CHAPTER XV
MOLLY TELLS THE STORY
I heard all this late that night from Babbitts. But there was more to itthan I've told in the last chapter, for after they left the hospitalO'Mally and Babbitts went to the Whitney office and had a seance withthe old man and Mr. George.
Though Ford had disappointed them his story had made the way clear for adecisive move. This was decided upon then and there. On Monday morningthey would ask Miss Whitehall to come to Whitney & Whitney's and subjecther to a real examination. If she maintained her pose of ignorance theywould suddenly face her with their complete information. They felttolerably certain this would be too much for her, secure in her beliefthat no murder had been suspected. Surprise and terror would seize her,even a hardened criminal, placed unexpectedly in such a position, wasliable to break down.
The next day was Sunday. I'll not forget it in a hurry. Many a highpressure day I've had in my twenty-five years but none that had anythingover that one. It was gray and overcast, clouds low down over the roofswhich stretched away in a gray huddle of flat tops and slanting mansardsand chimneys and clotheslines. Babbitts spent the morning on thedavenport looking like he was in a boat floating through a sea ofnewspapers. I couldn't settle down to anything, thinking of what wasgoing to happen the next morning, thinking of that girl, that beautifulgirl, with her soul stained with crime, and wondering if she could feelthe shadow that was falling across her.
After lunch Himself went out saying he'd take a shot at finding FreddyJaspar and going with him up to Yonkers where there'd been someanarchist row. He was restless too. If things turned out right he'd gethis Big Story at last--and what a story it would be!--he'd get a raisefor certain, and as he kissed me good-bye he said he'd give me the twoglass lamps and a new set of furs, anything I wanted short of sable orermine.
In the afternoon Iola dropped in all dolled up and decked with apermanent smile, for she'd landed her new job and liked it fine. As sheprattled away she let drop something that caught my ear, and lucky itwas as you'll see presently. On her way over she'd met Delia, theWhitehalls' maid, who told her the ladies were going to move back to theAzalea Woods Estates where someone had given them a cottage. Delia hadjust been to see them and found that Mrs. Whitehall had already gone,and Miss Whitehall was packing up to follow on Monday afternoon. Iolathought it was nice they'd got the cottage but didn't I think MissWhitehall would be afraid of the dullness of the country after living intown? I said you never could tell. What I thought was that if there wasanything for Miss Whitehall to be afraid of it wasn't dullness.
At six Iola left, having a date for supper, and a little after that Ihad a call from Babbitts, saying he and Freddy Jaspar had found theanarchist business more important than they expected and he wouldn't behome till all hours.
Isabella doesn't come on Sunday so I got my own supper and then sat downin the parlor and tried to read the papers. But I couldn't put my mindon them. In a few days, perhaps as soon as Tuesday, the _Dispatch_ wouldhave the Harland murder on the front page. I could see theheadlines--the copy reader could spread himself--and I tried to work outhow Babbitts would write it, where he'd begin--with the crime itself orwith all the story that came before it.
It was near eleven and me thinking of bed when there was a ring at thebell. That's pretty late for callers, even in a newspaper man's flat,and I jumped up and ran into the hall. After I'd jammed the push button,I opened the door, spying out for the head coming up the stairs. Itcame--a derby hat and a pair of broad shoulders, and then Jack Reddy'sface, raised to mine, grave and frowning.
"Hello, Molly," he said. "It's late, but I couldn't find any of theothers so I came to you."
If he hadn't seen anyone he didn't know what had transpired. The thoughtmade me bubble up with eagerness to tell him the new developments. Thatwas the reason, I guess, I didn't notice how serious he was, not a smileof greeting, not a handshake. He didn't even take off his coat, butthrowing his hat on one of the hallpegs, said:
"I've only just got in from Buffalo. I phoned to the Whitney house fromthe Grand Central, but they're both out of town, not to be back tilltomorrow morning, and O'Mally's away too. Do you know how Ford is?"
"You bet I do. He's sat up, taken nourishment and _talked_."
"Talked? Have they _seen_ him?"
"They have." I turned away and moved up the hall. "Come right in andI'll tell you."
I went into the dining-room where the drop light hung bright over thetable, and was going on to the parlor when I heard his voice, loud andcommanding, behind me:
"What's he said?"
I whisked round and there he was standing by the table, his eyes fixedhard and almost fierce on me.
"Won't you come into my parlor, said the spider to the fly," I saidlaughing, just to tease him. He answered without the ghost of a smile:
"No. Go on quick. What did Ford say?"
"All right." I dropped down into Babbitts' chair and motioned him tomine. "Sit down there. It's a long story and I can't tell it to you ifyou stand in front of me like a patience on a monument."
He took the chair and putting his elbows on the table, raised his hands,clasped together, and leaned his mouth on them. The light fell full onhis face and over those clasped hands his eyes stared at me so fixed andsteady they looked the eyes of an image. I don't think while I told himhe ever batted a lid and I know he never said a word.
"So you see," I said, when I was through, "Ford's as much out of it asyou are."
Without moving his hands he asked:
"What do they think?"
"Why, what do you suppose they think? Instead of there being three ofthem in it there were two."
"They think she and Barker did it?"
"Of course. They've worked it out this way"--I leaned over the table, myvoice low, giving him the details of their new theory. As I told itthere was something terrible in those eyes. All the kindness went out ofthem and a fire came in its place till they looked like crystals with aflame behind them.
When I finished he spoke and this time his voice sounded different,hoarse and muffled:
"Have they made any plan? Decided on their next step?"
"They've got it all arranged," and I went on about the interview thatwas planned for the next morning. "With her thinking herself safe theway she does, they're sure they can give her such a jolt she'll lose hernerve and tell."
