CHAPTER IX
JACK TELLS THE STORY
With the fitting of the murder on Johnston Barker, the office of Whitney& Whitney drew in its breath, took a cinch in its belt, and went at thework with a quiet, deadly zest. It was the most sensational and one ofthe biggest cases that had ever come their way. No one on the insidecould have failed to feel the thrill of it, the horror of the crime, andthe excitement of the subterranean chase for the criminal.
I was as keen as the rest of them, but there was one feature of thesecret investigations that I detested--the dragging in of CarolWhitehall's name. It couldn't be helped. The affair had taken place inher offices, but it was hateful to me to hear her mentioned in ourconferences, even though it was merely as an outside figure, a person asignorant of the true state of the case as Troop or Mrs. Hansen.
The tapped phone message and the subsequent trip to Rochester had givenme no end of a jar. Up till then I couldn't imagine her as caring forBarker. Everybody admitted that his private life had been beyondreproach--entirely free from entanglements with women--but even so Icouldn't picture the girl I'd met in New Jersey in love with him. He wasbetween fifty and sixty, more than twice her age. George said it was hismoney, but George has lived among the fashionable rich, women who'dmarry an octogenarian for a house on Fifth Avenue and a string ofpearls. I would have staked my last dollar she wasn't that kind--proudand pure as Diana, only giving herself where her heart went first.
But if it had been hard to imagine her as fond of Barker the magnate,what was it now when he was Barker the murderer? It made me sick. All Icould hope for was that we'd get him and save the unfortunate girl byshowing her what he was. And while we were doing this it was up to us tokeep her out of it, shield her and protect her in every possible way.She was a lady, the kind of woman that every man wants to keep alooffrom anything sordid and brutal.
I was thinking this one morning, a few days after our last seance, on myway to the office. I had been detained on work uptown and was late,entering upon a conference of the chief, George and O'Mally. When Iheard what they'd been evolving, I didn't show the expected enthusiasm.Miss Whitehall was to be asked to come to Whitney & Whitney's thatafternoon, the hope being to trap or beguile her into some informationabout Barker's whereabouts. It was the chief's plan--a poor one, Ithought, and said so--but he was as enigmatic as usual, remarking thatwhether it succeeded or not, he wanted to see her. It didn't add to mygood humor to hear that, as I knew the girl, they'd selected me fortheir messenger.
Not being able to strike straight at their subject they'd framed up astory, one that would give them scope for questions and be asufficiently plausible excuse to get her there. It seemed to me absurd,but the old man was satisfied with it. Everybody now knew that Harlandhad been her silent partner. Their story was that they'd heard Barkerwas also in the enterprise, she'd had a double backing, his visits toher office gave color to the rumor, and so forth and so on. I left theoffice while they were conning it over.
As I mounted the stairs to her apartment I felt a good deal of a cad. Ifit had been anyone else, or any other kind of a woman--but that fine,high-spirited creature! A group of men trying to make a fool ofher--beastly! Why had I said I'd do it--and why the devil had she gotmixed up in such an ugly business?
A servant opened the door and showed me up a hall into the parlor. Shewas there sitting at a desk littered with papers, and rose with a faintsurprised smile when she saw me. As we sat down and I made my apologiesfor intruding, I had a chance to observe her and was struck by thechange in her. It was less than a year since we'd last met and shelooked singularly different. Handsome of course--she'd always bethat--but another kind of woman. At first I thought it was because shewas paler and thinner--she'd been a radiant, blooming Amazon in thecountry--but after a few minutes I saw it was something--how can Iexpress it?--more of the spirit than the body. The joyousness and gayetyhad gone out of her, and the spontaneity--I noticed that especially. Icould feel constraint in her composure as if she was on her dignity.
As I explained my mission--I couldn't say much, and felt beastlyuncomfortable while I was doing it--she listened with an expressionless,polite attention. When I had finished she made no comment, merely sayingshe would be only too happy to do anything for Mr. Whitney, then passedon to her own affairs, mentioning the failure of the Azalea WoodsEstates and that she thought she and her mother would return to thecountry. I was on the verge of offering to finance her in a new deal andthen remembered I was there as an emissary, not as a friend. It rattledme and the rattling wasn't helped when I met her eyes, brown and soft,but with something scrutinizing and watchful under their velvetydarkness.
