The Girl at Central

by Geraldine Bonner

  XIV

  Now I don't believe if I gave you twenty guesses you'd know what I didwhen I heard those words--burst out crying.

  It wasn't because I wanted Cokesbury to be executed; it wasn't because Iwanted the reward; it wasn't even that I was so crazy to have Jack Reddyexonerated--it was just because I was so disappointed--so _foiled_--thatI couldn't seem to bear it.

  I cried so hard I didn't know what I was doing, and I suppose that's thereason I leaned on Babbitts' shoulder, it being the nearest thing handy.He brought me to my senses, patting me on the arm and saying sort ofsoothing as if he was comforting a child who'd broken her doll:

  "There, there--don't cry--it'll be all right soon. We'll get the rightman. Don't take it to heart that way."

  Then I began to laugh, for it did seem so comical--me crying becauseCokesbury wasn't a murderer, and Babbitts telling me not to take it toheart as if I'd been disappointed in not seeing the electrocution. Thelaughter and tears got mixed up together and I don't know where I'd havelanded if I hadn't seen he was getting frightened and wanted to callMrs. Galway. That pulled me up, and I got a hold on myself. In a fewminutes we were sitting side by side in front of the stove, the stormover, all but a little hiccupy kind of sob, that came upon me unexpectedat intervals.

  For the next hour we sat there without moving while Babbitts told meCokesbury's story.

  I'll put down what he said as near his words as I can remember it. Theway he told it was better than any of the newspaper accounts, even his,though he got a raise of salary for the way he'd handled it:

  "Cokesbury says he didn't kill Sylvia Hesketh and I believe him and sodo the Whitneys. Besides the corroborative evidence is absolutelyconvincing. He's not a murderer but he's a coward--no good at all--andthat explains why he didn't come out after the crime and tell what heknew. Instead he got in a panic, lost what little nerve he had, and wasskipping out to Europe when you nabbed him.

  "He was in love with Sylvia Hesketh, if you call that sort of thinglove. Anyway, instead of being simply what you might describe as a beauof hers, he was mad about her. I fancy even she, poor girl, didn'trealize the passion she'd kindled, but was like a child playing with adynamite bomb. It appears she saw more of him than anybody guessed.After the first flirtation at Bar Harbor, he came down to CokesburyLodge nearly every Sunday and used to meet her in the woods and on theside roads, and make dates with her for theaters and concerts in town.He kept it quiet for he knew without being told that the Doctor wouldn'tstand for it. His hope was that, willful and unstable as he knew her tobe, he'd eventually win her by his persistence and devotion.

  "It was one of those situations that may end in nothing or may end asthis one did in a tragedy. The girl was foolhardy and flirtatious; theman infatuated. Very quickly he got on to the fact that he was not theonly victim of her beauty and her wiles. He watched and questioned andfound out about the other men. Of them he soon saw that Reddy was thefavored one and a deadly jealousy seized him, for Reddy might haveattracted any woman.

  "When he tried to find out from her how she stood with Reddy he couldget no satisfaction. She'd tell him one thing one day and another thenext. She kept them all guessing, but it didn't mean to any of theothers what it meant to Cokesbury. All through October he spied andqueried, and learnt that she was meeting Reddy in his car and going offfor long jaunts with him. He says he was half mad with jealousy andfear, but he hid it from her.

  "That's the way things were when he sent the phone message that youcaught. You sized him up just right. When she told him she had a datethat was a secret, he got a premonition of the truth, the way a man doeswhen his reason is under the dominion of his emotions. He felt certainshe was going off with Reddy, and the brakes that he'd kept down tillthen were lifted. He determined he'd find out and if it was true stopthem if the skies fell.

  "And now here comes the queer part of the story. If anybody'd guessed ita lot of things that were dark would have been as clear as daylight. He_did_ keep the date you heard him make on the phone."

  "How could he? He had no car, or horse, or anything."

  "Only part of that's true--he had no car, or horse, but he _did_ havesomething."

  "What?"

  "An aeroplane."

  I fell back staring at him.

  "An aeroplane--in Cokesbury Lodge?"

  "In the garage there. _That's_ why he wouldn't rent the house; _that's_why he kept going down over Sunday all summer. The year he was in Francehe'd done a lot of flying and was fascinated by it. Before he left therehe was an expert aviator, but his wife hated it and it was one of theirgrounds of dissension. After she died he had a machine brought down insections, set it up himself, and kept it in the garage. Not a soul knewit. He only flew at night for he wanted it kept a secret."

