out the -lamp but the fire was still burning and the tea things were left on the -table. Cokesbury says he promised to take her home, that he saw his case -was hopeless, and he'd made up his mind to have done with her forever. - -"The sky was clouded over and it was as dark as a pocket when they went -back to the aeroplane. He had to direct the machine by guesswork, the -country black below him and the sky black above. He swears that he -intended to take her back to Mapleshade, and I believe him. No man--not -even a bad egg like Cokesbury--wants to run away with a woman who hands -out the line of talk that girl had in the bungalow. - -"Anyway, we've only his word for the statement that he completely lost -his bearings. He could see no lights and after making an exploratory -circle, realized he hadn't the slightest idea which way to go. To make -matters worse, he could hear from shouted remarks of hers that her -suspicions were on the alert and that she was ready to flare up again. -By this time there wasn't much of the lover left in him. According to -his own words he was as anxious to get her home again as she was to be -there. With his head clear and his blood cold he did not relish a second -flight with a woman fighting like a wildcat. - -"This was the situation--she, angry and disbelieving; he, scared and -unable to conciliate her--when the twinkle of a light caught his eye and -he decided to come down and ask his way. They dropped into a stretch of -grass land among fields, with the light shining some way off through a -screen of trees. Farther away, just a spark, he saw another light. He -told her to wait while he went to inquire, and walked off toward the one -that was nearest. - -"It was Cresset's Farm. There he had the interview with Mrs. Cresset, -telling her he had an auto in order to explain his presence. When he -went back he found that Sylvia had disappeared. At first he didn't know -what to do, realizing that if the story of their flight got abroad, -there would be the devil to pay. He was certain she had disbelieved him -and had taken the opportunity to get away from him. She was either -hiding or had gone for the second light. This being the most plausible, -he walked toward it--quite a distance across fields and through -woods--and brought up at a ramshackle roadhouse--the Wayside Arbor. - -"He stole round from the back to a side window and there, through a -crack in the shutter, looked in and saw Sylvia talking to Hines. He says -he stayed there for some minutes, afraid if he went in after her she -would make a scene and start a scandal. Then his eyes fell on the -telephone booth and he felt sure she had telephoned either to her own -home or to Reddy. Her air of waiting--she was sitting by the stove with -her feet on its lower edge--confirmed him in this and he decided to let -her alone. - -"He went back to the aeroplane, wondering what would be the outcome of -the whole crazy escapade. He says he felt confident of her cleverness to -hush the thing up, but he was uneasy. His discomfort wasn't lessened -when he found that she had left her bag in the machine, and on his way -home one of the things that preoccupied him was thinking up the best way -of getting the bag back to her. - -"Monday morning he went to town in a state of suspense. If she should -tell there was no knowing what might happen and he was on the alert for -a visit from the Doctor or even Reddy. But the day passed without any -sign of trouble, and he was just calming down, thinking she had either -found Reddy and gone with him or invented some story to quiet the -Mapleshade people, when he read of the murder in the evening paper. - -"_Then_, you better believe he was frightened. He knew the bag was -hidden in his room at the Lodge and that as far as he could tell, not a -soul had seen the airship. As to Mrs. Cresset, he felt safe for she -couldn't possibly have made out a feature in the darkness." - -"But," I cried out, "why if he hadn't done it----" - -"That's all right," Babbitts interrupted. "He hadn't done it, but I tell -you he was a coward. He was in a sweat for fear of being suspected, of -being pulled in as a witness, of his reputation, his business, his -position. He wanted to keep out of it at any cost." - -"What a cur!" I said. - -"Oh, he's that and more, and he's ready to admit it himself. But it -wasn't as smooth sailing as he thought it would be. After the inquest he -read of the overheard phone message and that brought him up with a jolt. -He got in a state of terror, realizing too late that his silence was -more incriminating than any confession. - -"Every day his fears grew worse. He wouldn't answer any phone calls, -faking up reasons to his clerks and his servants. Finally it got on his -nerves so he couldn't stand it and he made ready to skip to Europe. The -key was what tripped him up. Do you remember Mr. Whitney saying how -criminals overlooked important details? Well, what he overlooked was the -key of the garage. In his preoccupation on Monday morning he had put it -in the pocket of the raincoat he was accustomed to leave in the auto and -had simply forgotten it. Then when he went to pack his things he -couldn't find it, hunted in a nervous frenzy and finally had his man -telephone over to Miner's place. You and the key were the combination -that beat him." - -"But Jack Reddy?" I said. "Was he going to slink off and let him be -tried for the murder when he could have cleared it all up?" - -"He _says_ not and I guess the fellow's not as yellow as to have stood -by and let an innocent man go to his death. He says there wasn't enough -evidence to convict Reddy and if things had gone badly he would have -come out and told what he knew. And I think that's true--anyway, we'll -give him the benefit of the doubt." - -"How can you be so sure? How do you know he's _not_ the murderer after -all?" - -"Oh, there's no doubt. Everything fits in too well. The police were out -at Cokesbury Lodge on Saturday and saw the aeroplane and found Miss -Hesketh's bag. Both the Whitneys--father and son, who've had a vast -experience in this sort of case--say there's no question of his -innocence." - -We sat silent for a spell, looking at the stove, then I said: - -"We're back just where we were in the beginning." - -Babbitts leaned forward and shook down some ashes. - -"The case is, but we're not," he said. - -"How do you make that out?" I asked. - -"Six weeks ago we didn't know each other and now we're friends." - -"That's so," I said, and we both sat staring thoughtfully at the red eye -of the stove. - - - - -XV - - -Cokesbury's story made a great sensation. Even if it didn't bring us any -nearer to finding the murderer, it explained the mystery of Sylvia's -movements up to the time she appeared in the Wayside Arbor, and it -cleared Jack Reddy. Babbitts told me that the Whitneys were doing some -legal stunts--I won't tell what they were for I'd never get them -straight--to have him liberated, and that they would soon issue a -statement to the press. - -When it came out everybody saw why he had said such contradictory things -about those seven hours on the road. - -Babbitts and I had guessed right when we thought he was holding -something back and when I heard why I was grateful to him. Yes, -grateful, that's the word. And I'll tell you why I use it. He was my -hero and he stayed a hero, didn't fall down and disappoint me, but made -me know there were people in the world who could stick to their standard -no matter _what_ happened. Don't you think that's a thing to be grateful -for? - -The reason he didn't tell was to protect the memory of that poor dead -girl, who couldn't rise up and protect herself. He knew what wicked lies -would be told and believed and he was going to shield her in death as he -would have in life. - -That night after he had searched the roads, he suddenly thought that in -some wild freak she had gone to the bungalow in her own car and phoned -him from there. As soon as the idea entered his head he went out to the -lake. One glance showed him someone had been there before him--the room -was warm, the fire still smouldering on the hearth. He lit the light and -saw the two teacups and the cigar butt on