The Girl at Central

  XV

  Cokesbury's story made a great sensation. Even if it didn't bring us anynearer to finding the murderer, it explained the mystery of Sylvia'smovements up to the time she appeared in the Wayside Arbor, and itcleared Jack Reddy. Babbitts told me that the Whitneys were doing somelegal stunts--I won't tell what they were for I'd never get themstraight--to have him liberated, and that they would soon issue astatement to the press.

  When it came out everybody saw why he had said such contradictory thingsabout those seven hours on the road.

  Babbitts and I had guessed right when we thought he was holdingsomething back and when I heard why I was grateful to him. Yes,grateful, that's the word. And I'll tell you why I use it. He was myhero and he stayed a hero, didn't fall down and disappoint me, but mademe know there were people in the world who could stick to their standardno matter _what_ happened. Don't you think that's a thing to be gratefulfor?

  The reason he didn't tell was to protect the memory of that poor deadgirl, who couldn't rise up and protect herself. He knew what wicked lieswould be told and believed and he was going to shield her in death as hewould have in life.

  That night after he had searched the roads, he suddenly thought that insome wild freak she had gone to the bungalow in her own car and phonedhim from there. As soon as the idea entered his head he went out to thelake. One glance showed him someone had been there before him--the roomwas warm, the fire still smouldering on the hearth. He lit the light andsaw the two teacups and the cigar butt on the saucer. He examined thedoors and windows and found that they were locked and there was no signof anyone having broken in. The only person beside himself who had a keyto the bungalow was Sylvia.

  Then he knew she had been there with another man and one of those fiercerages came on him.

  For a spell he was outside himself. He thought of things that neverhappened, the way people do in a fury--imagined Sylvia sending him thephone message with the other man standing by and laughing. He tore herletters out of the desk and threw them in the fire and smashed the teathings against the side of the house. He was half crazy, thinkinghimself fooled and made a mock of by the woman he had loved.

  When his rage quieted down he sat brooding over the fire for a longtime. It was moonlight when he left, bright enough for him to fill thetank. He had never thought about any inquiries for the missing drum tillat the inquest the question of the gasoline was sprung on him. Then helied, feeling certain that no one would ever go out to the lake. It washis intention to go there himself, hide the drum and clear out thecottage, but he put it off, hating to go near the place. If Pat Donahuehadn't gone there to fish through the ice--a thing no one would havedreamed of--the secret of the bungalow would never have been discovered.

  One of the features of the case that he couldn't understand and that hespent the days in jail speculating about, was how she had reached thelake. The mud showed the tracks of only one auto, his own. He could findno solution to this mystery and he could speak to no one about it.Whatever happened to him, he had made up his mind he would never giveher up to the evil-minded and evil-tongued who would blacken and tear topieces all that was left of her.

  He was liberated, and, believe me, Longwood rejoiced. It was as if aking who had been banished had come back to his throne.

  I don't think he was home two days when he telephoned in asking me if hecould come to see me and thank me for what I'd done. Wasn't that likehim? Most men would have been so glad to get out of jail they'd haveforgotten the hello girl who'd helped to free them, but not Jack Reddy.

  He came in the late afternoon, at the time I got off. I'll never forgetit. Katie Reilly was at the switchboard and I was standing at thewindow, watching, when I saw the two lights of the gray racer comingdown the street.

  I ran and opened the door--I wasn't bashful a bit--and when I saw him Igave a little cry, for he looked so changed, pale and haggard and older,a good many years older. But his smile was the same, and so was thekind, honest look of his face. Before he said a word he just held outhis hand and mine went into it and I felt the clasp of his fingers warmand strong. And--strange it is, but true--I wasn't any more like thegirl who used to tremble at the mere sight of him, but was calm andquiet, looking deep and steady into his eyes as if we'd got to befriends, the way a man might be friends with a boy.

  "Miss Morganthau," he said, "I've heard what you've done, and I want tothank you."

  "You needn't have taken all the trouble to come in from Firehill, Mr.Reddy," I answered. "You could have said it over the wire."

  "Could I have done this over the wire?" he said, giving my hand a shakeand a squeeze. "You know I couldn't. And that's what I wanted todo--take a grip of the hand that helped me out of prison."

  I said some fool words about its being nothing and he went on smilingdown at me, yet with something grave in his face.