  "Why--what for?"

  "Because--here's the best thing I've heard about him--he carried a heavylife insurance policy secured to his children. Cokesbury's not a richman, though he has a good business, and if he died his children wouldhave had to live on what their mother left them, which wasn't much. Ifit was known that he was aviating the policy would have beeninvalidated, so he indulged his secret passion at night. The isolatedposition of the house made it easy to escape detection and his machinewas equipped with a very silent muffler. No one had a glimmering of it,not even Sylvia.

  "The phone message you heard was sent from the station at Jersey Cityand when he sent it he _did_ intend coming to Mapleshade in his motor.When he got to Azalea and found the car unmended in the garage he flewinto a rage, as he thought his plans were blocked. Alone in the Lodge,ravaged by jealousy, he lost all caution and decided to take out theaeroplane.

  "You remember that there was a moon that night, but that in the eveningthe skies were clouded and the air breathless. The darkness and theweather were on his side and he came down in a field about ten minuteswalk from the house, closing the cut-out as he descended. He was earlyand hid himself among some trees where he could watch the front door. Hesays it was while he was waiting there for her that the idea came to himof frustrating an elopement by carrying her off.

  "He was laying round in his mind how he would get the truth from her,when he saw her come out and gave a low whistle. She heard it and cametoward him. It was not till she was close to him and he could see theoutlines of her figure through the dark, that he made out a bag in herhand. _Then_ he knew for certain she was going and decided on hiscourse.

  "In all his other dealings with her he had found her subtle and evasive.Now, perhaps because for the first time in her life she had decided on apositive action, she went straight to the point. Without any preambleshe told him what she was going to do and that within a half-hour Reddywould be waiting for her in the Lane.

  "He showed no anger or surprise, apparently accepting the situation inthe most friendly spirit. He says he thought she was relieved, havingexpected a scene with him. When he had disarmed her of her suspicions,he told her of the airship and asked her if she wouldn't like to come upfor a spin before Reddy arrived. They had over half an hour and he couldtake her for a short flight and would bring her down in ten or fifteenminutes.

  "Everybody agrees that she was a bold, venturesome girl, and the ideaappealed to her, as she had never been up. They walked quickly throughthe fields and bit of woodland to the aeroplane. She was in high spiritsas she tucked herself in; he could hear her laughter as he took hisseat, and then, closing the cut-out, they soared up.

  "They rose high--about two thousand feet, he thought--and then he headedEast. They were winging their way over Cokesbury Lodge on toward thehills in the distance when Reddy must have sighted the lights ofLongwood as he came down the Firehill Road.

  "Cokesbury swears he had no intention of kidnapping her. He says he hadno definite idea of where he was going, that his plan was simply to gether away from Reddy and put an end to the marriage. Personally, I don'tbelieve him. I think he had a perfectly clear idea of carrying her offto Cokesbury Lodge, and that his chivalrous scheme was to put
her intosuch a compromising position she would be willing to marry him. MaybeI'm wrong--I don't know. Anyway, he very soon saw you can't abduct ahigh-spirited, hot-tempered girl against her will.

  "After about fifteen or twenty minutes he was conscious of her gettinguneasy and speaking to him--words that he couldn't hear but that he knewto be at first startled questions, then angry commands. He shoutedreplies, but the great machine kept steadily on its way, neither turningnor dipping downward. Then she realized and broke into a fury, turningupon him in the dark, putting her face close to his and screaming forhim to bring her down. The noise made it impossible to argue with her,and fearful of what she might do, he held her off with his elbow, thedelicately balanced machine swaying as she seized his arm and shook it,lunging up against him, her cries of rage rising above the thunder ofthe screw.

  "Can't you imagine it? The big ship sailing through the night with thelights of farms and little towns sliding by far below, and above the skymuffled deep in black clouds. Poised between them the man and woman,each gripped by a different passion--suspended there like two nakedsouls in a sort of elemental battle of the sexes.

  "He admits he was scared and if he could have spoken to her would havepacified her with all sorts of assurances. But speech was out of thequestion, and when she made a sudden lunge across him for the wheel herealized she would kill them both if he didn't bring her to earth.Throwing her back with a blow of his elbow, he yelled that he was comingdown and as she felt the machine begin its glancing, downward glide shefell back into her place, suddenly quiet, then leaned forward scanningthe country below them.