the saucer. He examined the -doors and windows and found that they were locked and there was no sign -of anyone having broken in. The only person beside himself who had a key -to the bungalow was Sylvia. - -Then he knew she had been there with another man and one of those fierce -rages came on him. - -For a spell he was outside himself. He thought of things that never -happened, the way people do in a fury--imagined Sylvia sending him the -phone message with the other man standing by and laughing. He tore her -letters out of the desk and threw them in the fire and smashed the tea -things against the side of the house. He was half crazy, thinking -himself fooled and made a mock of by the woman he had loved. - -When his rage quieted down he sat brooding over the fire for a long -time. It was moonlight when he left, bright enough for him to fill the -tank. He had never thought about any inquiries for the missing drum till -at the inquest the question of the gasoline was sprung on him. Then he -lied, feeling certain that no one would ever go out to the lake. It was -his intention to go there himself, hide the drum and clear out the -cottage, but he put it off, hating to go near the place. If Pat Donahue -hadn't gone there to fish through the ice--a thing no one would have -dreamed of--the secret of the bungalow would never have been discovered. - -One of the features of the case that he couldn't understand and that he -spent the days in jail speculating about, was how she had reached the -lake. The mud showed the tracks of only one auto, his own. He could find -no solution to this mystery and he could speak to no one about it. -Whatever happened to him, he had made up his mind he would never give -her up to the evil-minded and evil-tongued who would blacken and tear to -pieces all that was left of her. - -He was liberated, and, believe me, Longwood rejoiced. It was as if a -king who had been banished had come back to his throne. - -I don't think he was home two days when he telephoned in asking me if he -could come to see me and thank me for what I'd done. Wasn't that like -him? Most men would have been so glad to get out of jail they'd have -forgotten the hello girl who'd helped to free them, but not Jack Reddy. - -He came in the late afternoon, at the time I got off. I'll never forget -it. Katie Reilly was at the switchboard and I was standing at the -window, watching, when I saw the two lights of the gray racer coming -down the street. - -I ran and opened the door--I wasn't bashful a bit--and when I saw him I -gave a little cry, for he looked so changed, pale and haggard and older, -a good many years older. But his smile was the same, and so was the -kind, honest look of his face. Before he said a word he just held out -his hand and mine went into it and I felt the clasp of his fingers warm -and strong. And--strange it is, but true--I wasn't any more like the -girl who used to tremble at the mere sight of him, but was calm and -quiet, looking deep and steady into his eyes as if we'd got to be -friends, the way a man might be friends with a boy. - -"Miss Morganthau," he said, "I've heard what you've done, and I want to -thank you." - -"You needn't have taken all the trouble to come in from Firehill, Mr. -Reddy," I answered. "You could have said it over the wire." - -"Could I have done this over the wire?" he said, giving my hand a shake -and a squeeze. "You know I couldn't. And that's what I wanted to -do--take a grip of the hand that helped me out of prison." - -I said some fool words about its being nothing and he went on smiling -down at me, yet with something grave in his face. - -"I want to do more--ask a favor of you. I hope it won't be hard to grant -for I've set my heart on it. Can I be your friend?" - -"Oh, Mr. Reddy," I stammered out, "you make me proud," and suddenly -tears came into my eyes. I don't know why unless it was seeing him so -changed and hearing him speak so humble to a common guy like me. - -"Oh, come now," he said, "don't do anything like that. You'll make me -think you don't like the idea." - -I sniffed, wanting to kick Katie Reilly, who was gaping round in her -chair, and I guess getting mad that way dried up my tears. - -"It's your friend I'll be till the end of my life, Mr. Reddy," I -answered. "And the only thing I'm sorry for is that I didn't get the -right man the way I thought I'd done." - -"Never mind about that," said he, his face hardening up, "we'll get him -yet. Don't let's think of that now. It's the end of your day, isn't it? -If you're going home will you let me take you there in my car?" - -There was a time when if I'd thought I'd ever ride beside Jack Reddy in -that racer I'd have had chills and fever for a week in advance. - -But now I sat calm and still beside him as he rode me through Longwood -to Mrs. Galway's door. - -As we swung up the street he talked very kind to me, complimenting me -something awful, and saying that if he ever could do anything for me to -let him know and he'd do it if it was within the power of man. - -"You see, Miss Morganthau," he said as we drew up in front of the Elite, -"a man in my position feels pretty grateful to the person who's lifted -off him the shadow of disgrace and death." - -Up in my room I sat quiet for a long time thinking. The thing that -phased me was why I'd changed so, come round to feel that while he was -still a grand, strong man, I'd always look up to and do anything for, -I'd quit having blind staggers and heart attacks when he came along. - -Something had sidetracked me. I didn't know what. All I did know was -that two months ago if he'd asked me to be his friend I'd not have known -there was such a thing as food in the world. And that evening at -half-past seven, being too lazy to go to the Gilt Edge, I was so hungry -I had to go down to Mrs. Galway and beg the loan of three Uneedas and a -hard boiled egg. - -It was one evening, not long after, that Anne Hennessey came in to see -me. Babbitts was coming that night and Mrs. Galway had given up the -parlor again and was in bed with a novel and a kerosene lamp. Anne was -quite excited, the reason being that Mrs. Fowler had given her a -present. She took it careful out of a blue velvet case and held it up in -the glow of the drop light. It was a diamond cross and the minute I set -eyes on it I knew where I'd seen it before. - -"Sylvia's," I said, low and sort of awed. - -Anne nodded. - -"Yes, the one she had on that night. Mrs. Fowler said she wanted to give -me something that had been hers. I wouldn't have taken anything so -handsome but I think the poor lady couldn't bear the sight of it, -reminding her of her sorrow as it did." - -She moved it about and the stones sparkled like bits of fire in the -lamplight. I stretched out my hand and took it, for diamonds tempt me -like meat the hungry--that's the Jew in me, I suppose. - -"You won't call the King your cousin when you wear this," I said, and I -held it against my chest, looking down at the brightness of it. - -"That's just where Sylvia had it on," said Anne almost in a whisper, -"where the front of her dress crossed. One of the police officers told -me." - -My mother was a Catholic and it's Catholic I was raised, for though my -father was a Jew he loved my mother and let her have her way with me. - -"Wouldn't you think," I said, "that when the murderer saw the cross on -her it would have stayed his hand?" - -"Wouldn't you," said Anne, "but to men as evil as that the cross means -nothing. And then out in the dark that way, he probably never saw it." - -Babbitts' knock sounding, I handed it back to her and let him in, -feeling bashful before Anne, who didn't know how often Mrs. Galway was -retiring at eight-thirty. She left soon after, saying Mrs. Fowler liked -her to be round in the evening, which was news to me, as she'd told me -that the Fowlers always sat in the sitting-room together, the Doctor -reading aloud till Mrs. Fowler got sleepy. - -After she'd gone, Babbitts and I drew up to the stove, cozy and -cheerful, with our feet on the edge of it. We'd come to know each other -so well now that we'd other topics beside "the case," but that night we -worked around to it, me picking at the box of candy Babbitts