Phyllis and Ivy
And where _was_ Phyllis?
Why, sitting in the small, but pretty, little bedroom of Ivy Hayes, in
that young woman’s boarding-house home.
“And so you’re Phyllis Lindsay,” said the other girl, looking
admiringly at Phyllis’ smart, inconspicuous costume. “I’m jolly glad
to see you. What can I do for you?”
The frank, pleasant manner of the hostess pleased the guest and
Phyllis said, impulsively, “Oh, I hope you can help me. I’m in a
quandary. Will you tell me frankly just why you said I was at Mr
Gleason’s the day he died?”
“Now, how did you know I said that? I declare those detectives tell
everything!”
“I thought it was Mr Barry whom you told.”
“Well, it’s all the same. Why, I said you were there, because you were
there.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“All right, then, you weren’t. I like you, Miss Lindsay, and I’ll
stand by you. Now, you tell me what you want me to say, and I’ll say
it.”
“Oh, dear, I don’t want you to say anything that isn’t true. Why did
you think I was there, if you didn’t see me?”
“I heard you.”
“Heard me talking?”
“Yes.”
“What did I say?”
“You were asking Mr Gleason for money—a big sum.”
“And you heard me ask him?”
“I didn’t exactly hear you, you spoke very low, and I was behind a
closed door. But I heard all Mr Gleason said—so I could tell.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘twenty thousand dollars! I should say not! Not
unless—well, you know my conditions.’ That’s exactly what he said.
And then you murmured something, and he said, ‘You’re a
Lindsay—you’re both Lindsays,’ but I don’t know whether he meant you
and his sister, or you and your brother.”
“What has my brother to do with it?”
“I don’t know—but when he spoke of the two of you together, like
that, I thought he meant you and Louis. But afterward, I thought he
might have meant you and his sister, Mrs Lindsay.”
“You know my brother? You call him Louis!”
“Yes, I know him—not awfully well, but enough to call him anything I
like. You don’t have to know anybody so very long to call him pet
names.”
“Pet names!”
“Oh, come now, Miss Lindsay, don’t be so shocked. You’re probably more
conventional than I am, but you must know a few things. Well, anyhow,
I didn’t hear any more, because Mr Gleason shut the door, and I just
scooted down the back way and home. I never knew whether you got the
money you wanted or not. Did you?”
Phyllis gasped. She was annoyed at the girl’s rudeness, but, after
all, Ivy Hayes had a charm of her own, and it was impossible to feel
deep resentment toward the flippant little thing.
“I didn’t get it from Mr Gleason, because I didn’t ask him for it. I
didn’t ask him for it, because I wasn’t there. I’ve never been there.”
“All right, Miss Lindsay—what you say goes. You’ve never been there.
Is that what you came to tell me?”
Ivy cocked her foolish little curly head on one side, and gave Phyllis
such a humorous wink that she couldn’t help smiling.
“I don’t wonder Louis likes you,” she said, impulsively. “You’re an
adorable little piece.”
“That’s right,” said Ivy, gravely. “Pile it on thick. I just lap it
up. Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Yes,” Phyllis returned, simply. “Now, tell me again, why did you
think the—the person Mr Gleason said those things to was myself, when
you never had seen me—and you say you couldn’t hear me.”
“Well, when the bell rang, Mr Gleason said it was you. That he
expected you.”
Phyllis turned pale. “Go on,” she said.
“That’s all. He said, ‘That’s Miss Lindsay coming up. You go.’ So I
went. I hung around a few moments, trying to get a glimpse of you, but
I couldn’t. I heard you speak, but you spoke so low, and the door was
almost shut, so I couldn’t hear a word you said.”
“Well,” Phyllis drew a long breath. “If I was there—I didn’t kill Mr
Gleason.”
“Of course you didn’t!” Ivy exclaimed. Then, with a look deep into
Phyllis’ eyes, she added, “And you weren’t there. I know it now!”
“How do you know it?”
“Oh, it’s come to me. You were not there that day at all, Miss
Lindsay. As you say, you’ve never been there.”
Ivy looked very grave. She gazed at Phyllis with a strange look of
divination, and added, “I know you haven’t.”
“Oh, yes, I have,” Phyllis cried quickly. “I _was_ there that
day—I was, really. I just said I wasn’t—because——”
“Oh, come now,” Ivy smiled a little but she did not laugh. “What am I
to think? You were there and you weren’t there! You’ve never been
there and you were there that day! My goodness gracious!”
“I was there,” Phyllis said, looking at her coldly. “I said at first I
wasn’t, for—for reasons of my own——”
“Yes, I know,” and Ivy nodded a sagacious head. “What are we going to
do about it?”
