The Girl at Central

by Geraldine Bonner

  XI

  Looking back now I can remember dressing the next morning, all tremblyand with my hands damp, and my face in the glass, white and pinched likean East Side baby's in a hot wave. But there wasn't anything tremblyabout the thinking part of me. That was working better than it had everworked before. It seemed to be made of steel springs going swift andsure like an engine that went independent of the rest of my machinery.

  And, thank God, it did work that way, for it had thought of something!

  The idea came on me in the second part of the night, flashed out of thedark like a wireless. I'd been wondering about the man who made thetelephone date with Sylvia--the Unknown Voice they'd got to calling him.People thought as Jasper had said, that Reddy had found her with thisman and there had been a terrible scene. But whatever had happened theUnknown Voice was the clew to the mystery. The police had tried tolocate him, tried and failed. Now _I_ was going to hunt for him.

  My plan was perfectly simple. From what I had seen myself and heard fromAnne Hennessey I was sure I knew every lover that Sylvia had had. I wasgoing to call each one of them up on the phone and listen to theirvoices, and I wasn't going to tell a soul about it. Everybody wouldsay--just as you say as you read this--"but all those men gavesatisfactory alibis." I knew that as well as anyone, but it didn't cutany ice with me, I didn't care what they'd proved. I was going to heartheir voices and see for myself. If I was successful, then I'd tellBabbitts and have him advise me what to do. I'd heard Jack Reddy hadretained Mr. Wilbur Whitney, the great criminal lawyer, but I wouldn'thave known whether to go to him or the police or the District Attorneyand if I did it at all I wanted to do it right.

  Now that there were three of us in the Exchange my holiday had beenchanged to Monday, and I made up my mind not to put my plan intoexecution till that day. I didn't want to be hurried, or confused, bypossible interruptions, and also I wanted to hear the voices at shortrange and could do that better from the city. I telephoned over toBabbitts that I'd be in town Monday to do some shopping, and he made adate to meet me at the entrance of the Knickerbocker Hotel and dine withme at some joint near Times Square.

  Monday morning I was up bright and early and dressed myself in my bestclothes. From the telephone book I got the numbers of the four men whowere known to have been Sylvia's lovers and admirers--Carisbrook,Robinson, Dunham and Cokesbury. I had found out from Anne what theirbusinesses were and I had no trouble in locating them. With the slip ofpaper in my purse I took the ten-twenty train and was in town beforemidday.

  On the way over I worked out what I'd say to each of them. I was goingto ask Carisbrook, who was a soft, dressed-up guy, if he knew whereMazie Lorraine, a manicure who'd once been in the Waldorf, had moved to.It was nervy but I wanted to give him a dig, he having put on airs andtreated me like a doormat. Robinson was easy--he had a common name andI'd got the wrong man. Excuse _me_, please, awful sorry. Dunham was alawyer and I was a dressmaker that a customer wouldn't pay. AndCokesbury was easy, too--I'd heard Cokesbury Lodge was for rent and waslooking for a country place.

  I got Carisbrook first and he was as mad as a hornet.

  "I don't know what you're talking about. _Manicure_? I don't know anymanicure called Lorraine or anything else. I've never been manicured inthe Waldorf--or any other hotel--in the city. The woman is a liar----"and so forth and so on, sputtering and fizzing along the wire. I hadhard work not to laugh and in the middle of it I hung up, for he had athin, high squeak on him like an old maid scared by a mouse.

  Robinson was a sport, I liked _him_ fine:

  "Don't apologize. It's the penalty of being called Robinson. Stillthere's a bright side to every cloud. It might have been Smith, youknow."

  It wasn't Robinson. He talked with a dialect that sounded like Jasper's,English, I guess.

  Dunham was very smooth and awful hard to get rid of. He kept on askingquestions and I had to think quick and speak unnaturally intelligent. Inthe middle of it--I'd got what I wanted--I said it was too complicatedto tell over the phone and I'd be in to-morrow at two and my name wasMrs. Pendleton.

  It wasn't Dunham.

  When I tackled Cokesbury I ran into the first snag. I tried his officeand a real pleasant young man (you get to know a young voice from an oldone) asked me what I wanted. I said business, and he answered:

  "What is the nature of your business, Madam?"

  "I'd rather tell that to Mr. Cokesbury," I said.