had brought -and rocking lazily as contented as a child. - -Babbitts was still keen for that reward. He said to me: - -"You had your fingers on it once, and it's my wish that you'll get your -whole hand on it next time." - -"What a noble character," said I, "calculating for little Molly to get -it all! Where do _you_ come in?" - -"Oh, don't bother about me," says he. "You've a bad habit of thinking -too much where other people come in. You got to quit it--it isn't good -business. Now what I want to arrange is for you and me to make an -excursion out to the Wayside Arbor some afternoon." - -"The Wayside Arbor--what'll we do there?" - -"Take a look over the ground. You see, with the process of elimination -that's been going on things have narrowed down to the vicinity of the -crime. It's my opinion that the murder was not only committed but was -planned round there. The police are losing heart and not doing much. As -far as I can find out Fowler's detectives--Mills and his crowd--are -getting their pay envelopes regular but not getting anything else. -Now--just for devilment--let _us_ combine our two giant intellects and -see what we can see." - -"Haven't they gone over every inch of it?" - -"They have--with a fine-tooth comb. But that doesn't prevent us going -over it and taking our fine-tooth combs along." - -"Isn't Hines under surveillance?" - -"Good Lord," says he laughing, "_everybody's_ under surveillance. -There's not one of the suspects but knows he's expected to stay put and -is doing it. But who's getting anywhere? There's no reason why we -shouldn't go out that way, call on Mrs. Cresset, and take a look in at -the Wayside Arbor ourselves." - -"I'm game," I said, "though I can't see what good it's going to do." - -"It'll give us a half-day together," said he. "I don't know how you feel -about it but that looks worth while to me." - -We made a date for the following Monday, my holiday, just eight weeks -from the murder. - -The next morning I had a surprise--a kind that hasn't often come my way. -It was a letter directed in typewriting with a half-sheet of paper -inside it inclosing a fifty-dollar bill. On the paper, also typed, was -written: - - For Miss Morganthau--A small return for her recent good work in - the Hesketh Murder Case. - -That was all--no name, no date, no handwriting. I don't know what made -me think right off of Mr. Whitney, unless it was because there was no -one else who knew of what I'd done and could have afforded to send that -much. The only other person it could have been was Jack Reddy, and -somehow or other, after he'd asked me to be his friend, I felt certain -he wouldn't send me money, no matter what I'd done for him. Friends -don't pay each other. - -I guess there wasn't a more elated person in Longwood that morning than -yours truly. I'd had that much before--saved it--but I'd never had it -fall out of the sky that way in one beautiful, crisp, new bill. - -The Jew and the Irish in me had some tussle, one wanting to salt it down -in the bank and the other to blow it in. But that time the Irish had a -walk-over, probably because I was limp and weary with all the excitement -of the last two months and felt the need of doing something foolish to -tone me up. When I thought of the clothes I could buy with it, the Jew -just lay down without a murmur and you'd have supposed I was all County -Galway if you'd seen me writing a list of things on the back of the -envelope. If it'll make you think better of me I'll confess that I -wanted to look nice on that trip with Babbitts, the first real jaunt -we'd ever taken, for I didn't count those times in New York when we were -sleuthing after Cokesbury. Just once in my life I was going to have a -real blowout, and I wanted the chap who was taking me to feel he'd some -lady with him. - -With three of us in the office I fixed things so I got Saturday -afternoon and I hiked over to town with that bill burning in my purse -like a live coal. And, my it was great spending it! I was cool on the -outside, looking haughty at the goods and casting them aside -contemptuous on chairs, but inside I was drunk with the feeling of -riches. - -I bought a one-piece silk dress that fitted me like every measure was -mine and a long black plush coat, rich fine plush like satin, that was -draped something elegant and fastened in front with a novelty ornament. -For a hat I selected a small dark felt, nothing flashy, no trimming, -just a rosette at one side. And with the last three dollars a purse, -black striped silk, oval shaped with a ribbon to hang it to your wrist. - -It was six when I got home, carrying the boxes myself--all but the coat; -that I _had_ to wear--pretty nearly dead with the weight of them, but -not regretting--neither the Jew nor the Irish--one nickel of it. - -Midday Monday, when I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was -waiting, he put his hand over his eyes like the Indians in front of -cigar stores and pretended to stagger. - - -[Illustration: _I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting_] - - -"What good deed have I ever done," says he, "that I'm allowed to walk -the world with such a queen!" - -Then I felt certain that to break loose now and again is a healthy -change. - - - - -XVI - - -It was a long ride to Cresset's Crossing, first on the main line to the -Junction and then just time to make a close connection with the branch -line to the Crossing. - -It was three when we reached there and started out to walk to Cresset's -Farm. There'd been rain the day before and the road was muddy, with -water standing here and there in the ruts. The weather was still -overcast, the sky covered with clouds, heavy and leaden colored. It was -cold, a raw, piercing air, and we walked fast, I--careful of my new -dress--picking my steps on the edge of the road and Babbitts tramping -along in the mud beside me. - -I'd never been up there at that season and I thought it was a gloomy, -lonesome spot. The land rolled away with fences creeping across it like -gray snakes. Here and there were clumps of woods, purplish against the -sky, and between them the brown stretches of plowed land, that in the -springtime would be green with the grain. Now, under those dark, -low-hanging clouds with the naked trees and the bare, empty fields, it -looked forlorn and dreary. It was as still as a picture, not a thing -moving, but one man, someways off, walking along the top of a hill. You -could see him like a silhouette, going slow, with a bundle on a stick -over his shoulder, and a bit of red round his neck. When he got to the -highest point he stopped and looked down on the road. He couldn't see -us--the trees interfered--and he seemed, as Babbitts said, like the -spirit of the landscape--sort of desolate and lonely, plodding along -there, solitary and slow, between the earth and the sky. Then presently -even he was gone, disappearing over the brow of the hill. - -When we passed the Riven Rock Road and I could see the Firehill one, -making a curving line through the country beyond, I had a creepy -feeling, thinking of what had happened there eight weeks ago. - -"Where's the place?" I said, almost in a whisper, and Babbitts pointed -ahead with his cane. - -"A little further on, where the bushes grow thick there." - -Right along from the station, clumps and bunches of small trees had -edged the way like a hedge. After we passed the Riven Rock Road they -grew thicker, making a sort of shrubbery higher than our heads. I -remembered that just before the murder men had been cutting these for -brushwood and even now we passed piles of branches, dry and dead, with -little leaves clinging to them like brown rags. Where the Firehill Road -ran into the turnpike the growth was tangled and close, almost a small -wood. - -It wasn't far beyond that Babbitts pointed out the place. There was an -edge of shriveled grass and on this she had been found with the branches -piled over her. He drew with his cane where she had lain between the -trees and the road. - -"You can see just how the murderer worked," he said. "He attacked Miss -Hesketh here, burst out of the darkness on her and killed her with one -blow--you remember there was no sign either