CHAPTER VII
MOLLY TELLS THE STORY
_Murder!_ Will I ever forget that night when Babbitts told me, the twoof us shut in our room! I can see his face now, thrust out toward me,all strained and staring, his voice almost a whisper. As for me--I guessI looked like the Village Idiot, with my mouth dropped open and my eyesbulged so you could cut 'em off with a shingle.
The next day the same word went out to us that was given to Mrs.Meagher--_silence_. Not a whisper, not a breath! Neither the public, northe press, nor the police must get an inkling. All there was to go uponwas the story of a child, and until this could be confirmed by otherfacts, the outside world was to know nothing. _If_ corroborativeevidence were found it would be the biggest sensation the Whitney officehad ever had. Babbitts was promised the scoop, but if he gave away athing before the time was ripe it would be the end of us as far asWhitney & Whitney went.
Six shared the secret, the Whitneys, father and son, the Babbittses,husband and wife, Jack Reddy and O'Mally. In twenty-four hours Mrs.Meagher and Dannie were spirited off to a farm up-state and the old manhad a seance with Meagher, the drayman, that shut his mouth tighter thana gag.
The six of us were organized into a sort of band to work on the case. Itseemed to me we were like moles, tunneling along underground, not a soulon the surface knowing we were there, and if they'd found it out, notable to make a guess what we were after.
O'Mally and I were the only two that were put right on the scene of thecrime. I was to stay on the Black Eagle switchboard to pick up all Icould from Troop, the boy who operated the one elevator which wasrunning that night--to find out about the people he had taken up or downfrom the seventeenth floor between five and six-thirty. O'Mally wascommissioned to examine the Azalea Woods Estates offices, and get nextto Mrs. Hansen, cleaner of the top floors, and see if she had seenanything on the evening of January fifteenth.
What we ferreted out I'll put down as clearly and quickly as I can. Itmay not be interesting, but to understand a case that _was_ interesting,it's necessary to know it.
O'Mally got busy right off--quicker than I, but he knew better how to doit. The Azalea Woods Estates was vacated and _that_ was easy. His searchonly gave up one thing, two dark spots on the floor of the privateoffice close by the window. With a chisel he shaved off the wood onwhich they were and it was sent to a chemist who analyzed the spots asblood.
What he heard from Mrs. Hansen was even more important, and he did itwell, worming it out of her in easy talk about the suicide. I'll boil itdown to simple facts, not as I heard him tell it in Mr. Whitney's den,with bits about Mrs. Hansen that you couldn't help but laugh at.
On the night of January the fifteenth she was at work on the seventeenthfloor at half-past five. Behind the elevators, round on the sidecorridor where the service stairs go down, is a sink closet where thecleaners kept their brooms and dusters. Having finished with a rearoffice she went into this closet to empty and refill her pails, at alittle before six. While in there she could hear nothing because of therunning water, but when she turned it off she heard steps coming downthe stairs on the Broadway side. She had moved out into the hall whenthe steps stopped, and rounding the corner by the elevators she saw Mr.Harland standing at the door of the Azalea Woods Estates offices.
He was in profile and didn't see her, and didn't hear her, she said,because she wore old soft shoes that made no sound. Just as she caughtsight of him she remembered she'd left her duster in the sink closet andwent back for it. When she returned to the main corridor he was gone,and she went into the Hudson Electrical Company's offices, staying theretill six-twenty--she noted the time by a nickel clock on one of thedesks. She decided to do the Azalea Woods Estates rooms next but ontrying the door found it was locked. This didn't bother her, as she hadfound it so once or twice before during the past month. She then wentdown the hall into a rear suite in which she was shut when the suicideoccurred.
This fixed the fact that Harland had gone straight from his own office,down the stairs on the Broadway side, into the Azalea Woods Estates, andthat he or somebody in there had locked the door.
Who had let him in? What man had access to these offices? Can you see meas I sat listening to O'Mally and thinking of the fresh guy who'd wantedto take me out to dinner? Lord, I felt queer!
And I felt queerer, considerable queerer, when the day after that I gothold of Troop--_and_ information. Wait till I tell you.
Mr. Whitney had told me to take my time, there was no rush, and aboveall things not to raise the ghost of a suspicion in Troop's mind. So Iwent about it very foxy, lying low in my little den behind theelevators. But when I'd see Troop, lounging in the door of his car, I'dflash a smile at him and get a good-natured grin back.
