by Helen Wells
“You’d better make it worth my trouble.”
“Two-dollar tip,” she offered, and the cab spurted ahead.
They were driving north and east through midtown. Where was Dance going? To meet someone? Another thought struck Cherry. Dance, as operator of the antiques department, certainly had a right to come to the store and take away an item of his own department’s merchandise, if he wished to do so. He could always say he was taking the necklace to show privately to a customer. Yet what of his hurry, the irregular hour, and above all, his gloved hands? She watched anxiously in the heavy traffic as the two cabs, Dance’s and hers, threaded their way.
“Driver, don’t lose them!” she called.
“They’re pulling over,” her driver said over his shoulder. “Better get out your fare if you’re in a hurry.”
The taxi ahead was stopping alongside a row of tall buildings. From the lighted, curtained windows Cherry could see that these were apartment houses. Cherry’s cab stopped at a little distance from Dance’s. She saw him step out, but he kept his driver waiting.
“Want me to wait, too?” Cherry’s driver asked.
“Well—” If Dance should see a second taxi waiting behind his, with someone waiting in it, he might be suspicious. For this street was half deserted; on Christmas Eve everyone was at home. “No, I’ll get out here, driver.”
CHAPTER XII
Cherry Gives Chase
IT WAS COLD STANDING THERE FLATTENED AGAINST THE building wall, and Cherry was accomplishing nothing. Dance had been gone only two or three minutes, but he might reappear at any time.
“Should I enter the lobby of his apartment building?” Cherry wondered. “And confront him? No, that could be risky. And if I go in and Dance sees me, he’ll take every precaution to throw me off his trail.”
Cherry noticed a drugstore across the street, at the corner. It had large windows, and she made out a row of telephone booths ranged along the side window. That could be useful to her! If she reached Tom Reese, she could relay this address—but was that enough information to be decisive?
Cherry glanced toward the taxi waiting for Dance. If she could learn something, no matter how little, from the driver—Hoping against hope that Dance would not come out of the building just yet, Cherry ventured over to the parked cab. The driver was bent over, reading a newspaper by the light of the dashboard.
Cherry cleared her throat and the man looked up. “Are you free?” she asked.
“No, lady, I’m waiting for somebody.”
“But you haven’t a fare. Can’t I—”
“Look, lady, I have a fare.” The driver showed her the card on which all taxi drivers are required to write down their patrons’ destination. “See? I’m taking this party out to Idlewild Airport. See where I wrote Idlewild next?”
“All right, thanks.”
Idlewild! Cherry knew it was New York’s international airfield for transatlantic airlines. Some domestic flights originated at Idlewild, too, but mostly it served passengers going to Europe or the Caribbean or South America. Dance on his way to Idlewild Airport! Did it mean he was leaving the country this evening? It was certain he was fleeing New York. For where?
Cherry walked away into the shadows. For fear the taxi driver would see her loitering, she did not cross the street directly in front of Dance’s building. She crossed a bit farther down, rapidly, and ran into the drugstore.
A clerk and two or three customers were in the drugstore. Cherry purchased a package of tooth paste, in order to get change for telephoning, then impatiently hurried to the side and rear of the store. No one else was in the row of telephone booths. She chose the last booth. Was the cab still there? Yes! Through the plate glass she could see the waiting taxi and Dance’s lobby entrance, but she probably could be seen only dimly if at all. Cherry was careful to keep the door of the booth open so that the booth light did not snap on, as it did automatically with the door’s closing. Then she dropped a coin into the telephone box, and dialed Tom Reese’s home number. She kept her eyes fixed on the taxi and doorway diagonally across the street.
“Hello,” Tom himself answered. “Hello?”
Cherry breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello, this is Cherry Ames. This is an emergency, Tom. I’m in a drugstore across the street from where Dance lives and—”
“That’s a crazy place for you to be on Christmas Eve,” Tom said genially. “Haven’t we a date later?”
“Yes, we do, but this is no time for socializing. Dance has a taxi waiting. He’s going to Idlewild. He just came from the store. I saw him take the rose diamond necklace.”