  "I want to do more--ask a favor of you. I hope it won't be hard to grantfor I've set my heart on it. Can I be your friend?"

  "Oh, Mr. Reddy," I stammered out, "you make me proud," and suddenlytears came into my eyes. I don't know why unless it was seeing him sochanged and hearing him speak so humble to a common guy like me.

  "Oh, come now," he said, "don't do anything like that. You'll make methink you don't like the idea."

  I sniffed, wanting to kick Katie Reilly, who was gaping round in herchair, and I guess getting mad that way dried up my tears.

  "It's your friend I'll be till the end of my life, Mr. Reddy," Ianswered. "And the only thing I'm sorry for is that I didn't get theright man the way I thought I'd done."

  "Never mind about that," said he, his face hardening up, "we'll get himyet. Don't let's think of that now. It's the end of your day, isn't it?If you're going home will you let me take you there in my car?"

  There was a time when if I'd thought I'd ever ride beside Jack Reddy inthat racer I'd have had chills and fever for a week in advance.

  But now I sat calm and still beside him as he rode me through Longwoodto Mrs. Galway's door.

  As we swung up the street he talked very kind to me, complimenting mesomething awful, and saying that if he ever could do anything for me tolet him know and he'd do it if it was within the power of man.

  "You see, Miss Morganthau," he said as we drew up in front of the Elite,"a man in my position feels pretty grateful to the person who's liftedoff him the shadow of disgrace and death."

  Up in my room I sat quiet for a long time thinking. The thing thatphased me was why I'd changed so, come round to feel that while he wasstill a grand, strong man, I'd always look up to and do anything for,I'd quit having blind staggers and heart attacks when he came along.

  Something had sidetracked me. I didn't know what. All I did know wasthat two months ago if he'd asked me to be his friend I'd not have knownthere was such a thing as food in the world. And that evening athalf-past seven, being too lazy to go to the Gilt Edge, I was so hungryI had to go down to Mrs. Galway and beg the loan of three Uneedas and ahard boiled egg.

  It was one evening, not long after, that Anne Hennessey came in to seeme. Babbitts was coming that night and Mrs. Galway had given up theparlor again and was in bed with a novel and a kerosene lamp. Anne wasquite excited, the reason being that Mrs. Fowler had given her apresent. She took it careful out of a blue velvet case and held it up inthe glow of the drop light. It was a diamond cross and the minute I seteyes on it I knew where I'd seen it before.

  "Sylvia's," I said, low and sort of awed.

  Anne nodded.

  "Yes, the one she had on that night. Mrs. Fowler said she wanted to giveme something that had been hers. I wouldn't have taken anything sohandsome but I think the poor lady couldn't bear the sight of it,reminding her of her sorrow as it did."

  She moved it about and the stones sparkled like bits of fire in thelamplight. I stretched out my hand and took it, for diamonds tempt melike meat the hungry--that's the Jew in me, I suppose.

  "You won't call the King your cousin when you wear this," I said, and Iheld
it against my chest, looking down at the brightness of it.

  "That's just where Sylvia had it on," said Anne almost in a whisper,"where the front of her dress crossed. One of the police officers toldme."

  My mother was a Catholic and it's Catholic I was raised, for though myfather was a Jew he loved my mother and let her have her way with me.

  "Wouldn't you think," I said, "that when the murderer saw the cross onher it would have stayed his hand?"

  "Wouldn't you," said Anne, "but to men as evil as that the cross meansnothing. And then out in the dark that way, he probably never saw it."

  Babbitts' knock sounding, I handed it back to her and let him in,feeling bashful before Anne, who didn't know how often Mrs. Galway wasretiring at eight-thirty. She left soon after, saying Mrs. Fowler likedher to be round in the evening, which was news to me, as she'd told methat the Fowlers always sat in the sitting-room together, the Doctorreading aloud till Mrs. Fowler got sleepy.

  After she'd gone, Babbitts and I drew up to the stove, cozy andcheerful, with our feet on the edge of it. We'd come to know each otherso well now that we'd other topics beside "the case," but that night weworked around to it, me picking at the box of candy Babbitts had broughtand rocking lazily as contented as a child.

  Babbitts was still keen for that reward. He said to me:

  "You had your fingers on it once, and it's my wish that you'll get yourwhole hand on it next time."