He gave an exclamation, not words, just a choked, fierce sound, anddropping his hands on the table, burst out like a volcano:
"The dogs! The devils! Dragging her down there to terrify a lie out ofher!"
He leaped to his feet, sending the chair crashing down on the floor. Ifell back where I sat paralyzed, not only by his words, but at the sightof him.
I think I've spoken of the fact that he had a violent temper and he'stold me himself that he's conquered it. But now for the first time I sawit and _believe me_ it was far from dead. I would hardly have known him.His face was savage, his eyes blazing, and the words came from him as ifthey were shot out on the breaths that broke in great heaving gasps fromhis lungs.
"Haven't you," he said, "a woman, any heart in you? Are you, that I'vealways thought all kindness and generosity, willing to hound an innocentgirl to her ruin?"
He grabbed the back of a chair near him and leaned over it glaring atme, shaking, gasping, and the color of ashes.
"But--but," I faltered, "she's _done_ it."
"She hasn't," he shouted. "You're all fools, imbeciles, mad. It's alie--an infamous, brutal lie!"
He dropped the chair and turned away, beginning to pace up and down, hishands clenched, raging to himself. The room was full of the sound of hisbreathing, as if some great throbbing piece of machinery was inside him.
And I--there in my seat, fallen limp against the back--saw it all. Whata fool I'd been--what an _idiot_! He with his empty heart and thatbeautiful girl--the girl that any man might have loved and how much moreJack Reddy, knowing her poor and lonesome and believing her innocent an
dpersecuted. I felt as if the skies had fallen on me. My hero--that I'dnever found a woman good enough for--in love with a murderess!
He stopped in his pacing and tried to get a grip on himself, tried tospeak quietly with his voice gone to a husky murmur:
"Tomorrow do you say? Tomorrow they're going to do this damnable thing?"
"Tomorrow at ten in Mr. Whitney's office," I answered, weak andtrembling.
He stood for a moment looking on the ground, his brows drawn low overhis eyes, the bones of his jaw showing set under the flesh. A deadlyfear seized me--a fear that followed on a flash of understanding. I gotup--I guess as white as he was--and went over to him.
"Jack," I said. "You can't do anything. Everything's against her.There's not a point that doesn't show she's guilty."
He gave me a look from under his eyebrows like the thrust of a sword.
"Don't say that to me again, Molly," he almost whispered, "or I'llforget the debt I owe you and the affection I've felt for you since theday we swore to be friends."
"What can you do?" I cried, fairly distracted. "They've got theevidence. It's there----"
I tried to put my hand on his arm but he shook it off and walked towardthe door. I followed him and during those few short steps from thedining-room to the hall, it came to me as clear as if he'd said it thathe was going to Carol Whitehall to help her run away.
"What are you going to do?" I said, standing in the doorway as he pulledhis hat off the peg and turned toward the hall door.
"That's my affair," he threw back over his shoulder.
He had his hand on the knob when a thought--an inspiration flashed onme. I don't know where it came from, but when you're fond of a personand see them headed for a precipice, I believe you get some sort ofwireless communication from Heaven or some place of that order.
"Miss Whitehall's not in town now," I said.
He stopped short and looked back at me:
"Where is she?"
"They've gone back to New Jersey. Some people loaned them a cottage inthe Azalea Woods Estates."
"I knew that--but they're not there yet?"
"Yes. They went yesterday, sooner than they expected."
He stood for a moment, looking at the floor, then glanced back at me andsaid:
"Thank you for telling me that. Good night."
The door opened, banged shut and I was alone.
I wonder if anyone reading this story can imagine what I felt. It wasawful, so awful that now, here, writing it down peaceful and happy, Ican feel the sinking at my heart and the sick sensation like I couldnever eat food again. And _laugh_? It was an art I'd lost and never inthis world would get back.
It was not only that he loved her--_that_ woman, that vampire, who couldsin at the word of an old man--but it was the thought, the certainty,that he was ready to betray his trust, go back on his partners, be atraitor to his office. All the work they'd done, all the hopes they'dbuilt up, all their efforts for success, he was going to destroy. It wasdisgrace for him, he'd never get over it, he'd be an outcast. As long ashe lived he'd be pointed at as the man who gave his honor for the loveof a wicked woman.
That was the first of my thoughts and the second was that I wasn't goingto let him do it. There was just one way of preventing it, and honest toGod--think as badly of me as you like, I can't help it--when I got whatthat way was I was so relieved I didn't care whether I was a traitor ornot. All that mattered then was if there'd got to be one--and as far asI could see there had to--it was better for it to be Molly Babbitts, whodidn't amount to much in the world, than Jack Reddy, who was a big manand was going to be a bigger.
As I put on my coat and hat I heard the clock strike half-past eleven.There were no trains out to the Azalea Woods Estates before seven thenext morning. Even if he took his own auto, which I guessed he'd do, itwould take him the best part of an hour and a half to get there, andlong before that she'd have had her warning from me.
Yes--that's what I was going to do--go to her and tell her before hecould. Dishonest? Well, I guess yes! I know what's straight from what'scrooked as well as most. But it seemed to me the future of a man, _that_man--was worth more than my pledged word, or the glory of Whitney &Whitney, or Babbitts' scoop. _That_ was the cruelest of all--my own dearbeloved Soapy--to go back on him too! Gosh!--going over in the taxithrough the dark still streets, _how_ I felt! But it didn't matter. If I_died_ when I was through I'd _got_ to do it. Maybe you neverexperienced those sensations, maybe you can't understand. But, take itfrom me, there are people who'd break all the commandments and all thelaws to save their friends and, bad or good, I'm one of them.
The Black Eagle Mystery Page 15
