IX
The finding of the gold purse established the fact that part, anyway, ofthe Doctor's story was true--the woman who had gone down to the junctionand then disappeared _had_ disappeared in his auto. Was she SylviaHesketh?
The general verdict was yes--Sylvia Hesketh, for some unknown reason,running away from her lover and her home. All the world knew now thatshe was wild and unstable, a girl that might take any whim into her headand act on the spur of the moment. There were theories to burn why sheshould have thrown down Reddy and slipped away alone, but those thatknew 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 themarketing and stopped at the Exchange. The room was empty but even so Ihad 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 tookSylvia'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 ofanswering. This last seems to have roused her. She knows now it's goingto be a fight for her husband's liberty, perhaps his life. She'semploying Mills and some other detectives and she keeps in close touchwith them."
The next day the reward was made public. It was in all the papers andnailed up at the depot and in the post office, the words printed inblack, 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 theLongwood Inn, but it was the first time that day I'd seen him and afterour supper together I'd begun to feel real chummy with him. Contrary tohis usual custom he was short and preoccupied, giving me a numberwithout more words and then banging shut the door of the booth. It gotme a little riled and seeing he wasn't wasting any manners I didn't seewhy I should, so I lifted the cam and quietly listened in. Not that Iexpected to hear anything very private. The number he'd given was hispaper.
The chap at the other end had a way of grunting, "I got you," no matterwhat was said. I'd heard _him_ before and he had a most unnatural sortof patience about him, as if his spirit was broken forever takingmessages off a wire.
"Say," says Babbitts, "I got a new lead--up country near Hines' place. Ibeen there all morning. There's a farm up that way. Cresset's"--hespelled the name and the other one did his usual stunt--"Good people,years on the soil, self-respecting, stand high. Their house is abouthalf a mile across woods and fields from the Wayside Arbor, lonely witha 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, fatwith a white apron. I said I was a tourist thirsting for a drink ofmilk."
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 andhas held back something which seems important. Her husband's been pryingher 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 sayinghe'd lost his way and wanting to know where he was, and how to get tothe turnpike. She spoke to him from an upper window and couldn't see hisface, the night being dark. All she could make out was that he was largeand wore an overcoat. He told her his auto was in the road back of himand he'd got mixed up in the country lanes. The thing's funny, as thereare 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 andspoke like a gentleman. She gave him the direction and here's whatcaught me--describes his voice as very deep, rich and pleasant, almostthe same words the Longwood telephone girl used to describe the voiceshe overheard speaking to Miss Hesketh Saturday noon."
"Any more?"
"Impossible to identify man but says she'd know the voice again. Hethanked her very politely--she couldn't lay enough stress on how goodhis manners were--and she heard him walk away, splashing through themud."
There were a few ending-up sentences that gave me time to pull out anovel and settle down over it. I seemed so buried in it that whenBabbitts put down his money I never raised my eyes, just swept the coininto the drawer and turned a page. He didn't move, leaning against theswitchboard and not saying a word. With him standing there so close Igot nervous and had to look up, and as soon as I did it he made a motionwith his hand for me to lift my headpiece.
"If two heads are better than one," he said, "two ears must be; and thewords 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 atCresset'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 andhelpful. He didn't smile back but looked and spoke as solemn as anundertaker.
"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'retaking more upon yourself than I'll overlook from a child reporter witha head of hair like the Fair Circassian in Barnum & Bailey's."
"I speak only as one concerned for your health. A walk after businesshours should be the invariable practice of those whose work forbidsexercise."
"Thank you for your interest," says I, very haughty, "but it's well tolook at home before we search abroad. The man who spends all his timeriding in autos at the expense of the Press would be better employedexercising his own limbs than directing those of others. So start rightalong and walk quick."
He didn't budge, but says slow and thoughtful:
"Your remarks, Miss Morganthau, are always to the point. I'm going totake a walk this evening--say about seven-thirty."
"I hope you'll enjoy it," says I. "As for me, I'm going straight home torest. I need it, what with my work and the ginks that stand round heretaking up my time and running the risk of getting me fired"--the doorhandle 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 withmy headpiece in place when the man came in.
We walked up and down Maple Lane for an hour, and it may amuse you toknow that what that simple guy wanted was to tell me to listen to everyvoice on my wires.
I looked at him calm and pitiful. _Me_, that had been listening till, ifyour ears grow with exercise, mine ought to have been long enough to tiein a true lover's knot on top of my head!
There's a wonderful innocence about men in some ways. It makes you feelsorry for them, like they were helpless children.
Then he capped the climax by telling me about Mrs. Cresset thatmorning--hadn't thought I'd heard a word. And as he told it, believingso honest that I didn't know, I began to feel kind of cheap as if I'dlied to someone who couldn't have thought I'd do such a thing. I didn'ttell him the truth--I was too ashamed--but I made a vow no matter howsly I was to the others I'd be on the square with Babbitts. And I'll sayright here that I've made good resolutions and broken them, but that oneI've kept.
There's a little hill part way along the Lane where the road slopes downtoward the entrance of Mapleshade. We stopped here and looked back atthe house lying long and dark among its dark trees. The sky was brightwith stars and by their light you could see the black patches of thewoods and here and there a paler stretch where the land was bare andopen. It was all shadowy and gloomy except where the windows shone outin bright orange squares. I pointed out to Babbitts where Sylvia'swindows 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. Hersitting-room was one of them where Anne had told me she and the Doctoralways 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 Iwas in the Doctor's shoes I'd be pacing up and down, with my CircassianBeauty hair turning white while you waited."
