I drove Mary to the hospital with my spirits at lowest ebb. If _The
Sun_ were going to try to convict Helen of the murder, I realized that
we had a hard fight ahead of us, for that yellow sheet was most zealous
in hounding down any one who happened to be socially prominent, and in
demanding punishment. The blacker the scandal, the deeper they dug,
and the more details they gave to their gluttonous, filth-loving
public. They would be particularly eager here, for they had no love
for Jim, due to the stand he took against them during the war.
I knew the reporters would be hot on my trail and that sooner or later
they would interview Mary. So I determined that Mary should spend as
much time as possible at the hospital, feeling sure the reporters would
not be allowed in the room where Helen lay, battered and unconscious.
As for me, I wanted to get to the bridge on the Blandesville Road as
quickly as possible and from there to the country-club to inquire what
Woods had done the night before. I made up my mind I'd lead the
reporters a merry old chase before they ran me to earth, and when they
did, I'd tell them nothing. I also wanted to get in touch with
Robinson as soon as I could, to find out whether he had discovered
anything new of Zalnitch and his confederates--but that could wait
until evening.
At the hospital they were at first opposed to having any one in the
room with Helen, who still lay in a coma, but with the help of one of
the nurses in charge, it was at last arranged.
As I drove over the road to the club, the bleak barrenness of the
country struck me anew. Twenty-four hours before Jim had been alive.
Twenty-four hours before we had been in our office discussing the proof
of Woods' guilt, and Woods had telephoned to Jim, asking him to come to
the country-club alone. My suspicions of the man stirred afresh, so
that when I came to the bridge and found no one there, I decided to
leave my search for the revolver until later and go straight on to the
club.
It was still early for the golfers and the bridge players and there
were only a few people there. These, of course, came up to me and
pressed my hand with genuine sympathy. I realized how many, many
friends Jim had and what a loss his death was to them all.
As soon as I could disengage myself I hunted up Jackson, the negro
head-waiter and general house-man, who knows everything that happens at
the club. He had just finished his dinner and I drew him into the
cloak-room so that our talk might be uninterrupted. I took out a five
dollar bill and held it up before his expectant eyes.
"Do you see that, Jackson?" I questioned.
"Yas, indeed Ah sees it, suh! Ah may be gittin' old but Ah ain't blind
yit. Ah'll giv you whut you wants, instan'ly."
He started to leave, but I grabbed him.
"That's not what I want, Jackson," I laughed. Since the prohibition
law went into effect, it has been only through some such ritual that
"wets" can get theirs at the club. "All I want is to ask you a few
questions."
"Fo' dat money?" His teeth gleamed.