CHAPTER XVI--MOLLY'S STORY
That Friday--gee, shall I ever forget it!--opening so quiet and naturaland suddenly bang, in the middle of it, the sort of thing you read inthe yellow press.
It was a holiday for me and I was sitting in the upper hall alcovemaking a blouse and handy to the extension 'phone. Now and then it wouldring and I'd pull it over with a weary sigh and hear a female voice fullof cultivation and airs ask if Mrs. Janney'd take a hand at bridge, or amale one want to know what Mr. Janney thought about eighteen holes atgolf.
It was on for one when it rang again and with a smothered groan--for Iwas putting on the collar--I jerked it over. _Believe me_, I forgot thatblouse! Stiff, like I was turned to stone, I sat there listening,hearing them come, one after another, getting every word of it. Whenthey were through I got up, feeling sort of gone in the middle, and litout for the stairs. I couldn't have kept away--Bebita disappeared!"Kidnapped!" I said to myself as I ran along the hall. "Kidnapped!that's what it is--it's only poor children that get lost."
On the stairs I met Mrs. Janney coming up on the run. It wasn't thespeed that made her breath short; but she was on the job, the grand oldRoman, with her mouth as straight as the slit in a post box and her faceas hard as if it was cut out of granite.
"Go down there," she said, giving a jerk of her head toward the hallbelow. "Sit there and wait. Something's happened and you may be useful."
I went on down and took a seat. Outside on the balcony I could see Mr.Janney, wandering about with a hunted look. From the telephone closetcame Ferguson's voice telling his chauffeur to bring his car toGrasslands, now, this minute, and enough gasoline for a long run. Thenhe came out, hooked an armful of coats off the hall rack, and ran pastme on to the balcony. He gave the coats to Mr. Janney, who stood holdingthem, looking after Ferguson wherever he went and quavering questions athim. I don't think Ferguson answered them, but he pulled one of thecoats out of the old man's arms and put him into it, quick andefficient. When the motor came up he tried to make Mr. Janney get in,but he wouldn't, standing there, helpless and pitiful, and calling outfor Mrs. Janney.
"I'm here, Sam," came her voice from the stairs and she scudded by whereI was sitting, tying her motor veil over her hat. She seemed to haveforgotten me and I followed her out on to the balcony, not knowing whatshe wanted me to do. As I stood there Ferguson's big car came shootingup the drive.
She climbed quickly into her own motor, waiting at the bottom of thesteps, Mr. Janney scrambled in after her and Ferguson threw a rug overthem. They were just starting when she looked up and saw me.
"Oh," she cried, leaning across the old man, "we'll want you--you mustcome."
Mr. Janney stared bewildered at her and said:
"Why--why should _she_ come?"
"Keep quiet, Sam," then over her shoulder to Ferguson as the car beganto move, "Bring Mrs. Babbitts, Dick. Take her with you."
The car glided off, Mr. Janney's voice floating back:
"But why, why--why do you want _her_?"
Ferguson's motor swung round the oval and came to a halt. The chauffeurjumped out, and, told he wasn't wanted, disappeared. The young manturned to me, not a smile out of him now.
"Come on, get in," he said and then giving a nod at one of the coatslying over a chair, "and bring that with you--it may blow up cold andit's a long run."
I did as I was told--there was something about him that made you do whathe said--and jumped in. He came on my heels, snapped the door and westarted. Before we got to the gates he speeded the machine up and in afew minutes we were close on the Janney motor which was flying along thewoody road at a pace that would have strained the heart of a bicyclecop. Their dust came over us in a cloud, and Mr. Ferguson slowed down,and, his hand resting easy on the wheel, said:
"What does Mrs. Janney want you for?"
I'd hoped he hadn't noticed that, but in case he had I'd an answerready.
"Maybe she thought I might have noticed if any one was hanging roundlately--hanging round to size up the habits of the family and Bebita'smovements."
"Oh," he said, looking at me very pointed, "then you know what'shappened to Bebita."
I hadn't any answer ready for _that_. I had to get hold of somethingquick and as you will do when you're taken off your guard, I got hold ofa lie:
"I met Mrs. Janney on the stairs and she told me."
"That's funny," he says, sort of thoughtful. "Before she went she toldboth Mr. Janney and myself that no one in the house must hear a word ofit."
I began to get red, and for a moment, stared at my feet pressed side byside on the wood in front of me. It didn't make it any pleasanter toknow that Ferguson was looking at me, intent and narrow, out of the tailof his eye.
"I guess she was so excited she forgot and just blabbed it out."
It was the best I could do, but it was poor stuff. If you knew Mrs.Janney you'd see why.
"Um," said Ferguson, and took a look ahead at the cloud of dust that hidthe other car. Then he comes out with another:
"I wonder if that was the reason she called you Mrs. Babbitts?"
I took a good breath from the bottom of my lungs and said:
"I shouldn't be surprised. Having your grandchild lost is enough to mixup any woman."
He didn't answer and we ran on some way, out of the woods on to a longstraight stretch of road. The motor in front was going at a tremendousclip, Mrs. Janney's veil lashing out like a wild hand beckoning us on.
"Look here," says Ferguson, soft and gentle right into my ear, "what_are_ you, anyway?"
"Me?" I bounced round and gave him a baby stare. "I'm a governess. Whatdo you think I am?"
"You may be a good governess but you're a poor liar. I was in thetelephone closet and heard what Mrs. Janney said to you on the stairs.And I don't think you're a governess at all--you're a detective."
