The Girl at Central

by Geraldine Bonner

  XIII

  At noon the next day--Friday--I was called to Mrs. Galway's phone. Itwas Mr. George Whitney telling me to come over to the city at once. Iwasn't to bother about addresses or finding my way. I'd be met at theFerry and taken to Mr. Whitney's office in Broad Street--all I was to dowas to say nothing to anybody and come.

  I did both.

  At the Ferry a fine-looking chap came up to me, with his hat in hishand, and asked me if I was Miss Morganthau. For a moment I was uneasy,thinking maybe he was a masher, when he turned to a kind-faced elderlywoman beside him and said:

  "This is Mrs. Cresset, who's come over on the boat with you and is goingto Mr. Whitney's office, too."

  Then I knew it was all right and we three got into a taxi. On the wayacross to Broad Street he told us what we were to do. It was nothingmuch. All Mr. Whitney wanted of us was that we'd sit in the inner officeand listen to some gentleman talking in the next room. If we heard thevoice I'd got on the wire and Mrs. Cresset had heard the night of themurder we were to say nothing, but sit perfectly still till we werecalled.

  "If you recognize the voice make no sign or sound. All we ask of you is,if you're not certain of the identification, to say so."

  The office was a great big place, rooms opening out of rooms, and aswitchboard with a girl at it, dressed very neat and not noticing us aswe passed her. Mr. George Whitney met us and took us into a roomfurnished fine with leather armchairs and books all up the walls and awide window looking out over the roofs and skyscrapers. There was a doorat one side, and this he opened a crack and told Mrs. Cresset to sitdown close to it with me opposite. He cautioned us to be quiet and notto move or even whisper till we were called.

  We sat there for a while with nothing happening. We could hear voices,and now and then people walking and doors shutting, and once a belltinkled far off in the distance. Then suddenly I heard someone--Mr.George Whitney, I think--say, "Show him in, the private office," andheavy steps coming up the passage, past our door and into the next room,then old Mr. Whitney's voice, very loud and cheerful.

  "Ah, Mr. Cokesbury, this is truly kind of you. I have to apologize fortaking up your time, just as you're leaving, too, but we hoped you mighthelp us in some minor points of this curious case."

  The voice that answered was Cokesbury's; I knew it well now. At thesound of it Mrs. Cresset gave a start and leaned forward, her ear closeto the door.

  He was as cordial and hearty as if he was at a pink tea.

  "Only too glad to be of service, Mr. Whitney. If I had thought I couldbe of any help I would have offered before. Fortunately for me--as youprobably know--I was held up in my place on the day of the murder. If mycar had been in working order I suppose I'd have been quite a prominentfigure in the case by now."

  He laughed out, a deep, rich sort of laugh, and it made my flesh creepto think he could do it with that girl's death at his door.

  The talk went on for a bit, back and forth between them, Mr. Whitneyasking him some questions about the roads, the distances, and MissHesketh's friends; he answering as calm and fluent as if he'd hardlyknown her at all.

  In the middle of it the clerk who had met us at the Ferry came softlyin, and without a word, beckoned us to follow him through a door thatled into another room. We rose up as stealthily as burglars and stoleacross the carpet without making so much as a creak or a rustle. When wewere in he shut the door, told us to wait there, and left us. We sat,afraid to speak, staring at each other and wondering what was going tohappen next. In a few minutes the door opened and Mr. Whitney came in.

  "Well?" he said, turning to me, "are you as sure as you were over thephone?"

  "Certain," I answered. "It's the man."

  He looked at Mrs. Cresset.

  "How about you, Mrs. Cresset? Remember, a mistake in a matter like thisis a pretty serious thing."

  Mrs. Cresset was as sure as I was.

  "I couldn't tell the man from Adam," she said, "but I knew his voice theminute I heard it."

  "Very well. Now I want you to come into the private office. Don't befrightened; nothing disagreeable's going to happen. All you have to dois to answer simply and truthfully any questions I may put to you. Comealong."

  We followed him up the passage to the room where he'd been talking.Sitting in a large chair by the desk was the man I'd seen that day inthe woods with Sylvia Hesketh. He didn't look so robust and hearty as hehad then; his skin was paler and his forehead lined; but I noticed hislarge coarse hands with the hair on them--a murderer's hands--_they_were the same.

  When he saw us, walking in solemn behind Mr. Whitney, his face changed.It's hard to explain how it looked, but it was as if the musclestightened up and the eyes got a fixed startled expression like you seein the eyes of an animal you've come on sudden and scared. He rose tohis feet and I saw one of his hands close till the knuckles turnedwhite. Mr. George Whitney, who was standing near by, watched him like acat watching a mouse.

  Old Mr. Whitney spoke up as genial as if he was introducing us at aparty.

  "These ladies, Mr. Cokesbury, come from Longwood and its vicinity. MissMorganthau is one of the operators in the Telephone Exchange, and Mrs.Cresset you've met before, I think, one night at Cresset's Farm."

  Mrs. Cresset bowed very polite and made as if she was going to shakehands. But Cokesbury didn't meet her half or a quarter way. He turned tothe men and--I guess he did it without knowing--looked like lightningfrom one to the other--a sort of wild glance. They never took their eyesoff him, and there was something awful about their stare, for all bothof them were behaving so pleasant. Under that stare he got as white as asheet, but he tried to put up a bluff.

  "Cresset," he said, "Cresset? There's some mistake. I never saw herbefore in my life."

  "That's quite true," said Mr. Whitney, "you didn't see her nor she you.If you remember it was very dark. But you spoke to her and she's willingto swear that yours was the voice she heard. Aren't you, Mrs. Cresset?"