The evening after O'Mally'd brought in his stuff I thought the time wasready to gather in mine. So after I'd put on my hat and coat I stoodloitering by the desk, keeping one eye on the door. Troop came off dutyat half-past six, and regular, a few minutes after that, I'd see himsprinting down the hall for the main entrance.
As he came in sight I took up my purse, and he, looking in as I knew hewould, caught me just right. There I was staring distracted into it andscrabbling round in the inside, pulling out handkerchiefs and samplesand buttons and latchkeys.
"Hello," says he, drawing up, "you look like you'd lost something."
"Oh, Mr. Troop," I answered, "how fortunate you happened along! I _have_lost something, my carfare. And I ain't got another cent but aten-dollar bill. Will you come across with a nickel till tomorrow?"
"Sure I will, and more too! Which way do you go?"
"Uptown," said I. Neither he nor anyone else in the building knew whereI lived or who I was. Miss Morgenthau, temporarily in charge, was allthey had on me.
"That's my direction--One Hundred and Fifty-ninth Street, subway."
Now I didn't see myself sleuthing as I hung from a strap in the sub. Butin this world you got to grab your chance when it comes, so, "The subwayfor mine," I said, speaking in a cheerful, unmarried voice, and out wetrotted into the street.
It was the thick of the rush hours and we were in the thick of the rush.Like we were leaves on a raging torrent we were whirled through thegate, swept on to the platform and carried into the car. Then theconductor came and pressed on us, leaned and squeezed, and when he'dmashed us in, slid the door shut for fear we'd burst out and flood theplatform.
Troop got hold of a strap and I got hold of Troop, and, danglingtogether like a pair of chickens hung up to grow tender, I opened on thefamiliar subject of the Harland suicide. It wasn't as hard as I thought,for what with people clawing their way out and prying their way in,questions and answers were bound to be straight, with no trimmings.
"Where were you when it happened?" I said, getting a jiujitsu grip onthe front of his coat.
"In the car, halfway down. Didn't know a thing till I got to the groundfloor and saw the stampede."
"What did you do?"
"Ran for the street--forgot my job, forgot there was only one carrunning, forgot everything and made a break. Every passenger did thesame--seized us all same as a panic, all racin' and hollerin'. I wasright behind Mr. Ford."
It was sooner than I'd expected. The jump I gave was lost in that crush,just as the look that started out on my face wouldn't be noticed, or, ifit was, be set down to a stamp on my toe.
"Was he in the car with you?"
"Yes, I'd just gone up to the seventeenth floor for him. Here, you wantto get a firm holt on me or you'll be swep' away."
"I'm holding," I gasped, and believe me I was, for a line of peoplecoming out like a bit of the Johnstown Flood was like to tear me loosefrom my moorings. "Then he must have been in the elevator when Harlandjumped?"
"That's it. It was his ring brought me up to the seventeenth floor. Hegot in and it was while we was goin' down the body fell. Struck thestreet a few minutes before we reached the bottom."
We were whizzing through the blackness of the tunnel to Times Square.The
overflow that had drained off at Forty-second Street had loosenedthings up a little. I unwrapped myself from around Troop, taking hold ofthe strap over his hand, and pigeonholing what he'd said. In thatboiling pack of people I was cold and shivery down the spine.
"Did Mr. Ford run out in the street like the rest?"
"_Did_ he? He done a Marathon! I couldn't make a dint on the crowd, buthe shoved through, and when he come back he was all broke up. 'What doyou make of that?' says he. 'There's a man committed suicide and theysay it's Rollings Harland.'"
"Broke up! I shouldn't wonder. He was in the office late wasn't he--tillhalf-past six?"
"He was _that_ night, and he _had_ been once or twice before this lastmonth. Told me he was working overtime, though if you'd asked _me_ I'dhave said he wasn't the kind to do more than his salary called for."
"No," I said, thinking hard underneath. "Seems sort of loaferish."
"Well, I wouldn't say that, but easy, good-humored--you know the sort.But lately he's been on the job, busy, I guess, gettin' ready for thecollapse. The night of the suicide he left early, soon after Miss Barry.And a little after six--ten or fifteen minutes maybe--he come bustlingback sayin' he'd forgotten some papers and for me to shoot him upquick."