about her or the -surroundings of a struggle--and almost immediately heard the Doctor's -auto horn. We can place that by the scream the Bohemian woman heard." - -"Do you think he was there when the Doctor passed?" I asked. - -"Of course he was. He hadn't had time to arrange the body. That was done -after the Doctor had gone by--done after the moon came out. Reddy said -it was as bright as day when he got there. By that brightness the -murderer did the work of concealment." - -I stepped back into the mud and looked down to where the Firehill Road -entered the turnpike a few yards farther on. - -"He must have heard Mr. Reddy's horn before the car came in sight. By -that time he had probably finished and stolen away." - -"I don't think so," said Babbitts. "He couldn't have done it without -some noise and Reddy, who was listening and watching for Sylvia, was -positive there wasn't a sound. That human devil was back among the -bushes when Reddy's car came round the turn. And he must have stayed -there--afraid to move--watching Reddy, first as he waited, then as he -slowly ran back and forth. God, what a situation--one man looking for -the woman he loved, her murderer hidden a few yards from him, and -between them both her dead body!" - -I seemed to see it: the road bathed in moonlight, the murderer huddled -down in the black shadow, and Reddy in the car looking now this way and -now that, expecting her to come. How terribly still it must have been, -not a sound except the rustling of the withered leaves. I could imagine -the light from the racer's lamps, shooting out in two long yellow rays, -showing every rut and ridge, so that that grim watching face had to draw -down lower still in the darkness of the underbrush. Did he know who -Reddy was waiting for? What did he feel when the auto moved and one -swerve sideways would have sent those yellow rays over the heap of -branches on the grass? As Babbitts said, he must have been afraid to -move, must have cowered there and seen the racer glide away and then -come back; and still bent behind the network of twigs have watched the -man at the wheel, as he looked up and down the road, waited and -listened, every now and then sounding the horn, that broke into the -silence like a weird, hollow cry. - -"Oh, come on," I said suddenly, seizing Babbitts' arm. "Let's go up to -Cresset's where it's bright and cheerful." - -We had a lovely time at Cresset's. My, but they were a nice family! -Farmer Cresset, a big, kind, jolly man and his two sons, splendid, -sun-burned chaps, and his little daughter, as fresh as a peach and as -shy as a kitten. I loved them all, and Mrs. Cresset best. She made me -think of my mother, not that she looked like her, but I guess because -she had something about her that's about all women who've had families -they loved. - -They gave us tea and cake and they joked Babbitts good and hard about -coming out there and pretending to be a tourist. - -"Never mind, son," Farmer Cresset said, "you got it out of the old -woman. I couldn't make her tell; seemed like she thought she'd be -arrested for the crime if she up and confessed about that feller." - -It was getting on for evening when we left to go to the Wayside Arbor. -We'd planned to have our supper there and then go back by the branch -line, catching a train at the Crossing at eight-thirty. The Cressets -were real sorry to have us go, especially there. - -"It ain't a nice place," said Mrs. Cresset, as she kissed me good-bye, -"but we're hoping to see it cleared out soon. Tom's stirring Heaven and -earth to get Hines' license revoked." - -"I guess Heaven's lending a hand," said the farmer, "for I hear Hines' -business is bad since the fatality. We've a lot of foreign labor round -here and they're mighty superstitious and are giving his place the -go-by." - -It was dark when we saw the lights of the Wayside Arbor, shining out -across the road. We'd expected a moon to light us home, but the clouds, -though they weren't as thick as they had been, were all broken up into -little bits over the sky, like Heaven was paved with them. - -The Arbor was quiet as we stepped up and opened the bar door, and there, -just like on the night of the murder, was Hines, sitting by the stove -reading a newspaper. He jumped up quick and greeted us very cordial and -you could see he was glad to get a customer. He sure was a tough looking -specimen with a gray stubble all over his chin, and a dirty sweater -hanging open over a dirtier shirt that had no collar and was fastened -with a fake gold button that left a black mark on his neck. If I thought -his looks were bad that day in the summer I thought they were worse now, -for he seemed more down and dispirited than he was then. - -We asked him if we could have supper and he went out, calling to Mrs. -Hines, and we could hear someone clattering down the stairs and then a -whispering going on in the hall. When he came back he said they'd get us -a cold lunch, but they didn't keep a great deal on hand, seeing as how -they hadn't much call for meals at that season. - -You could see that was true. I never was in such a miserable, -poverty-stricken hole. Leaving Babbitts talking to Hines in the bar, I -went back into the dining-room, a long, shabby place that crossed the -rear of the house. It was as dingy as the rest of it, with the paper all -smudged and peeling off the walls and worn bits of carpet laid over the -board floor. At the back two long windows looked out on the garden. -Glancing through these I could see the arch of the arbor, with the wet -shining on the tables and a few withered leaves trembling on the vines. - -When I turned back to the room I got a queer kind of scare--a thing I -would have laughed at anywhere else, but in that house on that night it -turned me creepy. There was a long, old-fashioned mirror on the opposite -wall with a crack going straight across the middle of it. As I caught my -reflection in it, I raised my head, wanting to get the effect of my new -hat, and it brought the crack exactly across my neck. Believe me I -jumped and then stood staring, for it looked just as if my throat was -cut! Then I moved away from it, pulling up my collar, ashamed of myself -but all the same keeping out of range of the mirror. - -In the bar I could hear the voices of Babbitts and Hines, Hines droning -on like a person who's complaining. From behind a door at the far end of -the room came a noise of crockery and pans and then a woman's voice, -peevish and scolding, and another woman's answering back. I don't think -I ever was in a place that got on my nerves so and what with the cold of -the room--it was like a barn with no steam and the stove not lit--I sat -all hunched up in my coat thinking of Sylvia Hesketh coming _there_ for -shelter! - -Suddenly the door at the end of the room opened and Mrs. Hines came in. -She was the match of it all, with her red nose and her little watery -eyes and her shoes dropping off at every step so you could hear the -heels rapping on the boards where the carpet stopped. She began talking -in a whining voice, and as she set the table, told me how the business -had gone off, and they didn't know what they were going to do. - -Her hands, all chapped and full of knots like twigs, smoothed out the -cloth and put on the china so listless it made you tired to look at -them. It was better talking to her than sitting dumb with no company but -dismal thoughts, so I encouraged her and between her trailings into the -kitchen and her trailings out I heard all about their affairs. - -For a while after the murder they'd done a lot of business--it made me -sort of shrivel up to see she didn't mind that; anything that brought -trade was all the same to her--but now, nothing was doing. Only a few -automobiles stopped there and the farmhands had dropped off, so their -custom hardly counted. And Tecla Rabine, the Bohemian servant, who was a -first-class girl, if she did have grouchy spells, had got so slack she'd -have to be fired, and she, Mrs. Hines, didn't see how she was to get -another one what with the low wages and the lonesomeness. - -She trailed off into the kitchen again and I could hear her snapping at -someone and that other woman's