  "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Cresset, as solid and sure as the Bartholdistatue. "This is the gentleman that asked me the way that night. I'dknow his voice among a thousand."

  "What night?" said Cokesbury. "I don't know what she's talking about."

  It was pitiful to see him trying to keep it up with his face gray andhis hands trembling.

  Mr. Whitney went on as if he didn't notice anything.

  "And Miss Morganthau here is also ready to swear to your voice as theone she overheard on the phone Saturday, November the twentieth, in aconversation with the late Miss Hesketh--a message you've probably seena good deal about in the papers."

  I saw one of those big, hairy hands make a grip at the back of thearmchair. I thought he was going to fall and couldn't take my eyes offhim till Mr. Whitney turned to me and said in that bland society way:

  "Perhaps you'll be so good, Miss Morganthau, as to tell Mr. Cokesbury ofyour efforts during the past week to get him on the phone."

  I told him the whole thing and ended up with the story of how I fooledhim about the key. And, honest to God, though I thought I was talking toa murderer, I was sorry for him.

  All the life seemed to leave him and he got as haggard as an old man,with his lips shaking and the perspiration in beads on his forehead.When I got through he suddenly gave a sort of groan, dropped back intohis chair and put his hands over his face. I was glad it was hidden, andI was glad when Mr. Whitney turned to me and Mrs. Cresset and said quickand commanding:

  "That'll do. You can go into the other room. Ring the bell, George."

  We huddled out into the passage where we met that spry clerk coming upon the jump. He went into the office and shut the door, and we couldhear a murmur of voices, we standing up against the wall not knowingwhat to do next.

  Presently the clerk came out again, rounded us up and sent us into theroom down the hall where Mr. Whitney had talked to us. He told us towait there for a minute, then lit out as if he was in a great hurry. Westood stiff in the middle of the floor, expecting to hear the tramp
ofpolicemen and then Cokesbury being dragged off to jail. But it was allvery still. I never supposed when you caught a criminal the proceedingswould be so natural and dignified.

  After a while the clerk came back. He said Mr. Whitney'd sent us histhanks for our kindness in coming--I never saw people waste so manywords on politeness--and hoped we'd excuse him from thanking us inperson, but he was just now very busy. He warned us not to say a word toanyone of what had transpired, and then a boy coming to the door andsaying, "It's here," he told us a taxi was waiting below to take us tothe Ferry.

  If we couldn't talk to anyone else we could to each other and I guess wedid more gabbing going down in the taxi and across in the boat than Mrs.Cresset had done for years. She told me about the night when Cokesburyhad come to her house. It was wonderful to see how luck was withhim--the way it sometimes is with sinners. Usually at that hour she wasround in the kitchen and when he knocked would have opened the door andseen his face in the lamplight. But she'd gone upstairs early as herlittle daughter had a cold.

  To go back over the small things that happened would make you sure someevil power was protecting him. That morning the little girl's coldwasn't bad and she'd gone to school as usual. But at the schoolhouse sheheard that the dancing bear--the one I saw in Longwood which had beenperforming along the pike on its way back to Bloomington--had been atJaycock's farm and might be round by Cresset's that afternoon. Like allchildren, she was crazy about the bear, and after school hours she and achum slipped off and stood around in the damp, waiting. But the bear didnot show up and when she came home, crying with disappointment, the coldwas heavy on her. Her mother bundled her off to bed and went up early tosit with her. Only for that, Cokesbury would probably have been landedin jail weeks before, the State saved money and two innocent men savedshame and suffering.

  "That's the way it is with the Devil's own," I said. "I guess he takescare of them for a while; jollies them along the downward path."

  "It looks like that was the case," said Mrs. Cresset, her kind, rosyface very solemn. "But the power of evil gets broke in the end. 'Murderwill out'--that's true if anything is. Think of that man feeling so safeand every hour the cords tightening round him."

  "And _we_ did it," said I, awful proud. "We found the cords and thenpulled on them."

  "We did," says she. "I never thought to be the one to put afellow-creature behind bars, but I have and my conscience tells me I'vedone right."

  My, but we both felt chesty!

  The next morning Babbitts phoned me to say he'd be over Sunday evening.The information of "Our Suspect" would be given to the press Sundaymorning for the Monday papers and after it was in he'd come across andtell me about it.

  Mr. Whitney had arranged for me not to go back to work till Tuesday andthough I suppose the rest was good for me, the strain of waiting wore onme something dreadful. I kept wondering how Cokesbury had done it, andhow he was going to explain this and account for that. Most of Sunday Ilay on the bed trying to read a novel, but a great deal more interestedin the hands of the clock than I was in the printed pages.

  When it began to darken up for evening I told Mrs. Galway I wasexpecting a gentleman caller and asked for the loan of the parlor. She'sa great one for love affairs and it always discouraged her that I had noregular company. Now she thought I'd got a steady at last and wanted tolend me her cameo pin, and decked up the parlor as if the minister wascoming to call, with the hand-painted leather cushion and the punch-worktablecloth.

  Long before Babbitts was due I was sitting by the stove, burning brightand clear, with the drop light throwing a glow over the center table.Upstairs I could hear Mrs. Galway tramping round as she went to bed,which was considerate of her as she was something of a night bird. WhenI heard his knock at the side door, I gave a sort of squeal ofexcitement and ran to let him in.

  "Well?" I said, grabbing his arm, too worked up to say good evening,"has he confessed?"

  "Yes," he said, "he has and he's told an uncommon queer story."

  "He killed her?"

  "That's the queerest part of it," said Babbitts slowly, "he didn't."