We slowed up for Sixty-ninth Street and two girls in the middle of thecar began a football rush for the door. It was a good excuse to bequiet, to get it straight in my head: Ford left early, came back, wentinto the office after Harland, left probably three or four minutesbefore the body was flung from the window. This is the way I wasthinking while we hung easy from our strap, swinging out sideways likethe woman in "Curfew Shall Not Ring Tonight," clinging to the tongue ofthe bell.
"Now that was real conscientious of him," I said, suspended over a largefat man and crushing down the paper he was trying to read, "coming backfor papers he'd forgotten."
"It sure was," answered Troop. "Many a man would have let them wait."
The fat man dropped the paper and raised his eyes to me with a look likehe was determined to be patient--but _why_ did I do it?
"Pardon me, sir," says I, "but it's not me that's spoiling your homewardjourney, it's the congested condition of the Empire City." And then toTroop, pleasant and regretful, "Dear, dear, that's a lesson not to passjudgment on your fellow creatures. He must have a strong sense of duty.I suppose you waited for him?"
"Not me," said Troop. "That's the time I'm on the jump with all theoffices emptying, and especially that night with the other elevator outof commission. Besides it wouldn't have been no use, for he was in therequite a while. It wasn't till nearly half-past six he rang for the car."
"Pity he didn't wait a few minutes longer. Maybe if Mr. Harland had seenhim he'd have given up the idea of suicide."
"I've thought of that myself, for accordin' to the inquest, Harland wasround that corridor for a half-hour, like as not pacin' up and downwhile Ford was sittin' in the office near by. Strange, ain't it, the waythings happen in this world?"
It was--a great deal stranger than he thought.
For a moment I didn't say anything. I was kind of quivering in myinsides with the excitement of it. O'Mally hadn't got anything to beat_this_. We swung lazily back and forth, my hand clasped below Troop's,and the fat man giving up in despair. Only when my wrist bag caught himon the hat, he gave me one reproachful look and then settled the hathard on his head to show me what he was suffering.
The train began to slow up, white-tiled walls glided past the windows,and the conductor opened the door and yelled, "Ninety-sixth Street."
It had worked out just right. I had my information and here was where Igot off. I thanked Troop for the ride I'd had off him, told him I'd givehim his nickel tomorrow, and forging to the door like the _Oregon_ goinground Cape Horn, scrambled out.
Himself wasn't at home to tell things to--it was one of his latenights--so I took a call for Mr. Whitney's house and told him I'd gotthe stuff for him--_real_ stuff. He said to come down that evening athalf-past eight, they'd all be there. And after a glass of milk and asoda cracker--I hadn't time or appetite for more--out I lit, as excitedas if I was going to a six-reel movie.
I was late and ran panting up the steps of the big, grand house in theWest Fifties. I'd been there before, and as I stood waiting in thevestibule I couldn't but smile thinking of that other time when I was soscared, and Himself--he was "Mr. Babbitts" then--had had to jolly me up.He didn't know me as well then as he does now, bless his dear, faithfulheart!
The unnatural solemn butler wasn't on the job tonight. Mr. George openedthe door for me and showed me into that same room off the hall, with thegold-mounted furniture and the pale-colored rugs and the lights incrystal bunches along the walls. A fire was burning in the grate, itsred reflection leaping along the uncovered spaces of floor, polished andsmooth as ice. On a center table, all gilt and glass, was a commonstudent lamp, looking cheap and mean in that quiet, rich, glitteringroom, and beside it were some sheets of paper and several pencils. OldMr. Whitney and George were there, also Jack Reddy, but O'Mally hadn'tcome yet.
I told them what Troop had said and they listened as silent as thegrave, not batting an eye while I spoke. You didn't have to guess atwhat they thought. It was in the air. The first real move had been made.
When I finished, Mr. George, who had been making notes on one of thebits of paper, threw down his pencil, and gave a long, soft whistle. Theold man, sitting by the fire looking into it, his hands clasped looselytogether, the fingers moving round each other--which was a way he hadwhen he was thinking--said very quiet:
"Thank you, Molly--you've done well."
"This puts Ford in the center of the stage," said Mr. George, thenturning to his father, "Pretty conclusive, eh, Governor?"