I stayed longer than I meant to--longer than I needed to. Some way orother our talk shifted round to Azalea and Longwood, to Firehill and thepeople we knew all through there. I forgot about the matter I'd come on,and she brightened up too and there was a gleam of the girl I'd met ayear ago. But when I rose to leave the other woman was back, thereserved, poised woman who seemed shut in a shell of conventionalpoliteness. She said she'd come that afternoon about five--she had workto do that would keep her till then. In the doorway she suddenly smiledand held out her hand. The feel of it, soft and warm, was in mine when Igot out into the street.
I went back to the office feeling meaner than a yellow dog. Thank HeavenI'd not have to do _that_ again. They'd get all they could out of her,and that would be the last time Whitney & Whitney would want to see her.Later on, in a week or two maybe, I could call on her again. The ice wasbroken, and anyway I didn't see but what it was my duty. Someone oughtto help her to get on her feet again and as she'd no man in her ownfamily the least I could do was to offer my services.
At five the chief, George and I were waiting for her. She was a littlelate and as she came in I noticed that she had more color than she'd hadin the morning. She looked splendid, in a dark fur coat and some kind ofa close-fitting hat with her black hair curling out below the edge. Hermanner was cool and tranquil, not a hint about her of surprise oruneasiness, only that heightened color which I set down to the hurryshe'd been in getting there.
The chief was as gracious as if he'd been welcoming her as a guest inhis house--full of apologies, waving her to an armchair, suggesting shetake off her coat as the room was warm. No outsider would ever haveguessed what was going on in that astute and subtle mind. A feeling ofindignant pity rose in me--she seemed so unsuspecting. But--No; it'sbetter for me to describe the scene as it occurred, to try and make yousee it as I did.
When the necessary politenesses were disposed of, the old man, verydelicately, with all his tact and finesse, started on the frame-up. Hedid it admirably, finishing on a sort of confidential note. As theattorney for the Copper Pool group, it would facilitate matters if heknew of all Barker's activities; any information, the slightest, wouldbe helpful.
She answered readily, without surprise, almost as if she might haveheard the story before.
"You've been misinformed, Mr. Whitney. Mr. Barker had no interest in theAzalea Woods Estates. He had nothing to do with it."
The old man pursed out his lips and raised his brows:
"I see, one of those groundless rumors that gather about a sensationalevent. It probably started from the fact, mentioned in the papers, thatBarker was in your office that afternoon."
"Probably. He came to see me about a house he was going to build in thetract. Of course that's all ended in nothing now."
He looked at her from under his bushy brows, a kind, fatherly glance:
"I was very sorry to hear, Miss Whitehall, that you were one of thesufferers in this double disaster we are trying to settle."
"Oh, I!" she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. "I'm wiped out."
"Tch!" he shook his head frowning and resentful. "These men can knifeeach other--pirates in a buccaneer warfare--but when it comes todragging down women I'd like to see them all strung up."
Her eyes gave a flash. It was like a spark struck from a flint, thereand then gone
. As if it had surprised her, and she was determined toguard against its return, the calm of her face intensified into analmost mask-like quiet. She answered softly:
"I can't go so far as that, Mr. Whitney. I'm sure there's someexplanation--as to Mr. Barker, I mean."
"I hope so," said the chief, "for your sake if for no other. I hopehe'll come back and make the restitution he owes his associates anddischarge that obligation about the house and lot."
He looked at her smiling, a rallying smile that said as plain as words,he knew such hopes to be groundless. She did not smile back, simplyraised her eyebrows and gave a slight nod. George, who was facing her,leaned forward and said as if he had just met her at a pink tea and wasbeing gallantly sympathetic:
"It was rather hard on you, Miss Whitehall, having those two men in yourplace that day. The press must have made your life a burden."