  "A momentary break of the clouds let a little light spill through and bythis he saw a bare, bold landscape darkened by woods, and with the gleamof a large body of water to the right, showing against the blacknesslike polished steel. He made a landing in an open space, an uncultivatedfield with a hillock in the center covered with grass and surrounded bytrees. The water had drained off this and it was quite dry.

  "She was hardly out on the ground and he was preparing for anexplanation when to his surprise she curtly told him to follow her andled the way along a ridge that skirted the lake. This, too, was dry, afact curiously in his favor, for their feet left no tracks, the grassclosing on the trail they swept through it. She did not address himagain till, the dim shape of a house appearing, he asked her if she wasgoing there and she answered in the same, curt way: Yes; she was cold. Awharf jutted out in front of the house and in stepping from the grass tothe planks he made a motion to help her, but she started away from himas if he was a snake, making two or three steps into the liquid mud thatran up to the wharf's edge. It was then he thought she dropped theglove. Once again on the planks she took a key from her purse, fitted itin the lock and opened the door.

  "The room was pitch dark and Cokesbury stood in the doorway while shewent in. She moved about as if she was accustomed to the place, lit alamp, set a match to the fire already laid and gave him a copper kettleto fill with water from the lake. When he came back with it the tablewas set out with tea things and the fire was leaping up the chimney. Shehung the kettle on a crane, swung it over the flames and then, turningto him, said:

  "'Do you know where you are?' He said he didn't and she answered:'You're in Jack Reddy's bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, the place where I'vespent the happiest days of my life.'

  "He looked at her in amazement and she smiled scornfully back at him.'You fool!' she said, 'to think you could come blundering in and stop mefrom marrying the only man of all of you who's worth a heartbeat.'

  "She made tea and then motioned him to sit down by the table, taking aseat at the other side. Facing each other in the lamplight they had aconversation that put an end to all his dreams. For the first time inhis acquaintance with her he thought she spoke frankly. She told him ofher friendship with Reddy from the start, and how the Doctor's senselessopposition had fanned a boy-and-girl flirtation into a passionate loveaffair.

  "When the quarrels began at Mapleshade they found that they could meetwithout fear of detection at the Lake, she going out there in her carand he in his. She had her own key and often, during the autumn, she hadgone to the bungalow in the morning, Reddy had joined her and they hadspent the day together, canoeing and fishing on the lake, cooking apicnic meal over the fire, and driving home in the afternoon, the racertowing her car till they came to the turnpike.

  "Cokesbury says he thinks at first it was only the spirit of romance andadventure which made her do such a rash thing, but that in the endReddy's devotion and chivalrous attitude made a deep impression on herand she came as near loving him as she could any man. He says there isno doubt that the meetings were perfectly innocent and that Reddy hadbehaved from the start as a gentleman.

  "'Whether she really loved him or not,' he said, 'he'd taught her torespect him.'

  "They talked for over an hour, taking the tea she had made and Cokesburysmoking a cigar. He remembered leaving the butt in the saucer of hiscup. It was half-past eight when they rose to go. Sylvia put out thelamp but the fire was still burning and the tea things were left on thetable. Cokesbury says he promised to take her home, that he saw his casewas hopeless, and he'd made up his mind to have done with her forever.

  "The sky was clouded over and it was as dark as a pocket when they wentback to the aeroplane. He had to direct the machine by guesswork, thecountry black below him and the sky black above. He swears that heintended to take her back to Mapleshade, and I believe him. No man--noteven a bad egg like Cokesbury--wants to run away with a woman who handsout the line of talk that girl had in the bungalow.

  "Anyway, we've only his word for the statement that he completely losthis bearings. He could see no lights and after making an exploratorycircle, realized he hadn't the slightest idea which way to go. To makematters worse, he could hear from shouted remarks of hers that hersuspicions were on the alert and that she was ready to flare up again.By this time there wasn't much of the lover left in him. According tohis own words he was as anxious to get her home again as she was to bethere. With his head clear and his blood cold he did not relish a secondflight with a woman fighting like a wildcat.

  "This was the situation--she, angry and disbelieving; he, scared andunable to conciliate her--when the twinkle of a light caught his eye andhe decided to come down and ask his way. They dropped into a stretch ofgrass land among fields, with the light shining some way off through ascreen of trees. Farther away, just a spark, he saw another light. Hetold her to wait while he went to inquire, and walked off toward the onethat was nearest.