The old man grunted without looking up, his face in the firelight, heavyand brooding.
Jack rose and leaning over Mr. George's shoulder looked at the scribblednotes:
"Left soon after the Barry girl, came back about 6.15 and went to theAzalea Woods Estates offices. That would have been about fifteen totwenty minutes after Harland. Came out about half-past six and was inthe elevator when the body fell."
"Positive proof that he was in the rooms with Harland," said Mr. George,"and equally positive proof he was not the man seen by the Meagherchild."
"Evidently two men," said Jack.
"Two men," echoed Mr. George. Then turned to me, "Where was MissWhitehall? Did this Troop fellow say anything about when _she_ left?"
Jack looked up from the notes and cast a quick, sharp glance at me.
"She'd gone already, of course?" he said.
"Yes, she'd gone," I answered. "Anyway, Iola Barry said she always wentbefore six." Then in answer to Mr. George, "I didn't ask Troop anythingabout her. I didn't think there was any need and I was afraid I'd gethim curious if I wanted to know too much."
"Good girl," came from the old man in a rumbling growl.
At that moment there was a ring at the bell. With an exclamation of"O'Mally," Mr. George jumped up and went into the hall. It was O'Mally,red as a lobster, and with an important roll to his walk. He stood inthe door and looked at the old man in a triumphant way till you'dsuppose he'd got the murderer outside chained to the door handle.Babbitts, who'd come to know him well on the trip to Rochester, said hewas a first-rate chap and as sharp as a needle, if you could get overhis taking himself so dead serious.
When he heard my story some of the starch was taken out of him, but Iwill say he was so interested that, after the first shock, he forgot tobe jealous and was as keen as mustard.
"Two men sure enough," he agreed. "And two men who operated together,one of them in that back room."
"How do you make that out?" asked Jack.
"I'll show you--I've been busy this afternoon." He looked round,selected a gold-legged chair and pulling it to the table, sat down, andtaking a fountain pen from his pocket, drew a sheet of paper toward him."Right next to the church, as you may remember, there are three houses,dwellings. The one
nearest the church is occupied by a private party,the two beyond have been thrown together and are run as a boardinghouse. The last of the two has a rear extension built out to the end ofthe lot. The day we examined the Azalea Woods Estates I saw that thewindows of that extension commanded the side wall of the Black EagleBuilding.
"This afternoon I went to the boarding house, said I was a writerlooking for a quiet place to work, and asked if they had an empty roomin the extension. They had one, not yet vacated, but to be in February.It was occupied by an old lady--Miss Darnley--who being there gave mepermission to see it.
"Now here's where I get busy," he drew the paper toward him and beganmarking it with long straight lines and little squares. "Miss Darnley isa nice old lady and some talker. We got gassing, as natural as could be,on the horrible suicide of Mr. Harland, so close by. She took me to thewindow and showed me where his offices were, and told me how it was herhabit, every evening as night fell, to sit in that window and watch thelights start out, especially in the Black Eagle Building. She sat therealways till half-past six, when the first gong sounded for dinner. Andif I took the room I was to be sure and go down then--the food wasbetter--she always did.
"By a little skillful jollying--mostly surprise at her powers ofobservation and memory--I got from her some significant facts about thelights on the seventeenth floor of the Black Eagle Building on the nightof January fifteenth. The Harland suite--she'd located it from thepapers--was lit till she went down to dinner. Wonderful how she'dremembered! How was the floor below--bet a hat she couldn't remember_that_! She could, and proud as a peacock, gave a demonstration. Alldark as it usually was at six, then a light in the fourth window--AzaleaWoods Estates, private office. Then that goes out and the three frontwindows are bright. Just before she goes down to dinner, she noticesthat every window on the whole sweep of the seventeenth floor is darkexcept that fourth one--Azalea Woods Estates, private office."
He stopped and pushed the paper he'd been drawing on across to George.
"Here it is, with the time as I make it marked on each window."
Jack and Mr. George leaned down studying the diagram and Mr. Whitneyslowly rose and coming up behind them looked at it over their shoulders.All their faces, clear in the lamplight, with O'Mally's red and proudglancing sideways at the drawing, were intent and frowning.
