Find the Woman
Page 26
XXVI
Hand pressed against her bosom, Clancy stared into the dining-room. Shecould not breathe as she waited for Carey's reply to his visitor'scharge. So Don Carey had possessed a key to the office of Morris Beiner!The theatrical man had been locked in his office when Clancy had madeher escape from the room by way of the window. The door had not beenforced. And Don Carey had possessed a key!
For a moment, she thought, with pity, of the woman up-stairs, the womanwho had befriended her, whose life had been shadowed by her husband. Butonly for a moment. She herself was wanted for this murder; her eyes werehard as she stared into the room.
Carey's fingers reached out aimlessly. They fastened finally upon ahalf-drained glass.
_"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" Careydemanded_]
"Who's going to believe that kind of yarn?" he demanded.
"I can prove it all right," said the other.
"Well, even if you can prove it, what then?"
His visitor shrugged.
"You seemed worried about it a minute ago," he said. "Oh, there ain't nouse tryin' to kid me, I know what I know. It all depends on you who Itell it to. I ain't a mean guy." His voice became whining. "I ain't atrouble-maker. I can keep my trap closed as well as any one. When," headded significantly, "there's enough in it for me."
"And you think you can blackmail me?" demanded Carey. His attempt atrighteous indignation sounded rather flat. The elevator-man lost hiswhine; his voice became sulkily hard.
"Sticks and stones won't break no bones," he said. "Call it what youplease. I don't care--so long as I get mine."
Carey dropped his pretense of indignation.
"Well, there's no need of you shouting," he said. He rose to his feet,assisting himself with a hand on the edge of the table.
"My wife's up-stairs," he said. "No need of screaming so she'll bebutting in again. Shut that door."
Clancy leaped back. She gained the stairs in a bound. She crouched downupon them, hoping that the banisters would shield her. But no pryingeyes sought her out. One of the two men in the room closed thedining-room door.
For a minute after it was shut, Clancy remained crouching. She had to_think_. A dozen impulses raced through her mind. To telephoneVandervent, the judge? To run out upon the street and call for apoliceman? As swiftly as they came to her, she discarded them. She hadbegun to glean in recent days something of what was meant by the word"evidence." And she had none against Carey. Not yet!
But she could get it! She _must_ get it! Sitting on the stairs,trembling--with excitement now, not fear--Clancy fought for clarity ofthought. What to do? There must be some one correct thing, some actiondemanded by the situation that later on would cause her to marvelbecause it had been overlooked. But what was it?
She could not think of the correct thing to do. The elevator-man knewsomething. He was the same man who had identified her to Spofford, theplain-clothes man. The man assuredly knew the motive that lay behind therequest for identification. And now, having told a detective things thatmade Clancy Deane an object of grave suspicion, the man was blandly--hewas mentally bland, if not orally so--blackmailing Don Carey.
Yet Clancy did not disbelieve her ears merely because what she heardsounded incredible. Nor did she, because she believed that theelevator-man had proof of another's guilt, delude herself with the ideathat her own innocence was thereby indisputably shown. Her firstimpulse--to telephone Vandervent--returned to her now. But she dismissedit at once, this time finally.
For a man who brazenly pointed out one person to the police whileendeavoring to blackmail another was not the sort of person tamely toblurt out confession when accused of his double-dealing. She had nothingon which to base her accusation of Carey save an overheard threat. Theman who had uttered it had only to deny the utterance. Up-stairs wasSophie Carey, torn with anguish, beaten by life and its injustices. Thehardness left her eyes again. If she could only be sure that she herselfwould escape, she would be willing, for Sophie's sake, to forget whatshe had overheard.
She heard Sophie's voice whispering hoarsely to her from the landingabove.
"Miss Deane, Miss Deane!" Then she saw Clancy. Her voice rose, inalarm, above a whisper. "Has he--did he--dare----"
Clancy rose; she ran up the stairs.
"No, no; of course not!" she answered. "I--I twisted my ankle." It was akindly lie.
It was, Clancy thought, characteristic of Sophie Carey that she forgother own unhappiness in sympathy for Clancy. The older woman threw an armabout the girl.
"Oh, my dear! You poor thing----"
"It's all right," said Clancy. She withdrew, almost hastily, from theembrace. Postpone it though she might, she was going to bring disgraceupon the name of Carey. She _had_ to--to save herself. She could notendure the other's caress now.
"Who was it?" asked Mrs. Carey.
Clancy averted her eyes.
"I don't know," she said. "I---- The door was closed."