  "Mr. Cokesbury doesn't like to be interrupted in the office. If you'lltell me what you want to see him about----"

  "Say, young feller," said I, in a cool, classy way, "suppose we stopthis pleasant little talk, and you trot into Mr. Cokesbury and say alady's waiting on the wire."

  "Very well," he answered, calm and cheerful, "I'll do just as you say."

  There was a wait and then he was back.

  "Mr. Cokesbury says it's impossible for him to come to the phone andwill you kindly tell me what your business is."

  "I guess I'll have to wait till he's not so busy," I answered, languid,like I've heard ladies when they're mad and don't want to show it, and Ihung up.

  Afterward I saw I'd made a mistake, for, when I called up two hourslater that polite guy was still on the job and handed me the same lineof talk.

  I went into a drugstore and looked up Cokesbury--Edward L., residence.It was in the East Fifties and at six I tried him there.

  I drew a man that I guess was a servant:

  "Is Mr. Cokesbury home?"

  "Who is it?"

  "That doesn't matter. I want to know if he's home."

  "I don't know, ma'am. Will you please give me your name?"

  "Say, you're not taking the census or compiling a new directory, you'reanswering the phone. Tell Mr. Cokesbury a party wants to see him onbusiness."

  "I have orders, ma'am, not to bother Mr. Cokesbury with messages unlessI know who they're from," said the voice, and then I knew he _was_there.

  "I'm sure he'll come if you say it's a _lady_," I said, sort of coaxingand sweet.

  "I'll try, ma'am," said the voice, and I could hear the echo of his feetas he walked off.

  Presently he was back.

  "Beg pardon, ma'am, but Mr. Cokesbury says he can't possibly come andplease to give me the message."

  By that time I was getting mad.

  "You ought to get double pay, for you seem to be a District Messengerboy as well as a butler. If it's not too much trouble would you mindtelling me what Mr. Cokesbury's friends do when they want a word withhim over the phone?"

  "They tell the butler who they are and what they want, ma'am. That's theorders in this house. Good-bye."

  When Babbitts and I were sitting at a table in a little dago joint nearBroadway, I couldn't help but tell him what I'd been doing.

  He looked at me with his eyes as big as half-dollars and then began tolaugh.

  "Well, what do you make of that? Spending your holiday and your nickelsrounding up a lot of men that rounded themselves up weeks ago."

  "I want to get that voice."

  "But everyone of them have proved that voice couldn't be theirs."

  "Maybe they did," said I, "but I want to know it myself."

  "Listen to her," he said, looking round the table as if a crowd wascollected, "calmly brushing aside the police, the detectives, the mightof the law and the strong arm of the press."

  "And anything else that stands round trying to discourage me."

  "Far be it from me to discourage you in any eccentricity that maydevelop. But there's no need in following up Cokesbury, for we know thathe was marooned in Cokesbury Lodge."

  "I don't care what we know. The only things I believe are the things Isee myself."

  "Thomas!" he said, laughing, and I didn't see any sense in his callingme that, but he often said things I wasn't on to. "Do you intend to campon his trail all night?"

  "I do," I answered. "As soon as you get through lapping up that red inkI'm going to go to the nearest pay station and ring up Edward L
.,residence."

  "I'll toddle along," he said. "Anything goes with me that adds to theentertainment of Mary McKenna Morganthau."

  He held up his glass as if he was drinking a toast, and something aboutthe look of him--I don't know what--made me get all embarrassed. Itnever happened before and it took me so by surprise I blushed and wasglad I'd dropped my gloves on the floor so I could bend down and hidehow red my face was.

  I tried Edward L., residence, at a drug store on Broadway and again Idrew that butler gink, who was sort of sassy and hung up quick. Then wewalked along and I could see that Babbitts was getting interested.

  "Tell you what," he said, "that servant knows you. I'll make theconnection, say I want to see Cokesbury on business, and if I get him,hand on the receiver to you."

  We fixed it that way, went into a hotel, and I stood at the door of thebooth while Babbitts got the house. Standing at his elbow I could see hewas up against the same proposition as I had been. He finally had to sayhe wanted to see Mr. Cokesbury about renting Cokesbury Lodge.

  He turned to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and said:

  "He's there and he won't come."