"Yes," I said, nodding. "I'll bet that's what he's doing. I can seethem, surrounded by their riches, jumping every time there's a knock onthe door, thinking that the summons has come."
And that shows you how you never can tell. For at that hour in that roomthe Doctor and Mrs. Fowler were talking to Walter Mills, who had justcome from Philadelphia, bringing them the first ray of hope they'd hadsince the tragedy. It was in the form of a diamond and ruby lavallierethat he had found the day before in a pawn shop and that Mrs. Fowler hadidentified 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 getthe truth out of her. She made a clean breast of it, for she was caughtwith the goods, all the lost jewelry being found in the place where shewas hiding. It sent her to the penitentiary, and her lover, too, forwhom--anyway she said so--she had robbed Sylvia's Hesketh's room on thenight that Sylvia Hesketh disappeared.
If her story threw no light on the murder it exonerated the Doctor, forit 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 thepapers.
For some time she had been planning to rob Sylvia, but was waiting for agood opportunity. This came, when the Doctor, being out of the house,she discovered that an elopement was on foot. She had read Sylvia'sletters, which were thrown carelessly about, and knew of the affair withJack Reddy, and when on Sunday morning she was sent to the village toget a letter from Reddy she guessed what it was. Before giving it toSylvia she went to her own room, opened the envelope with steam from akettle, 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 afew 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 ofimpersonating her mistress, as in that way she could steal some clothes.She secured the jewelry in a pocket hanging from her waist, took somefalse hair that Sylvia wore when the weather was damp, and covered herhead with it, and selected a little automobile hat of which there wereseveral, over all tying a figured black lace veil.
What she particularly wanted was a new Hudson seal coat that had beendelivered a few days before. No one but herself and Miss Hesketh knew ofthis coat as there had been so much quarreling about Sylvia'sextravagance, that the girl often bought clothes without telling. Afterputting 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 andsnatched it up.
All this was done like lightning and she thinks she left the house notmore than twenty or twenty-five minutes after Sylvia. To catch the trainshe had to hurry and she ran up Maple Lane behind the hedge. She wasnearing the village when she heard the whirr of an auto and through thehedge 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 thatthere was only one person in it, Jack Reddy.
She reached the station only a few minutes before the train came in. Asshe had a ticket, she stood at the dark end of the platform, not movinginto the light till the engine was drawing near. Then Jim Donahue sawher and came up, addressing her as Miss Hesketh. She had often tried toimitate Sylvia's voice and accent which she thought very elegant, andshe did so now, speaking carefully and seeing that Jim had no doubt ofher identity. On the ride to the Junction she had only murmured "Goodevening" to Sands, being afraid to say more.
At the Junction she was going to get off, take the branch line toHazelmere and transfer there to the Philadelphia Express. In the women'swaiting-room, which would probably be deserted at that hour, sheintended taking off Sylvia's coat and hair and reappearing as the modestand insignificant lady's maid. She had thought this out in theafternoon, deciding that Sylvia would probably communicate with hermother in the morning and that the theft would then be discovered.Inquiries started for the woman who had been seen on the train wouldlead to nothing, as that woman would have dropped out of sight at theJunction.
Everything worked without a hitch. The waiting-room was empty and shehad ample time to take off the hair and put it in the bag, hang the coatover her arm with the lining turned out, and even pinch the small, softhat into another shape. No one would have thought the woman who wentinto the waiting-room was the woman who came out.
And then came the first mishap--as she opened the door she steppedalmost into Dr. Fowler. She was terror stricken, but even then neitherher luck nor her wits left her, for almost the first sentence he utteredshowed her that he knew of the elopement and gave her a lead what tosay. She must have been a pretty nervy woman the way she jumped at thatlead. Right off the bat she invented the story about being sent bySylvia to Philadelphia--to wait there at the Bellevue-Stratford.
The Doctor was furious and ordered her into his auto. There was nothingfor it but to obey and in she got, sitting in the back. As she wasstepping up, he close beside her, she remembered the gold mesh purseplain in her hand. Like a flash she bent forward and jammed it downbetween the back and seat.
The ride up the Riven Rock Road was just as the Doctor described it. Itwas after the lamp had been broken and he was back in the car startingit up, that she slipped out. She was determined to get away with all herloot and took the bag and coat with her, but between the hurry and fearof the moment forgot the purse.
She wandered through the woods till she saw a small scattering of lightswhich she took for one of the branch line stations. When the dawn cameshe had lost some of her nerve and felt it was too risky to carry theextra 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 thestation. As it was Monday morning there were a lot of laborers, men andwomen, on the platform. She mingled with them, looking like them in hermuddy clothes and tied up head, and got away to Hazelmere without beingnoticed.
She was feeling safe in her furnished room in Philadelphia when she readof the murder in the papers. That scared her almost to death and she layas close as a rabbit in a burrow, afraid to go out and cooking her foodon a gas ring. It was the man she had stolen for who gave her away. Whenshe refused to raise money on the jewels, he stole the lavalliere andpawned it.
Under the trees where she said she'd left them, the police found thecoat and hat. Beside them was the bag stuffed full of lingerie, glovesand silk stockings, and with the false hair crowded down into the insidepocket.
Besides clearing the Doctor her confession threw light on two importantpoints--one that Sylvia had left the house at a little after six, andthe other that Reddy had been at the meeting place at the time he said.
The Girl at Central Page 9
