CHAPTER XIV
MOLLY TELLS THE STORY
You can imagine after that disappointment in Philadelphia--it seems anunfeeling way to speak of the death of an old gentleman--how we allturned our eyes and kept them fixed on Tony Ford.
Friday night Babbitts told me the hospital had reported he couldn't beseen till Monday. The others were in a fever, he said, O'Mally smokingbig black cigars by the gross and Jack Reddy gone off to Buffalo, andMr. George that scared Ford would slip off some way he'd have liked toput a cordon of the National Guard round the hospital.
Then came Saturday--and Gee! up everything burst different to whatanybody had expected.
It started with Mr. George. Being so nervous he couldn't rest he calledup the hospital in the morning and got word that there'd been a mistakein the message of the day before and that Mr. Ford was well enough tosee the Philadelphia detectives that afternoon. Before midday Babbittsand O'Mally were gathered in, and while I was waiting on pins andneedles in Ninety-fifth Street and Jack Reddy was off unsuspecting inBuffalo, the two of them were planted by Tony Ford's bedside, hearingthe story that lifted the Harland case one peg higher in its surpriseand grewsomeness.
O'Mally and Babbitts had their plans all laid beforehand. They were twoplain-clothes men from Philadelphia, who had just come on a newlead--the finding of Sammis. When they'd opened that up before him, theywere going to pass on to the murder--take him by surprise. If Ford madethe confession they hoped to shake out of him, the warrant for hisarrest would be issued and the Harland case come before the public inits true light.
Babbitts had never seen Ford and when he described him to me it didn'tsound like the same man. He was lying propped up with pillows, his headswathed in bandages, and his face pale and haggard. Under the covers hislong legs stretched most to the end of the cot, and his big, powerfulhands were lying limp on the counterpane. He was in a private room, inan inside wing of the hospital, very quiet and retired.
When the attendant left and they introduced themselves he looked sort ofscowling from one to the other. Both noticed the same thing--a kind ofuneasiness, as if his apprehensions were aroused, and for all his brokenhead he was on the job, not weak and indifferent, but wary and alert.
This wasn't what they wanted so they started in telling him the newsthey thought would please him and put him at his ease. A clue had beenpicked up in Philadelphia that looked like the mystery of his attack wassolved.
"In fact," says O'Mally, "a man's been run to earth there that we'repretty sure is the one."
Both men were watching him and both saw a change come over him thatcaught their eyes and held them. Instead of being relieved he wasscared.
"Have you got the man?" he said.
O'Mally nodded:
"That's what we have."
"Who is he?"
"Party called Sammis. Answers to the description----"
Before he could go further Ford raised himself on his elbow, lookingdownright terrified.
"Joseph Sammis?" he said, his eyes set staring on O'Mally.
"That's it. We tracked him up and found him. But I don't want to raiseany false hopes. We were too late. When we got there he was dead."
It had an extraordinary effect upon Ford. He gave a gasp, and raisedhimself up into a sitting posture, his mouth open, his eyes glued onO'Mally. For a minute not one of them said a word--Ford evidently tooparalyzed at what he'd heard, and the others too surprised at the wayFord was acting which was exactly different to what they'd expected. Itwas he who spoke first, his voice gone down to a husky murmur:
"_Dead?_"
O'Mally answered:
"Heart disease, angina pectoris. The doctor down there said some strainor effort had finished him. That, as we see it, was the attack he madeon you."
Then Ford did the most surprising thing of all. Raising his hands heclapped both over his face, and with a big, heaving sob from the bottomof his chest, fell back on the pillows and began to cry.
Babbitts said you couldn't have believed it if you hadn't seen it--heand O'Mally looking stumped at each other and between them that great oxof a man, lying in the bed crying like a baby. Then Himself, beingfearful that maybe they'd done the man harm, rose up to go after anurse, but O'Mally caught him by the coat, whispering, "Keep still, yougoat," then turned and said very pleasant to Ford:
"Knocked you out, old man. That's natural, nerves still weak. Keep it uptill you feel better. Don't mind us--we're used to it."
So there they sat, Babbitts still uneasy, but O'Mally, calm and patient,tilting back in his chair looking dreamy out of the window. He saidafterward that he knew that hysterical fit for what it was--relief, andthat was why he wouldn't let Babbitts call a nurse.
Presently the sobs began to ease off and Ford, groping under the pillowfor a handkerchief, said, all choked up:
"How did you come to connect him with me?"
"By papers found in his desk--records of a real-estate business you andhe'd been in some years ago at Syracuse."
"That's the man," said Ford, between his hiccuppy catches of breath,"and he's dead?"