Phyllis stared. “About what?”
“About the—the reason you said—you know——”
“Don’t! Don’t look like that! You’re uncanny. What do you know?”
“I don’t know anything. Do you?”
“About what?”
“About who killed Mr Gleason.”
This time Ivy looked directly at Phyllis, and that with a meaning
glance.
Phyllis covered her face with her hands, and at once Ivy ran to her
side and threw her arms around her.
“Now, don’t cry,” she begged. “It’s no time for that. Let’s see what
we can do.”
“Do about what? What are you talking about?”
“Shall I speak out? Shall I put it into words?”
“Yes,” said Phyllis, but she shrank as from a sudden blow.
“Then, here’s how I dope it out. It wasn’t you who were there—but it
was Louis.”
“Oh, no, no! It was I. It wasn’t Buddy.”
“Yes it was. You’re trying to shield him. I see it. Now, don’t take
that tack with me. Own up—tell me all you know—and I’ll help you.”
Phyllis thought a moment.
“Might as well,” Ivy urged. “I know too much to be ignored, and I
truly think it would be better for you in every way, to take me into
your confidence. Let me help you.”
“How can you?”
“I don’t know, quite. But I do know that if you stick to your story of
having been there yourself, when you were not, you’ll get a whole lot
of unpleasant notoriety, if nothing worse.”
“Meaning?”
“Suspicion. Accusation. Maybe arrest.”
Phyllis jumped. “Arrest!” she whispered, and her eyes stared in
horror.
“Well, maybe not that,” Ivy soothed her, “but, you tell me all about
it. Look here, Miss Lindsay, I’m a better detective than half the men
on the force. And, say, I know a little girl—well, I don’t suppose
you’d want her—but start straight now—tell me everything you know.
Let me be your father confessor.”
“But I’ve nothing to confess.”
“You haven’t! How about that story—fib you just told about going to
Mr Gleason’s house—when you didn’t go.”
“You don’t know that I didn’t.”
“Yes, I do, and I’ll tell you how I know. It was Louis who went
there—not you!”
“You didn’t see him.”
“No, and I didn’t hear him—or I should have known at once. But it was
Louis, of course, and when Mr Gleason said ‘You’re both Lindsays,’ and
referred to the stepmother, of course it fitted Louis as well as you.
Louis wanted money—you know that?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Has he got it—yet?”
“He will have it to-morrow. A—a friend is going to let me have it for
him.”
“Who?”
“Mr Pollard.”
“You seem to be able to get money easily!”
“Mr Pollard is my fiance.”
Phyllis remembered suddenly that Pollard had told her she might want
to say that, and just now, in the presence of this girl of a lower
class and of a lesser degree of refinement, Phyllis felt a sudden
impulse to justify her position. To her mind, to take money from one’s
fiance made correct what would otherwise be a questionable thing to
do.
“Oho! I see! Why, I thought you and Mr Barry were pals.”
“We are. Good pals. But I am engaged to Mr Pollard.”
“And you’re to get the money for Louis—in time?”
“Yes—in time. You know?”
“I know he’ll be jailed if he doesn’t fork over about twenty thousand
to that old shark!”
“Never mind details. Now, truly, Ivy, do you think Buddy was at Mr
Gleason’s that day?”
“I don’t think it, I know it. And, Phyllis—he—he killed him.”
In the gravity of the moment neither noticed the intimate use of the
name. Phyllis looked at the other, her eyes full of a dumb agony.
“Don’t!” she begged, “don’t say it!”
“Better face it, dear. I am positive. You see it all hangs together.
That old maid person on the floor above, saw a young man come in, and
I know it was Louis. Where was he at that time? I mean, where does he
say he was?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked him. Oh, Ivy, he didn’t?—he
couldn’t——”
“Maybe he could. Louis is not much on the strong-arm work, but he has
desperate determination, and if he went there to get that money—and
if Mr Gleason wouldn’t give it to him—let me see—I suppose Gleason
must have said that his condition was your acceptance of his suit!”
“I suppose so,” Phyllis agreed. “He knew how I love Louis, and he
often tried to get him to persuade me to do various things. Louis is
my idol. I’ve always adored him. I really brought him up, for mother
died when he was so little. We’re far closer to one another than most
brothers and sisters. Oh, Ivy, what can I do?”
“Hush, let me think. I wish I wasn’t so sure Louis did the thing. But,
you see, he was right there—johnny-on-the-spot! And he was mad—and
he was desperate—and Mr Gleason’s pistol was handy-by—and he was at
the end of his rope—alone with him there—oh, of course, it was
inevitable. How has he acted since?”