  "Has the servant gone to get him?"

  "Yes. He wouldn't say whether his boss was home or not, but hiswillingness to take the message gave him away. Now stand close and ifit's a new voice I won't say a word, just get up and let you slide intomy place." He started and turned back to the instrument. "Yes. What?" Icould see a look of surprise come over his face. "Soon? You don'tknow--in a few days. Hasn't any idea of renting. Thanks. That'sall--good-bye."

  He hung up and turned to me:

  "It was the servant. Cokesbury hasn't any intention of renting and isleaving for Europe."

  "For Europe!" I cried out. "_When?_"

  "The man didn't know exactly. He said he thought in a few days."

  We walked down the street silent and thoughtful. The only feeling I hadat first was disappointment. I didn't get the whole thing clear asBabbitts did. It came on him all in a minute, he told me afterward.

  We were on Broadway as light as day with the signs and people walking byus and crowding in between us as if they were hurrying to catch trains.I felt Babbitts' hand go round my arm, steering me into a side street.It was darker there and there were only a few passers-by. We slackenedup and still with his hand around my arm, he bent his face down towardmy ear and said low, as if he was afraid someone was listening:

  "Kiddo, are you on?"

  "To what?"

  "Cokesbury. Don't you get it? He won't answer the phone."

  "Do you mean he won't answer at all?"

  "Not unless it's someone he knows. He's got his clerks in the officeholding the fort and his servants at home."

  We were just under a lamp and I stopped with my mouth falling open, forsudden, like a flash of light, it came to me.

  "Soapy!" I gasped and wheeled round on him. His face bent down towardme, was intent like a hunting dog's when it sees a bird, his eyes,bright and fixed, looking straight into mine.

  "You've made the first real discovery in this case, Molly Morganthau.Cokesbury's scared, d----d scared, so scared he's lost his nerve and islighting out to Europe."

  We walked round into Bryant Park and sat down on a bench. We were soexcited we didn't notice anything--that I'd grabbed Babbitt's hand andkept hold of it, that it was freezing cold, that we'd got on a benchwith a drunk all huddled up on the other end. We were as certain as ifhe'd confessed it that Cokesbury was the Unknown Voice and that he'dkilled Sylvia Hesketh. We just brushed his alibi aside as if he'd nevermade one and planned how I was to hear him before he got away to Europe.We laid plots there in the dark, sitting close together to keep warm,with the drunk all lopped over and muttering to himself on the seatbeside us.

  When Babbitts left me at the Ferry we'd fixed it that he was to call meup the next day and tell me what he'd done in town and I was to tell himwhat I'd accomplished at my end of the line.

  The next morning I tried Cokesbury's office with the same results. Atone Babbitts called me and said he'd tried twice to get him as a testand been told that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't down to-day and his whereaboutswere unknown. By inquiries at the steamship offices he'd found that OurSuspect--that's what we called him on the wire--had taken passage on the_Caronia_ for the following Saturday. That was four days off--four daysto hear the man who wouldn't answer the phone.

  That afternoon I had an idea, called up Anne Hennessey and asked her tomeet me at the Gilt Edge for supper. She came and afterward in my roomat Galway's I told her--I had to, but she's true-blue and I knew it--andshe agreed to help. She was to come to the Exchange the next morning,call up Cokesbury and say she was Mrs. Fowler, who wanted to bid himgood-bye before he left. While she spoke--imitating Mrs. Fowler--I wasto listen. We did it--though she'd have lost her job if she'd been foundout--and I heard the clerk tell her that Mr. Cokesbury wasn't in hisoffice, that he didn't know where she could find him, and that it wasvery little use trying to get him on the phone as he was so muchoccupied prior to his departure.

  When Anne came out of the booth I was crying. I guess I never before inmy life had my nerves as strung up as they were then.

  It wasn't long after that that I had a call from Babbitts. He'd beenable to do nothing. When he heard of my last attempt he said:

  "He's not answering any calls at all now. His own mother couldn't gethim. It's no use trying that line any more. We've got to think up someother way."

  That was Wednesday--I had only three days. Three days and I hadn't anidea how to do it. Three days and Jack Reddy was waiting indictment inBloomington jail. We couldn't stop Cokesbury going or get anybody elseto stop him unless we could light on something more definite than ahello girl's suspicions.