"Dead as Julius Caesar." O'Mally leaned forward, his voice dropping,"You _knew_ he was the chap that attacked you?"
Ford, his head drooped, his shoulders hunched up like an old woman's,nodded:
"Yes, I lied when I said he was a stranger to me."
"Why did you do that?" asked Babbitts.
It was just what you might know he'd ask. One of the cutest things aboutHimself is that he never can understand why anyone, no matter what theprovocation, has to lie.
Ford didn't answer and O'Mally, giving his chair a hitch nearer to thebed, said kind and persuasive:
"Say, Ford, you'd better tell us all you know. We got the papers, andmost of the information. The man's dead. Clean it up and we'll let itdrop."
Without raising his head Ford said, low and sort of sullen:
"All right--if you agree to that. I was in business with him andI--I--didn't play fair--lit out with some of the money." He turned alowering look on Babbitts. "_That's_ the answer to your question," thenback to O'Mally, "I didn't run across him or hear of him in all thistime and supposed the whole thing was buried and forgotten till he cameinto my room Tuesday night. He was blazing mad, said he'd been waitingfor a chance to even up, and had at last found me. To keep him quiet Isaid I'd give him some money. I had some."
"Yes, yes," said O'Mally, nodding cheerfully, "the legacy your uncleleft you."
Ford shot a look at him, sharp and quick:
"Oh, you know about that?"
"Naturally. Inquiries have been made in all directions. Go on."
"I hadn't much cash there--a few dollars, but I thought I'd hand himthat and agree to pay him more later. He said he didn't want money,_that_ wouldn't square our accounts, and as I went to the desk he cameup behind me and struck me. That's all I know."
"Did he say how he'd located you?"
"Yes. He'd been looking for me ever since I'd skipped but couldn't findme. Then he saw my name in the papers after the Harland suicide. Somefool reporter spoke to me in the street that night and I told him who Iwas and where I worked. A short while after Sammis phoned up to theBlack Eagle Building, heard from Miss Whitehall I'd left and got fromher my house address."
"Did he say what he was doing in Philadelphia?"
"He had some new job there, he didn't say what, but he said he was wellpaid. That came out in his blustering about not wanting my money."
There was a pause, Babbitts and O'Mally scribbling in their note books,Ford sitting up in that hunched position, looking surly at his handslying on the counterpane. So far every word he'd said tallied with whatthey already knew. Babbitts was wondering how O'Mally was going to getround to the real business of the interview, when the detective suddenlyraised up from his notes, and leaning forward tapped lightly on one ofFord's hands with the point of his pencil.
"Say, Ford, how about that legacy from your uncle?"
Ford gave
a start, stiffened up and looked quick as a flash into thedetective's face.
"What about it?" he stammered.
O'Mally, his body bending forward, his pencil tip still on Ford's hand,said with sudden, grim meaning:
"_We_ know where it came from."
For a second they eyed each other. Babbitts said it looked like anelectric current was passing between them, holding them as still as ifthey were mesmerized. Then O'Mally went on, very low, each word fallingslow and clear from his lips:
"We know all about that money and the game you've been playing. ThisSammis business isn't what we're here for. It's the other--the Harlandmatter, the thing that's been occupying your time and thoughts lately.That outside job of yours--that job that was finished on the night ofJanuary the fifteenth." He paused and Ford's glance slid away from him,his eyes like the eyes of a trapped animal traveling round the walls ofthe room. "We've _got_ you, Ford. The whole thing's in our hands. Youronly chance is to tell--tell everything you know."
In describing it to me Babbitts said that moment was one of the tensestin the whole case. Ford was cornered, you could see he knew it and youcould see the consciousness of guilt in his pallid face and tremblinghands. O'Mally was like a hunter that has his prey at last in sight,drawn forward to the edge of his chair, his jaw squared, his eyespiercing into Ford like gimlets.
"Go ahead," he almost whispered. "What was that money paid you for?"
Ford tried to smile, the ghost of that cock-sure grin distorting hisface like a grimace.
"I guess you've got the goods on me," he said. "I know when I'm beaten.You needn't try any third degree. I'll tell."
Babbitts was so excited he could hardly breathe. The Big Story was hisat last--he was going to hear the murderer's confession from his ownlips. Ford lifted his head, and holding it high and defiant, looked atO'Mally and said slowly:
"I got that money from Hollings Harland for reporting to him the affairbetween Johnston Barker and Miss Whitehall."