“What!” Tom was instantly serious. “Are you sure? Of both facts?”
“I’m positive. I followed him from the store. What’s more, I discovered Otto has the music box. At their house on Long Island called Woodacres, where he and his wife are running a private gallery.”
“Whew! Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“Because I couldn’t reach you! Even today. Have you had a chance to read Mrs. Julian’s letter by now?”
“Yes. Sounds suspicious. I have news, too. Listen, Cherry, what are we going to do about this Idlewild move? Do you know where Otto is?”
“Not unless he’s upstairs in Dance’s building. I’m keeping watch from this booth. But as soon as Dance comes down, I’m going to hail a cab and go directly to Idlewild. I just hope he won’t see me before I reach the air—”
Tom made her promise him that she would do nothing on the way to Idlewild or at Idlewild which might jeopardize her safety.
“I’ll notify the police before I leave for Idlewild,” Tom said, “and I’m leaving immediately. Now you wait for me there, do you hear?”
“Tom!” Cherry gulped into the phone. “Don’t hang up. I—I think I see something happening across the street. Hold on—”
A second taxi was stopping behind Dance’s cab. A large, heavy man got out, Cherry saw, then a tall, stout, awkward woman.
“Tom, it’s the Ottos! Otto and his wife just arrived in a taxi! And they’re—Wait—the driver is lifting suitcases out of the taxi for them, and they’re carrying extra coats over their arms!”
While Cherry watched, Otto and his driver transferred their luggage into Dance’s waiting taxi. Cherry rapidly relayed this to Tom. “So all three of them will—!”
“I’m not surprised,” Tom’s voice came back dryly. “Things are finally going to get uncomfortable for Dance and Otto. Because of some information I dug up today, the investigators planned to question those two the day after Christmas.”
“Day after tomorrow,” Cherry repeated. She glanced across the street. Dance had not come downstairs yet; the first cab was still waiting. “Isn’t that about the date, if I remember what you told me, when Dance has to pay back to the insurance company for the highboy?”
“That’s right. So he’s beating it out of the country. With the Ottos. Listen, Cherry, we’d better hang up.”
“Yes, it may take me a few minutes to find a taxi. Meet you in the terminal.”
“Yes, terminal. Cherry, be careful!” Tom shouted as she replaced the phone.
Cherry chose another door out of the drugstore which led onto a side street, not Dance’s street. She would take no chance of letting them see her. She slipped away, rounded a corner, and found herself on a main thoroughfare. A chattering party of teen-agers climbed out of one cab, and Cherry hurried to occupy it.
“Idlewild Airport,” she instructed the driver. Just as she was climbing into the taxi, she saw a yellow taxi go past her, with three people in it. Dance’s cab! This time she did not ask her driver to trail them, but she mustn’t lose them!
“Driver, I’m in an awful hurry,” she pleaded. “I don’t want to miss the plane.”
Dance and the Ottos must be caught before their plane took off. If the trio escaped, there was a chance that the thefts would never be solved and Anna Julian would live the rest of her life under a cloud of suspicion.
&nb
sp; It was a long ride. In the sea of cars, there were several yellow taxicabs and Cherry could not tell whether one of them was the one she wanted. She mused about what the trio was carrying in those suitcases. It was a safe bet that the rose diamond necklace was still snugly in Dance’s pocket. Cherry glanced at her wrist watch as they rode through the gleam of lighted suburbs. What a long ride!
“We’re almost there,” her driver called cheerfully. “See those hangars and the arc lights across the airfield?”
Now her taxi was swinging up the approach to the airport terminal. Just ahead of her, a yellow taxi was pulling away. Cherry saw Dance and the Ottos walk toward the terminal doors. A porter came up to them, but the men refused to hand over their suitcases. All three people appeared as calm as if they were ordinary travelers, and Mrs. Otto beamed under a hideous hat.
“Well, how’d we do?” Cherry’s driver asked proudly. “You going to make your plane?”
“I think so. I certainly am obliged to you, driver.”