"Let's see how the thing works out," said Mr. George, taking up a penciland pulling a sheet of paper toward him. Mr. Whitney straightened upwith a sort of tired snort and slouched back to his seat by the fire.Mr. George began, figuring on the paper:
"The Azalea Woods Estates were cleared at six--all lights out. At a fewminutes after, Harland came down the stairs and entered them, goingthrough to the private office and switching on the light, or meetingsomeone there who switched it on as he came. Some ten or fifteen minuteslater Ford came in. That's evidently the moment, according to your oldlady, when the private office was dark and the other two lit up. Justbefore 6:30--time when Ford left--the front rooms are all dark again.Good deal of a mess to me." He tilted back in his chair so that he couldsee his father. "What do you make of it, Governor?"
"Let's hear what O'Mally has to say first," said Mr. Whitney. Theycouldn't see his face which was turned to the fire, but I could, and ithad a slight, amused smile on it.
O'Mally sprawled back in his chair with his chest thrown out:
"Well, I don't like to commit myself so early in the game, but there area few things that seem pretty clear. Though the Azalea Woods Estateswere dark when Harland came down somebody was there."
"Who?" asked Jack.
O'Mally looked sort of pitying at him:
"His murderer. This man didn't attempt the job alone. Must have heldHarland in talk in the private office till later when Tony Ford came inand helped, if he didn't do the actual killing. When _that_ was overFord went, leaving the other man to carry out the sensationaldenouement."
"What could have been Ford's motive?" said Mr. George. "Did he knowHarland?"
O'Mally grinned.
"Oh, we'll find a motive all right. Wait till we've turned up the earthin his tracks. Wait a few days."
"This 'other man,' O'Mally," said Mr. Whitney, "have you any ideas abouthim?"
"There you got me stumped," said the detective. "Of course we don't knowHarland's inner life--had he an enemy and if so who? But--" he pausedand let his glance move over the faces of the two young men. "_If_ thething hadn't been physically impossible I'd have turned my searchlighteye on Johnston Barker."
"Barker!" exclaimed Mr. George. "But Barker was----"
O'Mally interrupted him with a wave of his hand--
"I _said_ it was physically impossible."
The old man got up, shaking himself like a big, drowsy animal and cameforward into the lamplight.
"Nevertheless, gentlemen," he said quietly, "I'm convinced that it _was_Johnston Barker."
They all gaped at him. I think for the first moment they thought he hadsome information they hadn't heard and waited open-mouthed for him togive it to them. But he stood there, smiling a little, his eyes movingfrom one to the other, sort of quizzical as if their surprise tickledhim.
"Now, father," said Mr. George, "what's the sense of saying that when weknow that Barker was on the floor above, unable to get out without beingseen?"
"I know, George, I know," said his father mildly. "I'm perfectly willingto admit it. But in that room--on the floor above--there had been aquarrel between the two men. Since the disappearance of Barker there'sbeen a good deal of speculation as to the nature of that quarrel. Thatis, the public has speculated; _I_ have felt sure. After thedisappearance that quarrel, as far as I could see, had only oneinterpretation--the lawyer had discovered the perfidy of his associateand threatened exposure. And we all know that the only silent man is adead man."
"That's all very well," said O'Mally, "but it doesn't get round the factthat Barker couldn't possibly have been there to instigate a murder, orhelp in murder or commit a murder himself."
"Quite true," said the old man, "as far as we know at present, but yousee we know very little. We can speak with more authority when we'vemade a second examination of the Whitehall offices and a first one ofthe Harland suite. That's up to you, O'Mally, as soon as you can manageit. There's another important matter but I can't see my way clear togetting it just yet--Ford's own explanation of his movements thatevening. I'm curious to hear what he has to say. But that'll have towait till----"
He paused and Mr. George cut in:
"We land him in jail which I hope will be soon."
"Presently, presently," said his father, turning to the fire. "And now,gentlemen, I think we'll end this little seance. Just look out, George,and see if the limousine's there for Molly."
It was, and they all drifted out, talking as they went, making the dateand arranging the plan for the examination of the two offices.
I'd said good-bye to the old man and was following them into the hall,when he caught me by the arm and drawing me back from the door said verylow:
"You'll be on duty at the Black Eagle Building for a few days more. Tryand get Troop again and ask him what time Miss Whitehall left thatnight. Don't say a word of what he tells you to anyone, but as soon asyou get it let me know."