  "It was Cresset's Farm. There he had the interview with Mrs. Cresset,telling her he had an auto in order to explain his presence. When hewent back he found that Sylvia had disappeared. At first he didn't knowwhat to do, realizing that if the story of their flight got abroad,there would be the devil to pay. He was certain she had disbelieved himand had taken the opportunity to get away from him. She was eitherhiding or had gone for the second light. This being the most plausible,he walked toward it--quite a distance across fields and throughwoods--and brought up at a ramshackle roadhouse--the Wayside Arbor.

  "He stole round from the back to a side window and there, through acrack in the shutter, looked in and saw Sylvia talking to Hines. He sayshe stayed there for some minutes, afraid if he went in after her shewould make a scene and start a scandal. Then his eyes fell on thetelephone booth and he felt sure she had telephoned either to her ownhome or to Reddy. Her air of waiting--she was sitting by the stove withher feet on its lower edge--confirmed him in this and he decided to lether alone.

  "He went back to the aeroplane, wondering what would be the outcome ofthe whole crazy escapade. He says he felt confident of her cleverness tohush the thing up, but he was uneasy. His discomfort wasn't lessenedwhen he found that she had left her bag in the machine, and on his wayhome one of the things that preoccupied him was thinking up the best wayof getting the bag back to her.

  "Monday morning he went to town in a state of suspense. If she s
houldtell there was no knowing what might happen and he was on the alert fora visit from the Doctor or even Reddy. But the day passed without anysign of trouble, and he was just calming down, thinking she had eitherfound Reddy and gone with him or invented some story to quiet theMapleshade people, when he read of the murder in the evening paper.

  "_Then_, you better believe he was frightened. He knew the bag washidden in his room at the Lodge and that as far as he could tell, not asoul had seen the airship. As to Mrs. Cresset, he felt safe for shecouldn't possibly have made out a feature in the darkness."

  "But," I cried out, "why if he hadn't done it----"

  "That's all right," Babbitts interrupted. "He hadn't done it, but I tellyou he was a coward. He was in a sweat for fear of being suspected, ofbeing pulled in as a witness, of his reputation, his business, hisposition. He wanted to keep out of it at any cost."

  "What a cur!" I said.

  "Oh, he's that and more, and he's ready to admit it himself. But itwasn't as smooth sailing as he thought it would be. After the inquest heread of the overheard phone message and that brought him up with a jolt.He got in a state of terror, realizing too late that his silence wasmore incriminating than any confession.

  "Every day his fears grew worse. He wouldn't answer any phone calls,faking up reasons to his clerks and his servants. Finally it got on hisnerves so he couldn't stand it and he made ready to skip to Europe. Thekey was what tripped him up. Do you remember Mr. Whitney saying howcriminals overlooked important details? Well, what he overlooked was thekey of the garage. In his preoccupation on Monday morning he had put itin the pocket of the raincoat he was accustomed to leave in the auto andhad simply forgotten it. Then when he went to pack his things hecouldn't find it, hunted in a nervous frenzy and finally had his mantelephone over to Miner's place. You and the key were the combinationthat beat him."

  "But Jack Reddy?" I said. "Was he going to slink off and let him betried for the murder when he could have cleared it all up?"

  "He _says_ not and I guess the fellow's not as yellow as to have stoodby and let an innocent man go to his death. He says there wasn't enoughevidence to convict Reddy and if things had gone badly he would havecome out and told what he knew. And I think that's true--anyway, we'llgive him the benefit of the doubt."

  "How can you be so sure? How do you know he's _not_ the murderer afterall?"

  "Oh, there's no doubt. Everything fits in too well. The police were outat Cokesbury Lodge on Saturday and saw the aeroplane and found MissHesketh's bag. Both the Whitneys--father and son, who've had a vastexperience in this sort of case--say there's no question of hisinnocence."

  We sat silent for a spell, looking at the stove, then I said:

  "We're back just where we were in the beginning."

  Babbitts leaned forward and shook down some ashes.

  "The case is, but we're not," he said.

  "How do you make that out?" I asked.

  "Six weeks ago we didn't know each other and now we're friends."

  "That's so," I said, and we both sat staring thoughtfully at the red eyeof the stove.