voice growling back. I supposed it was -Tecla Rabine, though it didn't sound like her, my memory of her at the -inquest being of a fat, good-natured thing that wouldn't have growled at -anybody. And then the door was opened with one swift kick and Tecla came -in, carrying a plate of bread in one hand and a platter with ham on it -in the other. She didn't look grouchy at all, but gave me that broad, -silly sort of smile I remembered and put the things down on the table! - -"Well, Tecla," I asked for something to say, "how are _you_ getting on?" - -"Ach!" she answered disgusted, and pounded over the creaky floor to a -cupboard out of which she took some dishes. "Me? I get out. What for do -I stay? No luck here, no money. Who comes--nobody. Everything goes on -the blink." - -She put the things on the table and then stood looking at me, squinting -up her little eyes and with her big body, in a dirty white blouse and a -skirt that didn't meet it at the waist, slouched up against the table. - -"I heard business was bad," I said, and thought that in spite of her -being such a coarse, fat animal, she was rosy and healthy looking, which -was more than you could say for the other two. - -"What do I get?" she said, spreading out her great red hands, "not a -thing. Maybe five, ten cents. Every long time maybe a quarter. Since -that lady gets killed all goes bad. The dagoes say 'evil eye.' They walk -round the house that way," she made a half-circle in the air with her -arm, "looking at it afraid. Me, too, I don't like it." - -"It sure is awful dismal," I agreed. - -"No good," she said. "Last year this time all the room -full--to-night--_one_ man"--she held up a finger in the air--"one only -man, and he have lost what makes us to laugh. When I see him, I say, -'Hein, Tito, good luck now you come. Make the bear to dance.' And he -says this way"--she hunched up her shoulders and pushed out her hands -the way the Guineas do--"'Oh, Gawda, there is no more bear; he makes -dead long time.'" - -"Bear?" I said, and then I remembered. "You mean the one that went round -with the acrobats. It's dead, is it?" - -Tecla nodded. - -"Gone dead in the country. And he says he starve now with no bear to get -pennies. The boss says we all starve, and gave him a drink and cheese -and bread. Ach!"--she shook her head, as if the loss of the bear was the -last straw--"I no can stand it--nothing doing, no money, no more -laughs--I quit." - -I didn't blame her. If you gave me two hundred a month I wouldn't have -stayed there. - -Just then Babbitts came in and we began our supper; cold ham and stale -bread and coffee that I know was the morning's heated over. Tecla went -into the kitchen and I said to him, low and guarded: - -"What's Hines been saying to you?" - -He answered in the same key: - -"Oh, putting up a hard luck story. Cresset needn't bother. He wants to -pull up stakes and go West." - -"Will they let him?" - -"That's one of the things he's been talking about. He says if he makes a -move it'll look suspicious, and if he stays he'll be ruined. He -certainly is up against it." - -I shot a glance from the kitchen to the bar door and then leaned across -the table, almost whispering: - -"I don't see that our investigations have got us anything but a bad -supper." - -"Neither do I," he whispered back. "The place looks like a stage setting -for The Bandits' Den, but the people don't impress me that way at all." - -The kitchen door swung back and Mrs. Hines came in with a pumpkin pie -that tasted like it was baked for Thanksgiving. She hovered round, -fussing about us and joining in the conversation. You could see she was -hungry for someone to talk to. Both she and her husband impressed me -that way, as if they were most crazy with the dreariness of the place, -and were ready to fasten on anybody who'd speak civil to them and listen -to their troubles. - -Before we left, Babbitts went into the bar to settle up and I, -remembering Tecla's complaints, called her in from the kitchen and -fished a quarter out of my new purse. She was as pleased as a child, -grinning all over, and wanting to shake hands with me, which I hated but -couldn't avoid. - -When we were once more in the road I gave a gasp of relief. I felt as if -I'd crept out from under a shadow, that was gradually sinking into me, -down to the marrow of my bones. The night was cold, but a different -kind; fresh and clear, the smell of the damp fields in the air, and the -country quiet and peaceful. - -We had a good two miles before us and stepped out lively. It was dark; -the clouds mottled over the sky; and in one place, where the moon was -hidden, a little brightness showing through the cracks. Babbitts said he -thought they'd break and that we'd have the moonlight on our way back. - -All around us the landscape stretched black and still. When you got -accustomed to it, you could see the outlines of the hills against the -sky, one darkness set against another, and the line of the road showing -faint between the edgings of bushes. We couldn't hear anything but our -own footsteps, soft and padding because of the mud, and off and on the -rustling of the twigs as I brushed against them. I don't remember ever -being out on a quieter night, and there was something lovely and -soothing about it after that horrible house. - -We hadn't gone far--about ten minutes, I should think--when I suddenly -clasped my wrist and felt that my purse was gone. I had taken it off to -give Tecla the quarter and I remember I'd laid it on the supper table -when she made me shake hands. - -"Oh dear!" I said, stopping short. "What shall I do--I've left my purse -there." - -Babbitts stared at me through the dark. - -"At Hines'?" - -"Yes, on the supper table. And it's new, I'd only just bought it. Oh, I -_can't_ lose it." - -"You needn't. We've time, but you'll have to hit up the pace. Come on -quick--that's not just the place I'd select to leave a purse in." - -He turned to go but I stood still. I hated going back there and it was -lovely walking slowly along through the sharp chill air and the peaceful -night. - -"You go," I said, coaxing. "I'll saunter on and you can catch me up." - -"Don't you mind being alone? Aren't you afraid?" - -"Afraid?" I gave a laugh. "I'm much more afraid in that queer joint. -Besides, I can't go as fast as you can and whatever happens we've got to -catch that train." - -"If you don't mind that's the best plan. I'll run both ways." - -"Then hustle and I'll walk on slowly. But come whether you find the -purse or not, for that's the last train to the Junction to-night, and we -mustn't lose it." - -"Right you are, and we won't lose anything, the train or the purse. I'll -make it a rush order. Go slow till I come." - -He turned and went off at a run and I walked on. At first I could hear -the thud of his feet quite plainly and then the sound was suddenly -deadened and I knew he was on the moist turf by the roadside. The -silence closed down around me like a black curtain that seemed to be -shutting me off from the rest of the world. I walked on slowly, -gathering my skirts up from the wet and the twigs, as noiseless as a -shadow in the dark of the trees. - -I don't know how much further I went, but not very far because I could -just make out the line of the Firehill Road curving down between the -fields, when I heard behind me a fitful, stealthy rustling in the -bushes. - - - - -XVII - - -In beginning this chapter, which is going to end my story of the Hesketh -Mystery, I want to say right here that I'm no coward. The reason that -things happened as they did was that I was worn out--more than I -knew--by the strain and excitement of the last two months. Also I do -think that most any girl would have lost her nerve if she'd been up -against what I was. - -The gloom of that dreadful Wayside Arbor was still on me as I walked -along with Babbitts. After a few moments I thought it had gone off and -when I told him I wasn't afraid I said what seemed to me the truth. But -when the sound of his footsteps died away, the loneliness crept in on -me, seemed to be telling me something that I didn't want to hear. Down -deep I knew what it was, and that every step was taking me closer to -what I was