Cherry paid the meter charges and tipped the man as generously as her depleted purse allowed.
“Hey! Where’s your luggage, miss?”
“Uh—it’s already been sent out here.”
“Okay. Happy landings!”
Happy landings, indeed. A happy ending was what Cherry wished for, but judging by the milling crowd in the terminal, she was not even off to a good start.
For one thing she could not see Tom Reese anywhere. Nor could she see any police officers. Or was she at the wrong end of this big place? Cherry felt terrified at being alone in her pursuit. But she was unable to hunt for Tom for fear of losing sight of the Ottos and Dance. To keep them in sight, without their seeing her, meant ducking and backtracking—not easy to do in a crowd. At last they sat down on a bench near the BOAC desk—British Overseas Airlines.
Cherry found an unobtrusive place to stand, where a desk and wall formed a corner. From here she had a long view in all directions; of the three, of whichever way Tom came in, and of Idlewild Terminal itself.
This main waiting room, low-ceilinged, narrow, and very long, was more like a long corridor. Branching off this corridor was a labyrinth lined with ticket-and-information counters of various airlines, and gates and doorways, with shops and restaurants; it was crowded with travelers and porters and uniformed airlines personnel hurrying around piles of hand luggage. Loud-speakers announced constantly in several languages the planes’ arrivals and departures; above this clatter of voices Cherry could hear, in gusts, the dull roar of the planes and the wind outside on the airfield.
“A regular maze of halls and doorways and gates,” Cherry thought. “It would be easy to lose track of that threesome.”
She glanced over at them from her corner. They were arguing among themselves. Oh, where was Tom? If he had started at the same time she had, why wasn’t he here yet? Surely his telephone call to the police could not have taken more than five minutes. Unless the police did not believe his story—?
Cherry glanced toward Dance and the Ottos just in time to see Willard Dance walk over to the BOAC counter. He put a question, with his usual bland smile, to one of the airlines men and pointed to the wall clock. The clerk said something to him, then chalked up on the blackboard a slightly delayed take-off time for the plane to London. Dance nodded, satisfied, and went hack and explained to the Ottos.
“London,” Cherry thought, appalled, “they’re fleeing to London,” when a shrill wail pierced all the other noises of the terminal. It seemed to come from the highway, and rapidly grew louder and shriller. A police siren! It must be Tom coming with the police, at last.
The approaching siren made the party of three restless. Otto picked up his suitcases. Dance looked furtively around in all directions, felt in his inside pocket, then as quickly composed himself. Only Mrs. Otto’s face gave away their fear.
The siren screamed so loudly that it was earsplitting. People in the terminal stopped talking. With his foot Dance nudged his suitcase closer to him, smiling mechanically. Cherry, still unwilling to let them see her, kept watching in the directions from which Tom could come. The siren stopped, just outside. Dance jumped to his feet.
Here came Tom, rounding a corner! He strode rapidly along with two men wearing business suits—plainclothes men, Cherry realized.
“Otto and Dance—at the BOAC desk!” she called, stepping into view. “Tom! Over there!”
“All right, Cherry!” He saw her and kept moving.
“They’re going to London—”
Tom hurried over to Dance, with Cherry right behind.
“Just a minute there, Dance!”
Dance and the Ottos took one look at the young people, seized their suitcases, and broke into a run. Down a smaller hallway they fled. The two plainclothes men ran to flank them. Immediately an incoming crowd surged in from the field, creating cover and confusion.
The police officers and Tom pushed through, but already the three were all but out of sight, darting and weaving through the crowd. Cherry, running as best she could, saw Dance veer off sharply to the alleyway on the right. Suddenly the crowd thinned as quickly as it had come, and Otto went plunging ahead over the low gate marked Employees Only. Right after him ran one plainclothes man, and then Cherry realized that Mrs. Otto, unable to keep up with her husband, was puffing past her back into the main corridor.
“Stop that woman!” Cherry shouted and pointed.
“She’s going into the flower shop! Stop her! The stout one.”