"It wasn't so bad. Some reporters called me up but when they found howlittle I knew they left me alone. I hadn't anything exciting to say.Both interviews were nothing but business."
"But let me ask you a question--not for publication this time, just as athing I'm curious about. It was only a few hours after you saw him thatHarland killed himself. Wasn't there anything unusual in his manner,anything to suggest that he was not himself?"
She looked down at the purse she was holding in her lap, and saidslowly, clasping and unclasping the catch:
"I didn't notice anything--unless perhaps he was a little irritable andnervous. I certainly never would have thought he was in the state of aman contemplating suicide."
"And you would have known," said the chief. He turned to George inexplanation. "As Harland's partner, Miss Whitehall would have known himwell enough to notice any marked change in him."
I was watching her closely and as the glances of the two men met I sawuneasiness well up through the quietude of her face. Then for the firsttime I suspected that she was not as composed as she seemed. Her wordsconfirmed the suspicion, they came quickly in hurried denial:
"No--I didn't know him well. I saw him very seldom. We were not in theleast--what--what you'd call friends or even close acquaintances. It wasall purely business."
The chief nodded, a slight, Mandarin-like teetering of his head, whichgave the impression of a polite agreement in a matter that didn'tinterest him.
"Purely business," he murmured, then again turned to George. "What MissWhitehall says would bear out the general idea that it was that lastinterview which drove Harland to desperation."
As they spoke she looked from one to the other, a glance that passedover both faces as quick as a lightning flash. Before they could turn,it was gone and her eyes had a dense, dead look as if she had droppedsome inner veil over them. Then I _knew_ that the brain behind thatsmooth white forehead was something more than alert, it was on itsguard, wary and watchful.
The knowledge made me suddenly speak. I wanted to see, I had to see, ifthat careful control would hold under a direct question about her lover.
"How about Barker? How did _he_ act when you saw him that afternoon?"
She shifted slightly to see me better.
"Oh, perfectly naturally. There was nothing in the least unusual abouthim."
"Barker was a man of iron," said the chief. "His mental disturbancesdidn't show on the outside. Besides," he gave a wave of his hand towardher--"this young lady knew him only slightly." He turned quickly to her,"I'm right, am I not?"
"Perfectly," she fixed her eyes on him and kept them there, black andunfathomable. "My acquaintance with him was simply that of an agent witha customer."
For a moment I couldn't look at her; I got up and going to the windowfumbled with the blind. The man she'd tried to run away with--andtelling her lie with that smooth steadiness! It was only love could givesuch nerve. Behind me I heard the old man's voice:
"A horrible affair. It was fortunate for you you escaped the sight ofit."
"Ah--" it was a sound of shuddering protest--"_that_ would have been toomuch. I knew nothing of it till I saw the papers the next morning. Itmade me ill--I was at home for several days."
"Well," said he, "I'm in hopes we're going to straighten things outbefore long."
I turned from the window and moved back, wondering what he was going tosay. She was looking again at her purse, snapping and unsnapping theclasp.
"How can you do that?" she asked.
"Haven't you read in the papers that Barker's been seen inPhiladelphia?"
"Ah yes," she murmured, her glance still on the purse. "But nobody'sfound him yet."
"Give us time--give us time. These vanishing gentlemen like a change ofair. They don't stay long under our hospitable flag. Their goal isCanada."
For a moment she had no reply. You could see it, you could see theeffort with which she held her statue-calm pose, but a deep breathlifted her breast and the edge of her teeth showed on her underlip.
"Canada," said the old man with a comfortable roll in his big chair, "isour modern American equivalent of the medieval sanctuary."
She'd got her nerve back--I never saw such grit. She gave him a smile,not jolly like his, but defiant.
"Of course," she said, "a sort of Cave of Adullum." Then she rose andlooking at him from under her eyelids added, "But if a man's cleverenough to get to the Cave of Adullum I should think he'd be too cleverto stay there."
She turned and took her coat from the chair back. George made a jump tohelp her and the old man heaved himself up, breaking out with renewedapologies for the trouble he'd given her. They were like peopleseparating after a social function, he bland and courteous, she graciousand deprecating.