afraid of--the place where Sylvia Hesketh had been murdered. - -It was when I was peering out ahead, trying to locate it, telling myself -not to be a fool and gathering up my courage, that I heard that faint, -stealthy rustling behind me. - -I stopped dead, listening. I was scared but not clear through yet, for I -knew it might be some little animal, a rabbit or a chipmunk, creeping -through the underbrush. I stood waiting, feeling that I was breathing -fast, and as still as one of the telegraph poles along the road. The -trees hid me completely. A person could have passed close by and not -seen me standing there in my black cloak against the black background. - -Then I heard it again, very soft and cautious, a crackle of branches and -then a wait, and presently--it seemed hours--a crackle of branches -again. I moved forward, stepping on tiptoe, stifling my breath, my head -turned sideways, listening, listening with every nerve. Even then I -wasn't so terribly frightened, but I was shivery, shivery down to my -heart, for I could hear that, whether it was beast or human, it was on -the other side of the trees, just a little way back, going the way I -was. - -It only took a few minutes--me stealing forward and it coming on, now -soft as it stepped on the earth, now with a twig snapping sharp--to tell -me I was being followed. - -When I got that clear, the last of my courage melted away. If it had -been anywhere else, if it hadn't been so dark, if there'd been a house -or a person within call, but, oh, Lord, in that lonesomeness, far off -from everything--it was awful! And the awfullest part was that right -there in front of me, getting nearer every minute, was the place where -another girl had been murdered on a night like this. - -I tried to pull myself together, to remember that Babbitts would be back -soon, but I couldn't stop my heart from beating like a hammer, terrible -thuds up in my throat. Way off through the trees I could see the twinkle -of Cresset's lights and I thought of them there; but it was as if they -were at the other end of the world, too far for me to reach them or for -them to hear my call. - -I don't know why I walked on, but I think it was pure fear. I was afraid -if I stopped that dreadful following thing would overtake me. Once I -tried to look back but I couldn't. I thought I might see it and I stole -forward, now and then stopping and listening and every time hearing the -crackle and snap of the twigs as it crept after me. I could see now the -place where Sylvia was found, the shrubs curving back from the road as -if to leave a space wide enough for her body. - -The sight made me stop and, as I stood there still as a statue, I heard -the sounds behind me get louder, as if a big body was feeling and -pushing its way between the trees, not so careful now, but trampling and -crushing through the interlaced boughs. Then for the first time in my -life I knew what it means when they say your hair stands on end. Down at -the roots of mine there was a stirring all over my head and my heart! It -was banging against my chest, blow after blow, as if it was trying to -break a hole. - -The sky began to brighten. I got a sort of impression of those cracks in -the clouds parting and the moonlight leaking through; but I didn't seem -to see it plain, everything in me was turned to terror. The noise behind -me was closer and louder and through it I heard a breathing, deep, -panting breaths, drawn hard. Then I knew if I turned I could have seen -what was following me, seen its awful face, glaring between the branches -and its bent body, crouched, ready to spring. - -It's hard for me to tell what followed--everything came together and I -couldn't see or think. I remember trying to scream, to give one shriek -for Babbitts, and no sound coming, and that the thing, as if it knew -what I was doing, made a sudden crashing close at my back. The -brightness of the sky flashed in my eyes. I saw the clouds broken open, -and the moon, big and white, whirling round like a silver plate. I tried -to run but the earth rose up in waves and I staggered forward over them, -wave after wave, with the moon spinning close to my eyes, and then -blackness shutting down like the lid of a box. - -The next thing I remember was the sky with clouds all over it and in one -place an opening with a little star as big as a pinhead set in the -middle. I looked at that star for a long time, having a queer feeling -that I was holding on to it and it was pulling me up. Then I felt as if -something was helping the star, a strong support under my shoulders that -raised me still further, and while I seemed to be struggling out of a -darkness like water, I heard Babbitts' voice close to my ear: - -"Thank God, she's coming out of it." - -I turned my head and there was his face close to mine. A strong yellow -light shone on it--afterward I saw it came from a lantern on the -ground--and without speaking I looked into his eyes, and had a lovely -feeling of rest as if I'd found something I was looking for. - -"You're all right?" he said; "you're not hurt?" - -"I'm very well, thank you," I said back, and my voice was like a -whisper. - -The support under my shoulders tightened, drew me up against him, and he -bent down and kissed me. - -We said no more, but stayed that way, looking at each other. I didn't -want to move or speak. I didn't feel anything or care about anything. It -seemed like Babbitts and I were the only two people in the whole world, -as if there _was_ no world, just us, and all the rest nothing. - -After that--he's often told me it was only a minute or two, though if -you'd asked me I'd have said it was hours--I began to look round and -take notice. I heard queer sounds as if someone was groaning in pain, -and saw the shrubs and grass plain by the light of two lanterns standing -on the ground. Near these was a man, lit up as far as his knees, and -close by him, all crumpled on the earth, another person. The lanterns -threw a bright glow over the upper part of that figure, and I saw the -head and shoulders, the hair with leaves and twigs in it and round the -neck a red bandanna. Then I made out it was a man and that it was from -him the sounds were coming--moans and groans and words in a strange -language. - -"What is it?" I whispered to Babbitts. "What's happened?" - -And he whispered back: - -"I'll tell you later. You're all right--that's all that matters now." - -It was like a dream and I can only tell it that way--me noticing things -in little broken bits, as if I was at the "movies" and kept falling to -sleep, and then woke up and saw a new picture. The man who was standing -turned round and it was Hines. He looked across the road and gave a -shout and others answered it, and lights danced up and down, coming -closer through the dark. Then men came running--Farmer Cresset and his -sons--and behind them Mrs. Hines, with her clothes held up high and her -thin legs like a stork's. I could hear them breathing as they raced up -and one man's voice crying: - -"It's all right, is it? There ain't been no harm done?" - -After that the men were in a group talking low, the lanterns in their -hands sending circles and squares of light over the bushes and the -grass. Presently Farmer Cresset broke away and went to the figure on the -ground. He tried to pull him up, but the man squirmed out of his hand -and fell back like a meal sack, his face to the earth, the moans coming -from him loud and awful. - -After a while they put me on something long and hard with a bundle under -my head and took me away up the road and through the woods. It was dark -and no one said anything, the Cresset boys carrying what I was on and -Babbitts walking alongside. As we started I heard someone say the Farmer -would stay with Hines and "communicate with the authorities." And then -we went swinging off under the trees, the footsteps of the men squashing -in the mud. Soon there were lights twinkling through the branches, and -just as I saw them and heard a dog bark, and a woman call out, my heart -faded away again and that blackness swept over me. - -I didn't know till afterwards how long I was sick--weeks it was--lying -in Mrs. Cresset's spare room with that