If you'd hit him in the head with a brick Babbitts said he couldn't havebeen more knocked out. He had sense enough to smother the exclamationthat nearly burst from him, but he _did_ square round in his chair andlook aghast at O'Mally. That old bird never gave a sign that he'd got ablow in the solar plexus. For all anyone could guess by his face, it wasjust what he'd expected to hear.
"You were in Harland's pay," he murmured, nodding his head.
"I was in Harland's pay from the first of December to the day of hisdeath. In that time he gave me eight hundred dollars."
O'Mally, slouching comfortable against his chair back, drooped his headtoward his shoulder and said:
"Suppose you tell us the whole thing, straight from the start. It'll beeasier that way."
"Any way you want it," said Ford. "It's all the same to me. I first metHarland in the elevator some time in the end of November. Seeing meevery day he spoke to me casually and civilly, as one man does toanother. There was nothing more than that till Johnston Barker begancoming to the Azalea Woods Estates, then, bit by bit, Harland grew morefriendly. I'll admit I was flattered, a chap in my position doesn'tusually get more than a passing nod from a man in his. As he warmed uptoward me, feeling his way with questions, I began to get a line on whathe was after--he wanted a tab kept on Barker."
"Jealous?" O'Mally suggested.
"Desperately jealous. As soon as the thing opened up before me I saw howmatters stood. He was secretly crazy about Miss Whitehall and was easyuntil Barker cut in, _then_ he got alarmed. Barker was a bigger man thanhe, and there was no doubt about it that she liked Barker. When herealized that he put it up to me straight. He'd sized me up prettythoroughly by that time and knew that I'd--what's the use of mincingmatters--do his dirty work for him."
O'Mally inclined his head as if he was too polite to contradict.
"He offered me good money and all I had to do was to watch her andBarker and report what I heard or saw. It was a cinch--I was on thespot, the only other person in the office a fool of a stenographer, agirl, who hardly counted."
"What was the result of your--er--investigations?"
"That Barker was in love with her too. He came often on a flimsy excusethat he wanted to build a house in the tract. She was friendly at first,then for a while very cold and haughty--as if they might have had aquarrel. Then they seemed to make that up, and get as thick as thieves."
"Did _she_ seem to care for Harland?"
"Not exactly--anyway not the way he did for her. She was always awfullynice to him--the few times he came into the office--gentle and sweet,but not the way she was with Barker. She was two different women tothem--with Harland a sort of affable, gracious winner, but with Barker agirl with a man she's fond of, natural, glad to see him, no societystunts.
"A little before Christmas I caught on to the fact that she wasreceiving letters from Barker, and Harland offered me extra money if I'dget their contents. This wasn't so easy. Generally she took them awaywith her, but twice she left them on her desk. All I had to do then wasto stay overtime and when she was gone, copy them. That way I got on tosomething that phazed us both--she and Barker were up to some scheme."
O'Mally moved slightly in his chair.
"Scheme?" he said--"What do you mean by scheme?"
"Something they were planning to do. After Christmas every time he'dcome they'd go into the private office and talk there so low youcouldn't catch a word. And the letters were all about it, but wecouldn't get a line on what it was. I'll show them to you and you'll seefor yourself. It got Harland wild, for though they weren't exactly loveletters, they showed that she and Barker were close knit in some secretenterprise."
"Did you continue this work till the day of the suicide?"
"I did--to the night--to the time it happened. Harland was getting moreand more worked up. I don't know whether it was the Barker-Whitehallbusiness or his own financial worries, but I could see he was holdingthe lid on with difficulty. That day, January fifteenth, as you mayremember, he was in her office and had a talk with her. As he went out Isaw that he looked cheered-up, brisk and confident. Of course I've noidea what she said to him, but knowing the state he was in, I'll swearit was something that gave him hope. Yet a few hours after that hekilled himself.
"Seeing him so heartened up and being curious myself, I decided to staythat evening and do a little quiet snooping among her papers. But shenearly blocked that game. She was in the habit of going betweenhalf-past five and six, leaving me to close up. That night she didn't doit, but hung about in the office, and after watching her for a fewminutes I saw that she was on the jump--moving about, going from onedesk to the other, glancing at the clock. Her manner made me certainthat something was up--it was possible it had to do with the scheme sheand Barker were hatching. I got the idea that I'd go and come back aftera while, on the chance of stumbling on something that would be useful tomy employer. I left her there and after loafing round for about half anhour returned. The office was dark and she'd gone. I lit up and lookedover her desk in the Exhibit Room and a table in my room where she keptsome papers, but found nothing. Then I thought I'd take a look into theprivate office but that door was locked."
"Ah, locked," said O'Mally, calm as a summer sea. "Was that her custom?"