"If I could be of any service to you I'd be only too glad. But"--shegave that little shrug of her shoulders--"I'm so unimportant. A poorworking woman whose orbit happened by chance to cross those of two greatluminaries."
"There's nothing for anybody to do but us," said George, standing behindher and holding out her coat. "And we'll do it. You'll see some morningin the paper that we've got our hands on Barker--the high-class sneak."
He and his father worked so well together that he told me afterward heknew the old man would be watching her. He was and so was I, and atthose words I saw the rich color spread to her forehead and again thatflash, like a leap of flame, shine in her eyes. She knew it too anddropped her lids over it, but the color she couldn't control and itglowed in crimson on her cheeks as she answered with a sort of softtolerance:
"Oh, Mr. Whitney, hunting criminals has made you unjust." Then as thecoat slipped on she flashed a look at him over her shoulder, "But Idon't think it's real! The profession requires a pose."
George was quite bowled over. He had no answer and she knew it, turningfrom him with a smile and moving toward the door. Halfway there the oldman stopped her.
"Oh, by the way--one thing more that nearly slipped my memory. You nodoubt saw in the papers that Harland is supposed to have spent thehalf-hour before he jumped, in the corridor of your floor. Did you seehim there--as you left, I mean?"
"I?" she raised her eyebrows in artless, surprised query. "No, I'd gonebefore he came down. I left about six, or maybe a little before."
"Um!" he nodded. "You were probably in the elevator."
"Yes, probably--" her purse dropped from her hand to the floor. We allstarted forward to pick it up but she was too quick for us and had itbefore any of us could reach it. As she righted herself from the suddenstoop her face was deeply flushed. "Yes, of course, I must have been inthe elevator," she finished with a slight gasp as if the quick movementhad impeded her breathing.
"I see, of course," agreed the chief moving beside her to the door. "Itmerely interested me as a student of morbid psychology. I'd like to haveknown how a man of Harland's type looked, moved, comported himself,while such a struggle went on in his mind."
At the door there were general good-byes, a very cordial parting allround. I slipped out behind her to escort her through the hall to theelevator. As we brushed along side by side she said nothi
ng andglimpsing down at her face, I saw it set in a stillpondering--sphinx-like it seemed to me.
Waiting for the car I said a few civil commonplaces to which she madeshort conventional answers. Biting her lip, her eyes on the ground, shelooked preoccupied, impatient, I thought, for the car to come. I wantedto ask her if I could see her again, but I didn't dare, she seemed soindifferent, so shut away in her own brooding. But when she entered theelevator and the gate shut, I saw her through the grill-work, looking atme from behind that iron barrier, and the sight stirred me like a handclasped on my heart.
It wasn't only the expression of her face, which was sad, almost tragic,but it was a strange and eerie suggestion that it was like a facelooking through the bars of a prison. The thought haunted me as I walkedback.
In the office George and the chief were talking over the interview.They'd noted every tone of her voice, every change of her color. Thatshe'd lied had not surprised them. She had had to lie.
"Must love the old rascal to death," George commented.
The chief rose lumberingly and moved to his cigar box on themantelpiece.
"I understand now why Barker--who never was known to care for awoman--finally fell. She's a splendid creature--brains and beauty."
"Both to burn," George agreed. "You couldn't get much out of her."
"All I wanted just now," said his father, striking a match, "the rest'llcome in time."
I was just going to ask him what more he expected, when a clerk openedthe door and said:
"Mrs. Babbitts is outside to see Mr. Whitney."
The chief squared round like a flash, the lit match dropping to thehearth. His face, usually heavy and stolid, lit into an almost avideagerness.
"Show her in," he ordered and the clerk disappeared.
"What are you expecting to get from Molly?" George asked. "Isn't shefinished?"
"Not quite." The old man's eyes were on the door, his cigar unlit in hishand. I hadn't often seen him so openly on the qui vive. "Molly's hadfurther orders."
"What?"
"You'll see," was the answer.