I thought a minute but what was the use, he had me. So I raised up mychin and met him, eye for eye:
"All right, I am. What of it?"
"Oh, lots of it. I've had my suspicions for some time. You tapped that'phone message from New York?"
"I did--it's my job. I have to do it."
"Don't apologize--it wastes time and we haven't any to lose. Now justtell me Miss Rogers, or Mrs. Babbitts, what have you found out about therobbery; where were you getting to before this hideous mess to-day?"
"Well, you've got your nerve with you!" I snorted.
"I have, right here handy. I'm a friend of the Janneys, I'm a--" hestopped. His nerve was handy all right but he hadn't enough to tell meit was because of Esther Maitland he was so keen.
"Go on," I said sarcastic. "I'm interested to hear what _you_ are nowyou've found out what I am."
"I'm almost a member of the household. I can help. I want to help--and Iwant to know."
"Maybe you do," I said. "We often want things in this world that wecan't get. Don't think you have the monopoly of that complaint."
The motor rose over the crest of a hill, flashed by a farm and slid downan incline. Before us stretched a white line of road, with the forwardcar racing along it in a blur of dust.
"You mean you won't tell me?"
"You got me."
We suddenly began to slow up, the car swung off sideways from theroadbed, ran toward the bushes on the right, and came to a halt.Ferguson dropped against the back of the seat, stretched his legs andsaid:
"This is a nice shady place to stop in."
"Stop!" I cried. "Forget it! What do you want to stop for?"
"I don't--it's you. I'm going to rest here quietly while you tell me."
"Young man," I said, fixing him with a cold eye, "this is no time to befunny."
"I entirely agree with you. Therefore as we're of the same mind itbehooves you to get busy and give me the information I want."
The coolness of him would have riled a hen. It did me; I gave a stamp onthe footboard and angrily said:
"Start up this machine. I was ordered to go to New York and I've got tog
et there."
"You will as soon as you tell me. But I won't move until you do. We'llstay here all day, all night if necessary. There's just one thingcertain: we'll stay till I hear what I want to know."
I was beaten and it made me mad straight through. I was helpless too andthat made me madder. If I'd had the least notion of how you started thedinged machine I was angry enough to have tried to do it, though itwouldn't have been any use with Ferguson there to frustrate me.
"You're losing time," said he. "There'll be trouble if you don't showup."
"Do you think it's a high class thing," I snapped out, "to put a girl ina position like this?"
"Don't _you_ think you can trust me?" he answered very quiet.
I looked at him, a long, slow survey, and as I did it my anger simmereddown. It's part of my business to read faces and what I saw in his mademe say sort of reluctant:
"Well, maybe I can."
He leaned forward and put his hand on mine.
"Miss Rogers, if you'll stand in with me, trust me and let me help, youwon't make any mistake. For I'll stand in with you, not now, not justfor this thing, but for always. You've my word on it and I don't breakmy word."
That ended it--not what he said but the look of him while he said it.Almost without knowing it my hand turned under his and they clasped.Solemn as a pair of images we shook. Any one passing would have thoughtwe were crazy, backed into the brushwood, side by side on the frontseat, shaking hands as if we'd just been introduced.
I told him the whole story and he never said a word. When I came to MissMaitland's part in it, I couldn't but look at him. He drew his eyebrowsdown in a frown and fiddled with his fingers on the wheel. Even when Itold him what they thought about her and Chapman Price he didn't made asound, but he straightened up, and drew a deep breath like he wantedmore air in his lungs. I got it some way then--I can't exactly sayhow--that he was a good deal more of a person than I'd guessed--a lotmore iron in his make-up than I'd thought when I liked his laugh and hisboyish, jolly ways.
When I finished he said, easy and cool:
"Thank you--that gives me just what I wanted. You won't regret havingtold me. As for Whitney & Whitney, they won't say anything. They're mylawyers--known 'em all my life. I'll take care of that."
He took hold of the wheel and the car backed out into the road.
"Can we ever catch them up?" I asked.
"I guess so--this car can make seventy-five miles an hour. Are you gamefor a race?"
"I'm game for anything that'll land me where I belong."
"All right--hold on to your hat."
I guess the Lord protects those who are bent on His own business. AnywayI don't know why else we weren't killed. We ate up that road like a dagoeating macaroni; it ran under the car like a white ribbon fastened to aspindle somewhere behind us. The woods were two green streaks on eitherside, and now and then a chuck hole would send me bouncing, landinganywhere--on the floor once.
"Hold on to something," he shouted at me. "I don't want to lose you."
And I shouted back:
"You couldn't. I'm wished on to this motor till death do us part or itlands me somewhere alive."
Through the villages we had to slow up. Gliding dignified along thetree-shaded streets put me into a fever and I guess it wore on him formore than once I heard him muttering to himself, and believe me, hewasn't saying his prayers. I glimpsed sideways at him, and saw histanned face, with the hair loose and tousled by the wind, lookingchanged, hardened and older, all the gay expression gone. The news he'dforced out of me had hit him a body blow, struck him in the heart. And Iwas sorry, awfully sorry. You can hurt a mean person or a criminal andnot care, but it's no lady's job to have to wound a decent man. That'swhy I'd never make a good professional--the people get as big as thecase to me, and if you're the real thing it's only the case that counts.
We were almost in Long Island City when we caught up with the Janneys,Mrs. Janney's veil still waving like a hand beckoning us to hurry.