"Not as far as I knew. I'd never found it locked before. It gave me anuneasy feeling for I thought she might have suspected what I was doingand turned the key against any invasion of her particular sanctum. Shewas no fool and might have caught on. So I fixed up the papers as Ifound them and left the office. You know what time _that_ was, or you doif you read of the Harland suicide. I've always supposed the poor chapwas up that side corridor as I stood there waiting for the car."
Babbitts bent over his notebook scribbling--he had to hide his face. Hetold me he thought the expression on it of stunned, crestfallenblankness would have given him away to an idiot. Waiting with their earsstretched to hear a confession of murder--and _this_ was what they got!And the man wasn't lying. Every word he'd said matche
d with the factswe'd been worming and digging to find. He couldn't possibly have knownmurder had been discovered--he hadn't any suspicion a murder had beencommitted. The great revelation, that was to have broken on the publicwith an explosion like a dynamite bomb, was that Tony Ford was Harland'spaid spy.
"Well," he said, looking at O'Mally, "what have you got to say? Go aheadwith it if it'll give you any satisfaction. Only you needn't waste yourbreath. I know, without being told, that it's a rotten, dirty business."
O'Mally, his face as red as the harvest moon, pulled at his mustachelooking thoughtful. But, sore as he must have been--you'd have to knowO'Mally to realize what his disappointment was--he answered cool andeasy:
"I ain't got anything to say. It's not my job to train the young. You'vetold me what I wanted to know--that's all I'm here for."
Ford turned to Babbitts and asked him to get some letters off the tableand then went on to O'Mally:
"How did you come to find it out?"
Babbitts, gathering up the letters, cocked his head to listen, wonderinghow O'Mally was going to get out of it. But you couldn't phaze thatveteran.
"Several ways--you see what we're after is Johnston Barker. It's theCopper Pool that owns us, and nosing round in our quiet little way wegot on to the Barker-Whitehall affair and from that followed the scentto that legacy of yours. We didn't altogether believe in that uncleup-state--thought maybe he was Johnston Barker in private life, and thatyou might know something," he gave a lazy, good-humored laugh. "Gotfooled all round. I don't mind telling you now that the way we happenedon Sammis was pure accident. Thought he was Barker and had him shadowed.He looked like enough to him to have been his brother."
"That's so," said Ford, as Babbitts handed him the letters, "especiallywith his hat on. I noticed it myself." He selected two papers from thebunch and handed them to O'Mally. "There--those are the letters I spokeof. This one," he flicked it across the counterpane, "is just a notefrom Harland making a date. I don't know how I happened to keep it."
They were the three letters Babbitts had taken after the attack, copiesof which at that moment were lying in O'Mally's pocket.
It was not till they were out on the hospital steps that they dared tospeak. O'Mally's face was a study, his mouth drooped down to his chinand his eyes dismal and despairing like he'd come from a tragedy.
"Well!" he said, "what do you make of that?"
"Zero!"
"Not a thing to do with it, hasn't a suspicion of it, no more involvedin it than that sparrow there," he pointed to a sparrow that had lit onthe step near-by. "I've had setbacks in my profession before--but this!"He stopped, stuck his hands into his pockets and stared blankly at thesparrow.
"Well, if it lets him out," said Babbitts, "it tightens the cords roundthe other two."
"Um," agreed O'Mally, still gazing stonily at the sparrow, "that's whatkeeps your spirits up."
"With him eliminated the whole thing concentrates on her and Barker."
"It does, my son." O'Mally roused up and came out of his depression."Instead of a brain and a pair of hands as we've called it, it was abrain and one hand--the smart hand, the right. That was the woman."
He turned and began to descend the steps, taking Babbitts by the arm todraw him closer and speaking low:
"Do you see how it went? They were in the private office when Ford cameback--she and Barker and the dead man. When they heard him come theyswitched off the light and locked the door--and, Great Scott, can youimagine how they felt! Shut in there in the dark with their victim, notknowing who Ford could be or what he was doing, listening to himrummaging round, his steps coming nearer, his hand on the doorknob! I'mtoo familiar with murder to see any terrors in it--but _that_ situation!I've never known the beat of it in all my experience. Then when Fordgoes--on his very heels--over and out with the thing they'd killed. Andboth of them back there again, or maybe stealing to the front windowsand taking a look down at the crowd below."
They walked up the street arm in arm, talking in hushed voices. As helooked at the faces of the people that passed the thought came toBabbitts that in a short time, maybe a few days, they'd be reading inthe papers of the awful crime not one of them now had a suspicion of.
The Black Eagle Mystery Page 14