Molly entered with the cold of the night still around her. Her long coatwas buttoned wrong, her hat on one side. Haste was written all over her,haste and that bright-eyed, jubilant exhilaration that took possessionof her when things were moving her way. She was like a little game dogon the scent, and I'd often heard the old man say she'd make the bestwoman detective he'd ever known. He was awfully fond of her, and took asort of paternal pride in her nerve and cleverness, just as he did inGeorge's.
"Well, Molly," he said--"got that stuff for me?"
She nodded, her little body seeming to radiate a quivering energy:
"Today at the lunch hour. I came the minute I got off."
"Go ahead. I said not to tell anybody till you told me first. Well,you're going to tell me first now."
Standing by the table, her eyes bright on the old man, she said slowlyand clearly:
"Troop says he never took Miss Whitehall down from her offices on thenight of January the fifteenth."
George gave a smothered ejaculation and started forward. I wastransfixed--not believing my ears. Only the chief looked unmoved,leaning against the mantelpiece, holding Molly's glance with his.
"Go on," he growled.
"He says that he was there later than usual, until eight, because of theaccident and the other car being broken. Before that he took down thetwo Azalea Woods Estates clerks, Iola Barry and Tony Ford, but not MissWhitehall. After the accident he ran out into the street, and when hecame back the people were on every landing ringing the bells and wildbecause the elevator didn't come. He went up and took them off, but MissWhitehall wasn't among them. He said that he'd heard some of them gottired of waiting and went by the stairs."
"He thought Miss Whitehall went that way?"
"Yes, it was the only way she could have gone. He supposed she'd gotimpatient or hysterical and just rushed pell-mell down."
"Did Troop or anyone else see her in the lower hall or leaving thebuilding?"
"No, I questioned him careful about that. He thought she'd seen theexcitement on Broadway and run down and maybe met someone who'd told herwhat had happened. And not wanting to get in it she'd gone out the sidedoor. Anyway he said she wasn't in the ground floor hall, or out in thestreet with the others or he'd have seen her."
There was a pause. In that pause--like figures in a picture--I sawGeorge, amazed, petrified, staring at his father, Molly looking from oneto the other, and the chief with his brows low down and his headdrooped, gazing at the fire. In a moment they would burst intospeech--the speech that was withheld while that astounding revelationfound acceptance in their minds.
To hear what they said--to listen to what I couldn't believe and yetcouldn't contradict--was more than I could stand just then. Without aword, unnoticed by any of them, I slipped out, fled down the hall, intothe elevator and out to the street.
It was cold, a sharp, frosty night, with a few stars shining in thedeep-blue sky. Dark masses of men flowed out of the doors of skyscrapersand drained away down the subway entrances. I jostled through them,elbowing them right and left, instinctively turning my face uptown, deafto the curses that followed me, blind to the lights that stretched in aspangled vista in front.
What did it mean? What _could_ it mean? I'd understood the lie aboutBarker but now those other lies! She had said she went down about six,in the elevator. I'd heard her, there was no getting away from it. Was_that_ the reason the old man had wanted to see her? Suddenly I sawagain his look of hungry expectation when Molly was announced, and witha stifled sound, I stopped short. As lightning plays upon a darklandscape, for a moment showing it plain, I had a clear glimpse of theline of thought he'd been pursuing. The horror of it held me rootedthere, rigid as a dead man, in the midst of the hurrying crowd.
Incredible--hideous--unbelievable! Association with criminals had warpedand diseased his judgment. And then like a sinister shadow, creeping onme dark and ominous, rose the memory of her guarded face, the flame ofcolor she couldn't hide, the dropped purse. I started out again,fighting the shadow, but all I had to fight with was my belief in her.She couldn't--it was impossible, I'd die swearing it. And batteringagainst that belief, came questions, insistent, maddening. Why couldn'tshe speak out? Why didn't she admit the truth--say that Barker was herlover and have done with it? Why had she lied--about him, about the timeshe left, about everything she could have frankly admitted, if--if----When I got there I could go no farther. Cursing under my breath I forgedalong, the air ice-cold on the sweat that was damp on my forehead.
The Black Eagle Mystery Page 9