Guards ran into the florist shop. Cherry sped ahead. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Otto, awkward and encumbered by his luggage, stumbling just out of grasp of a plainclothes man. He’d catch Otto in a matter of seconds, but Dance had vanished!
“Cherry!” Tom called. “Do you see Dance?”
“No—Yes!” she shouted back. “To the right!”
At the end of the passageway a ticket taker was picking himself up off the floor, with the help of passengers for the London plane.
“Out there!” he pointed to the dark field. “He brushed past me—”
Cherry and the two men ran to the edge of the field. It was dangerous out here, with giant propellers spinning in the dark and trucks speeding along. For a few moments they could not spot Dance anywhere. Then the landing lights of an incoming ship swept across the length of the field. In a glare brighter than daylight, Cherry saw Dance kneeling behind a pile of luggage.
“There—where the luggage is!”
Dance tried to run, but in an instant Tom forcibly stopped him. The plainclothes man broke into their struggle. Dance subsided. They marched him back along the maze of corridors to the main room.
In front of the florist shop, Otto and his wife stood at bay, trapped as much by the curious crowd as by the second policeman.
“All right, Mr. Reese,” he said. “We have all the luggage, too. Let’s go.”
“Go? We’ll miss our plane!” Dance said indignantly. “We’re innocent, I tell you. You can’t—”
Otto asked sullenly, “Where are we going?”
“To police headquarters for questioning.” Tom could not keep the contempt out of his voice. “Mr. Briggs, will you need the young lady and myself?”
“Yes, come along. We’ll want your testimony.”
Otto, Mrs. Otto who was crimson with anger, and Dance were loaded into the police sedan with the two officers. Tom said he and Cherry would follow in a taxi.
“Listen,” said Tom, just as their cab started down the highway. He had to shout above the roar; a plane climbed sharply and streaked away. “There goes the plane to London.”
“Without them.” Cherry had one glimpse of its lights.
It was a long, grim ride back to the city. Tom looked out the window, thinking, most of the way. Cherry did not feel much like talking either; she had to reflect on the testimony she would soon give. But it did help, in the midst of this terrible business, to have Tom hold tightly to her hand.
CHAPTER XIII
Christmas Eve
THE FIRST THING CHERRY DID ON ARRIVING AT POLICE headquarters was to request permission to telephone Mrs. Julian’s apartment. She explained that Mrs. Julian, too, had important testimony to give.
As she waited for the call to go through the police switchboard, Cherry glanced around the drab office. She was glad Tom was here; the police seemed remote; and the Ottos and Dance were coldly furious. The way they glared at her made her shiver. They were clever men; they might still walk out of here scot-free.
“Hello?” Mrs. Julian’s voice came into the telephone. “Who is calling? … Why, Cherry! What a surprise. I came home late this afternoon—”
Cherry asked Mrs. Julian if she could come at once to police headquarters. Mrs. Julian promised to be there in a very few minutes.
Otto insolently took out a cigar and started to light it. When one of the plain-clothes men discouraged him, Otto protested, using the grand manner.
“Why, gentlemen, why am I and my party detained? Do you think it is amusing to manhandle reputable persons? Because a couple of young fools tell ridiculous stories!”
“No one manhandled you,” the police captain barked at him. “You’re here because serious charges, with partial proof, have been lodged against you.”
“By those two youngsters?” Dance asked amiably. “Really, Captain! I can produce identification, references, bank letters, anything you wish.” He reached into his pocket. “So can my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Otto. Ah—may I ask, can these two young adventurers do as well?”
He spread out his papers like a winning hand at cards. Captain Donnelly and his assistant did not want to see them.
“You expect us to believe you’re innocent, when you led our men a chase out there at Idlewild?” Captain Donnelly turned his flinty eyes next on Cherry and Tom. “I expect you to back up your charges with proof. I’m going to question you, too.”
Cherry did not know what charges Tom Reese had brought against the three. She could not very well ask him, or whisper to him, here. Probably he had brought charges in the name of the store.… Must tie in with what he’d discovered about Dance today. But what was that?