  "What a noble character," said I, "calculating for little Molly to getit all! Where do _you_ come in?"

  "Oh, don't bother about me," says he. "You've a bad habit of thinkingtoo much where other people come in. You got to quit it--it isn't goodbusiness. Now what I want to arrange is for you and me to make anexcursion out to the Wayside Arbor some afternoon."

  "The Wayside Arbor--what'll we do there?"

  "Take a look over the ground. You see, with the process of eliminationthat's been going on things have narrowed down to the vicinity of thecrime. It's my opinion that the murder was not only committed but wasplanned round there. The police are losing heart and not doing much. Asfar as I can find out Fowler's detectives--Mills and his crowd--aregetting their pay envelopes regular but not getting anything else.Now--just for devilment--let _us_ combine our two giant intellects andsee what we can see."

  "Haven't they gone over every inch of it?"

  "They have--with a fine-tooth comb. But that doesn't prevent us goingover it and taking our fine-tooth combs along."

  "Isn't Hines under surveillance?"

  "Good Lord," says he laughing, "_everybody's_ under surveillance.There's not one of the suspects but knows he's expected to stay put andis doing it. But who's getting anywhere? There's no reason why weshouldn't go out that way, call on Mrs. Cresset, and take a look in atthe Wayside Arbor ourselves."

  "I'm game," I said, "though I can't see what good it's going to do."

  "It'll give us a half-day together," said he. "I don't know how you feelabout it but that looks worth while to me."

  We made a date for the following Monday, my holiday, just eight weeksfrom the murder.

  The next morning I had a surprise--a kind that hasn't often come my way.It was a letter directed in typewriting with a half-sheet of paperinside it inclosing a fifty-dollar bill. On the paper, also typed, waswritten:

  For Miss Morganthau--A small return for her recent good work in the Hesketh Murder Case.

  That was all--no name, no date, no handwriting. I don't know what mademe think right off of Mr. Whitney, unless it was because there was noone else who knew of what I'd done and could have afforded to send thatmuch. The only other person it could have been was Jack Reddy, andsomehow or other, after he'd asked me to be his friend, I felt certainhe wouldn't send me money, no matter what I'd done for him. Friendsdon't pay each other.

  I guess there wasn't a more elated person in Longwood that morning thanyours truly. I'd had that much before--saved it--but I'd never had itfall out of the sky that way in one beautiful, crisp, new bill.

  The Jew and the Irish in me had some tussle, one wanting to salt it downin the bank and the other to blow it in. But that time the Irish had awalk-over, probably because I was limp and weary with all the excitementof the last two months and felt the need of doing something foolish totone me up. When I thought of the clothes I could buy with it, the Jewjust lay down without a murmur and you'd have supposed I was all CountyGalway if you'd seen me writing a list of things on the back of theenvelope. If it'll make you think better of me I'll confess that Iwanted to look nice on that trip with Babbitts, the first real jauntwe'd ever taken, for I didn't count those times in New York when we weresleuthing after Cokesbury. Just once in my life I was going to have areal blowout, and I wanted the chap who was taking me to feel he'd somelady with him.

  With three of us in the office I fixed things so I got Saturdayafternoon and I hiked over to town with that bill burning in my purselike a live coal. And, my it was great spending it! I was cool on theoutside, looking haughty at the goods and casting them asidecontemptuous on chairs, but inside I was drunk with the feeling ofriches.

  I bought a one-piece silk dress that fitted me like every measure wasmine and a long black plush coat, rich fine plush like satin, that wasdraped something elegant and fastened in front with a novelty ornament.For a hat I selected a small dark felt, nothing flashy, no trimming,just a rosette at one side. And with the last three dollars a purse,black striped silk, oval shaped with a ribbon to hang it to your wrist.

  It was six when I got home, carrying the boxes myself--all but the coat;that I _had_ to wear--pretty nearly dead with the weight of them, butnot regretting--neither the Jew nor the Irish--one nickel of it.

  Midday Monday, when I came down to the parlor where Babbitts waswaiting, he put his hand over his eyes like the Indians in front ofcigar stores and pretended to stagger.

  _I came down to the parlor where Babbitts was waiting_]

  "What good deed have I ever done," says he, "that I'm allowed to walkthe world with such a queen!"

  Then I felt certain that to break loose now and again is a healthychange.