blessed woman caring for me like -her own daughter. No people in this world were ever better to another -than that family was to me. And others were good--it takes sickness and -trouble to make you value human nature--for when I got desperate bad Dr. -Fowler came over and took a hand. Mrs. Cresset herself told me that -respecting Dr. Graham as she did, she thought I'd never have come -through if Dr. Fowler hadn't given himself right up to it, staying in -the house for two days the time I was worst. And not a cent would he -ever take for it, only a pair of bed slippers I knitted for him while I -was getting better. - -It was not till I was well along on the upgrade that I heard what -happened on that gruesome night. I was still in bed, sitting up in a -pink flannel jacket that Anne Hennessey gave me, with the sunlight -streaming in through the windows and a bunch of violets scenting up the -room. Babbitts had brought them and it was he that told me, sitting in a -rocker by the bedside and speaking very quiet and gentle so as not to -give me any shock. For without my knowledge, just like an instrument of -fate, it was I that had solved the Hesketh mystery. - -Neither man nor woman had killed Sylvia Hesketh. The murderer was the -dancing bear. - -The man they found on the ground beside me that night was its owner, -Tito Malti, the dago I had seen nearly three months before making the -bear dance at Longwood, and the man Babbitts and I had seen that -afternoon on the hill. Hines and Farmer Cresset carried him--he was -unable to walk at first--to the Wayside Arbor and in the bar there he -told them his story. - -He had been associated with the acrobats for several years, working over -the country with them during the summer and lying up in small towns for -the winter. That spring, when the company went out on their tour, he had -noticed that his bear (he called it Bruno and spoke of it like a human) -showed signs of bad temper. It was a big strong beast, but was getting -old and a viciousness that it had always had was growing on it. He kept -quiet about it as he hoped to get through the season without trouble and -knew, if the company thought it was dangerous, they wouldn't stand for -having it around. All the summer he wandered with them, guarding the -bear carefully, never leaving it unmuzzled, and sleeping beside it at -night. - -Toward the end of the season it began to grow worse. It had tried to -attack one of the acrobats and there had been a quarrel. He saw he'd -have to part from them, but they patched up the fight and he stayed on -for their last performance at Longwood, where the business was always -good. - -After that they separated, the company going into winter quarters at -Bloomington and Malti telling them he would take Bruno across country -and make a little extra money at the farms and villages. He did intend -to do this but he really wanted to get off by himself, watch the animal, -and try and gain his old control over it. - -He started, working round by the turnpike, letting Bruno perform when he -seemed good tempered, but a good part of the time being afraid to. In -this way he made enough money to keep himself, sleeping when the nights -were bad, in barns and on the lee side of hayricks, the bear chained to -him. - -On the night of the murder he had got round as far as the Wayside Arbor. -His intention had been to take his supper there--he knew the place -well--and have the bear dance for the Italian customers. But by the time -he reached the Arbor he didn't dare. For some days Bruno had been sullen -and savage--that afternoon Malti had had to beat him with the -iron-spiked staff he always carried. The poor man said he was half crazy -with fright and misery. He told Hines and Cresset, who said he was as -simple as a young child, that what between his fear of getting into -trouble with the authorities and his fear of losing the bear which was -all he had in the world, he was distracted. - -In the afternoon he had begged some food at a farm and with this in his -pocket he tracked across the fields and woods to the turnpike near the -Firehill Road. Here--it being a lonely spot--he sat down in the shade of -the trees that hid him from the highway and ate his supper. As he had -been on the tramp for days he was dropping with fatigue and, seeing the -bear seemed quiet, he stretched out and with the chain in his hand, had -fallen asleep. - -He was wakened by a scream--the most awful he had ever heard. Half -asleep as he was, he leaped to his feet, feeling in the dark for the -chain. It was gone and the bear with it. - -The scream had come from the other side of the trees. With his staff in -his hand he burst through them and in the darkness saw dimly the shape -of that fearful, great beast reared upon its hind legs, with a black -thing lying at its feet. He yelled and struck it in the face with the -staff and it dropped down to all fours, growling and terrible, but as if -the sound of his voice and the blows had cowed it. Then he grabbed for -the chain, moving along the ground like a snake, and holding it, knelt -and looked at the black thing--the thing the scream had come from. - -He raised it and saw the faint white of the face and hands and felt by -the clothes it was a woman. He knew the way an enraged bear -attacks--rising up to its hind legs and giving a blow with its paw, a -blow that if the body it strikes is unprotected, can break bones and -tear muscles out of their place. In the dark he felt the woman till his -hand came on the trickle of blood on her face. That told him the brute -had struck at her head, and sick and trembling, he lit a match and held -it low over her. The hat had protected her from the claws; without it -they would have torn through the scalp like the teeth of a rake. But -when he saw her face and felt of her pulse, he knew that that savage -blow had broken her skull and she was dead. - -At first he was too paralyzed to think, kneeling there beside her with -the bear crouched at the end of his chain, not stirring as if it was -scared at what it had done. Then the horn of the Doctor's auto woke him -and, clutching the body, he drew back into the shadow. The car passed at -furious speed, its noise drowning any sound that that strange and awful -group might have made. Shaking in every limb he laid his burden on the -grass and tried to compose it, putting back the hat which was torn off, -but was caught to the hair by its long pin. - -While he was doing this the clouds broke and he was drawing the coat -about her when the moon came out bright as day. By its light he saw the -pearl necklace and in his own words, "All the badness in his heart came -up into his head." - -When he told that part of his story he wrung his hands and sobbed, -declaring over and over that he was an honest man and a good Catholic. -Never before had he stolen, though often he had gone cold and hungry. -But he knew now that he must kill the bear, and then he would be left an -old man without a penny or any way to earn one. "And the pearls," he -moaned out, "what are they to the dead? And to me, who must live, they -mean riches forever." - -He said his hands shook so he couldn't find the clasp and to get at it -he pulled open the coat. And then he gave a cry and drew back like he -was burnt, for there on the breast of the dead woman, sparkling like a -thing of fire, was the cross. - -Babbitts said the two men were greatly impressed by the way he acted -when he told this. The perspiration broke out on his face and he crossed -himself, bowing his head and shuddering. "It was God's voice," he -whispered. "It said: 'Stop, Tito; hold your hand. No man can rob the -dead.'" - -So he closed the coat, folded the arms across the chest and covered all -with branches he found in a pile near by. As he moved about the bear -watched him, not stirring, as if it knew it was guilty and was waiting -to see what he would do to it. - -When the work was finished the two of them stole away, as noiseless as -shadows. His head was clear enough to think of the footprints and he -kept on the grass till he was near the Firehill Road. He was approaching -this when he heard Reddy's horn, and with the bear following, he