"It doesn't matter," said the older woman. "I--I--I'm nervous. Don isso----" Her speech trailed away into a long sigh. The deep respirationseemed to give her strength. She straightened up. "I'm getting old, I'mafraid. I can't bear my troubles as easily as I used to. I want to forcesome one to share them with me. You are very kind, Miss Deane. Now----"
She had preceded Clancy into her bedroom. From a desk, she took a slipof paper and a ring from which dangled several keys.
"We're all ready to go," she said. "It only remains to check up myinventory. But I'm quite sure that we can trust you and SallyHenderson"--her smile was apparently quite unforced--"not to cheat us.If there are any errors in my list, Sally can notify me."
She handed Clancy the paper and key-ring. As she did so, the door-bellrang.
Almost simultaneously the door to the dining-room could be heardopening. A moment later, Carey called.
"Ragan's here," he shouted. His voice was surly, like that of a petulantchild forced to do something undesirable. Clancy thought that there wasmore than that in it, that there was the quaver that indicates panic.But Mrs. Carey, who should have been sensitive to any vocal discords inher husband's voice, showed no signs of such sensitiveness.
"Ready in a moment. Send him up," she called.
Ragan was a burly, good-natured Irishman. He grinned at Mrs. Carey'sgreeting. Here was a servant who adored his mistress, Clancy felt.
"Ready to go to the country, Ragan?" asked Mrs. Carey.
The big man's grin was sufficient answer.
"Ragan," said Mrs. Carey to Clancy, "is the most remarkable man in theworld. He can drive a car along Riverside Drive at forty-five miles anhour without being arrested, and he can wait on table like no one elsein the world. How's Maria?" she asked him.
"Sure, she's fine," said Ragan. "She's at the station now."
"Where we'll be in ten minutes," said his mistress. She indicatedseveral bags, already packed. Ragan shouldered them. He starteddown-stairs. Mrs. Carey turned to Clancy. "Hope an empty house doesn'tmake you nervous," she smiled.
Clancy shook her head. "I'll not be here long, anyway. And isn't yourmaid here?"
"I think she's gone by now," said Mrs. Carey. "But she'll sleep eachnight here--until you've found me a tenant. For that matter, she'll beback early this afternoon--to wash dishes and such matters." She was nota person to linger over departures. Her husband had sulkily donned hatand coat and was standing in the hall down-stairs, waiting for her.
So Mrs. Carey held out her hand to Clancy.
"Wish I could ask you to week-end with us sometime, but I don't supposethat the country, in winter-time, means anything in your young life."She seemed to put the statement as a question, almost pleadingly.Impulsively, Clancy answered her.
"Ask me sometime, and find out if it does."
"I'll do that," said Mrs. Carey. "Coming, Don," she called. Her handclasped Clancy's a moment, and then she trotted down the stairs. Thedoor banged behind them.
A thought came to Clancy. She raised her voice and call
ed. But the doorwas thick. The Careys could not hear. Frightened, she raced down-stairs.As she passed the dining-room door, she glanced through the opening.Then fear died from her. She had been afraid that the elevator-man fromthe Heberworth Building still remained in the house. But, when she hadseen him talking to Don Carey, his hat and coat were lying on a chair.They were gone now.
Still---- Sudden anger swept over her. This lying, blackmailing thing tofrighten Clancy Deane? Anger made her brave to rashness. From thefireplace in the dining-room she picked up a short heavy poker. If hewere lurking anywhere in this house, if Don Carey, fearful lest his wifenote the sort of person who paid him morning visits, had hidden the manaway, she, Clancy Deane, would rout him out. She'd make him tell the_truth_!
Through the dining-room, into the butler's pantry beyond, through thekitchen, to the head of the cellar stairs she marched, holding the pokerbefore her. Her fingers found a switch: the cellar was flooded withlight. Without the least timidity, Clancy descended.
But the elevator-man was not there. And as in this tiny house there wasbut one flight of stairs leading to the upper stories, Clancy knew thatthe man was not in the house. She suffered reaction. What might havebeen her fate had she found the man hiding here?
Like all women, Clancy feared the past more than the future. She fearedit more than the present. She sank down upon the stairs outside thedining-room. Why, the man might have _shot_ her! What good would herpoker have been, pitted against a revolver? And, with the Careys up inthe country somewhere, she might have lain here, weltering in hergore--she'd read that somewhere, and grinned as she mentally said it.
Well, she might as well begin the inventory of Mrs. Carey's householdeffects. But she was not to begin it yet. Some one rang the door-bell.
No weakness assailed Clancy's knees now. Indeed, it never occurred toher that the caller might be any other than the post-man. And so sheopened the front door and met the lowering gaze of Spofford,Vandervent's plain-clothes man.