slipped -through a break in the trees into the open space beyond. Here, huddled -into the blackness under the boughs, he saw the car swing past. It went -a little way down the road and then stopped and stood for what seemed to -him a long time, every now and then the horn sounding. When it finally -started again he moved on, the bear padding silently beside him. He said -the car came back soon and passed and repassed him a number of times. -Each time he was ready for it, the noise and the lamps warning him of -its approach. Crowded up against the bear, he watched it through the -branches, all the road bright in front of it where the lamps threw their -two long shoots of light. - -When they asked him if he wasn't afraid of the bear making some sound he -shook his head and said just like a child: - -"Bruno? No--he is wise like a man. When I look him in the eye I see he -knows he is a murderer and must die, and it makes him very quiet." - -He had made up his mind to kill Bruno. As he told the men about it the -tears ran down his face, for he said the bear was like his brother. When -Reddy had gone, he made off, Bruno walking at the end of the chain -behind him, both keeping to the grass edges of the fields. All night -they walked, those two--and strange they must have looked slipping -across the moonlit spaces, two black shadows moving over the -lonesomeness, not a sound from either of them, one leading the other to -his execution. - -At dawn they entered the woods. There, when the light was clear enough -to see, that poor, scared dago killed the bear with the knife he had -carried all summer. The rest of the day he spent scooping a grave for -him. When he told how he dragged the great body into the hole and -covered it with earth, he put his hands over his face, rocking back and -forth, and crying like a baby. - -After that he went to Bloomington and joined the acrobats, telling them -the bear had died. They thought no more about it and welcomed him back, -sharing their quarters with him and promising him a place with them in -the summer. - -But his knowledge of the crime haunted him. Like all those dagoes, he -was superstitious and full of queer notions. Babbitts said he was as -ignorant as the animal he was so fond of, seeming to think as they -couldn't hang the bear they might hang him in its place. He wanted to go -to the priest and confess, but when he heard people talking of the -murder he was afraid. After a while he couldn't eat or sleep and the -torment of his terror and remorse was like to drive him crazy. - -Finally he couldn't stand it any more and got the idea that if he could -go back to the place and offer up prayers there he might get some -relief. He told the acrobats he was going to hunt for work on a farm, -left Bloomington and once again walked across the country. - -It was night when he reached the region he was bound for, and feeling -too weak and sick to go straight to the spot, he went to the Wayside -Arbor to beg for food which would give him strength to bear the task he -had set himself. They gave him what he asked for and he took it to his -old nook under the trees and there in the cold and dark ate ravenously. -Then, just as on that other night, he lay down and the sleep that had -left him for so long came back to him. - -He never heard us pass, but I guess without his knowing it we wakened -him, for he said he was sitting up, rubbing his eyes, when he heard -Babbitts' footsteps as he ran back to the inn. - -He listened and, making sure no one else was on the road, got up and -began to steal cautiously forward. He felt sure that God would hear his -prayers after he had walked so far and his misery had been so great. - -I guess the poor thing was about all in, and was as scared when he came -near the place as I was. Of course he had no idea I was in front of him -and wasn't following me as I thought. With the trees between, both of us -were making for the same spot, the only difference being that while I -heard him he never heard me. - -What he saw when he broke through the hedge would have terrified anyone, -let alone a man in the state he was. For there, just as he had last seen -her, lay a woman in a black coat with the moonlight shining on her dead -white face--a ghost waiting to accuse him. - -They say the shriek he gave was the most awful that man ever heard. -Babbitts, who was on his way back, said it sounded like it came from a -lost soul in Hell. He tried to yell back, but couldn't and ran like a -madman, and when he got there saw me lying as if I was dead in the -moonlight and a wild, screaming figure crouched on the ground beside me. -The two Hines heard it. Hines picked up a lantern and ran with Mrs. -Hines at his heels. When he came up he found Babbitts kneeling over me, -half crazy, thinking I was murdered, too. They felt my pulse and found -it was going and sent Mrs. Hines on the run to Cresset's. She lit out, -calling and crying as she flew through the woods, and met the Cresset -crowd, hiking along with their lanterns, having heard her and not -knowing _what_ had happened. - -Well--that's the end of my story. Oh, I forgot the reward--_I_ got it. I -oughtn't to have for I didn't do anything but fall in a faint, which was -the easiest thing I could do. But Mrs. Fowler and the Doctor wouldn't -have it any other way, so I gave in. Not that I didn't want to. Believe -me, Jew or Gentile gets weak when ten thousand dollars is pressed into -her palm. It's invested and I get good interest on it, but I'm saving -that up. You never can tell what may happen in this world. - -As to the rest of us--the bunch that in one way or another were drawn -into the Hesketh mystery--we're all scattered now. - -Jack Reddy's not living at Firehill any more. He's taken an apartment in -town where the two old Gilseys look after him like he was their only -son, and he's studying law in Mr. Whitney's office. Sometimes Sunday he -comes to see us, just as cordial and kind and handsome as ever, and it's -I that'll be glad when he tells me he's found the right girl--God bless -him! - -Cokesbury Lodge is sold and Cokesbury's living in town, too. They say -his part in the Hesketh case sort of finished him. High society wouldn't -stand for it, which shows you can't believe all you hear about the idle -rich. I've heard that he's seen round a lot with an actress-lady and one -of the papers had it he was going to marry her. - -The Fowlers went to Europe. They're living in Paris now and I hear from -Anne Hennessey, who corresponds with Mrs. Fowler, that they're going to -reside there. Anyway, Jim Donahue told me last time I was down at -Longwood that Mapleshade was to let. - -Annie's got a new job in town, on Fifth Avenue, grand people who never -quarrel. She dines with us most every Sunday and we sit till all hours -talking over the past, like people who've been in some great disaster -and when they get together always drift back to the subject. - -Me?--you want to know about me? - -Well, I'm living uptown on the West Side in the cutest little flat in -New York--five rooms, on a corner, all bright and sunny. And furnished! -Say, I wish I could show them to you. When Mrs. Fowler broke up she gave -me a lot of the swellest things. Why, I've got a tapestry in the parlor -that cost five hundred dollars and cut glass you couldn't beat on Fifth -Avenue. - -It's on 125th Street, near the Subway. We had to be near that for -Himself--he likes to stay as late as he can in the morning and get up as -quick as he can at night. If you're passing that way any time, just drop -in. I'd love to see you and have you see my place--and me, too. You'll -see the name on the letter-box--Morganthau? Oh, quit your kidding--it's -_Babbitts_ now. - - - -THE END - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL AT CENTRAL *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35503 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth in the -General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to copying and -distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) electronic works to protect the -Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and trademark. 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