“Queerly,” Phyllis admitted. “He’s nervous and jumpy, and afraid of
everybody.”
“Of course he is. Well, Phyllis, he’ll have to run away.”
“Oh, no!”
“Yes, he will. It’s all very well to be shocked at the idea, and to
prefer to have him face the music—but the risk is too great! Even if
he should be innocent—and he can’t be—they’d put him through with
bells on!”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean as soon as the police get Louis in their mind as a suspect,
they’ll pounce on him, and they’ll fasten it on him, no matter what he
says.”
“Railroad him——”
“That’s not quite the word. You don’t know much about these things, do
you? Railroad is a term they use about innocent suspects, and
Louis——”
“Oh, Ivy, how can you? Stop! Don’t you love him, too?”
“Oh, in a way. But it’s enough of a way to want him to get off! I tell
you he must vanish—disappear. And that big money must be paid, or
those people will be after him. You know all about that deal?”
“Yes; and I may as well tell you, I was out that afternoon, in a
taxicab with—with Bill Halsey.”
“Halsey! You! Oh, you poor dear.”
“Oh, he was respectful—very decent, in fact. He was to go with me to
Mr Gleason—I was expected, you see—and I was to try to persuade Mr
Gleason to pay that debt and free Louis from the sharks. I knew Mr
Gleason’s price would be my promise to marry him—and—I expected to
pay.”
“Well, why didn’t you go to Gleason’s?”
“Because—as we neared there, we saw Louis going in!”
“What time was that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s all a horrid nightmare. I turned around and
went right home. No, not right home; we drove around a bit, trying to
decide what to do. Mr Halsey was nice; he said for me to follow up my
brother or to wait developments, just as I chose. Of course, I said
I’d wait and learn the result of Louis’ visit—I knew what he went
for.”
“And since—since we know the result of Louis’ visit, has Mr Halsey
been after you?”
“Yes; but I told him that now the inheritance was mine, I’d pay him
all Louis owes him just as soon as I could arrange it. He seemed
satisfied, only he wants the money at once. So Mr Pollard is getting
it for me.”
“Well, anyway, Bill Halsey won’t bother Louis about that. Now, I tell
you, Phyllis, it’s necessary that we get the boy away—smuggle him out
of the country——”
“Out of the country!”
“Yes—Canada, Europe—anywhere. Or maybe it would be easier to hide
him. Do you know of any country place—some friend’s house—no, they’d
find him. Oh, what can we do?”
“It’s too big a question for us to handle. Two girls can’t take care
of a case like this. I’ll ask Mr Pollard what to do.”
“Yes, that’s good. Mr Barry wouldn’t be very capable—but Mr Pollard
is.”
“You know him?”
“Not personally. But I know he’s a powerful and a wise man. He’ll know
just what to do. And as you’re engaged to him—you’ll want to tell him
about Louis—or, won’t you?”
“Why, yes—I suppose so. But how you take things for granted! I must
see Louis first of all. Oh, Buddy, Buddy dear!”
In the meantime, Phyllis’ mysterious disappearance was causing dismay
and consternation in many hearts and minds.
Prescott, who had started out to find her, was looking everywhere,
except in the home of Ivy Hayes.
Belknap, still at the Lindsay house, talked it over with Mrs Lindsay
and Philip Barry and concluded that at last they were on the right
track. He had no fears about finding the girl, for she could not
disappear permanently. But it was a shock, and he was a little
bewildered.
“Of course,” he said, “disappearance is practically confession. Miss
Lindsay must be found—can, probably, easily be found. But I am
sorry.”
“Sorry!” cried Millicent, “how you talk! You don’t mean you think
Phyllis killed my brother, do you?”
“You said that yourself, at first, Mrs Lindsay,” Belknap reminded her.
“Only in the excitement of my first shock. Really, I was not quite
responsible for what I said that night. Now, I know Phyllis couldn’t
have done it——”
“Why not?”
“A girl like that! Incredible.”
“It has been done. It may be she was under great provocation.”
“But, hold on, Belknap,” Barry cried; “don’t go too fast. What have
you by way of evidence? Only that Miss Lindsay was seen in a taxicab
with some man. What does that prove?”
“That there are some questions for Miss Lindsay to answer. I am not
accusing her unheard. I want to hear her, to see her, to question her.
And she has run away—which is, to say the least, a strange thing for
her to do.”
“Oh, she hasn’t run away. There are dozens of plausible reasons for
her sudden departure. And see here, Belknap, don’t let your suspicions
turn toward that girl. It’s too ridiculous.”
“It will bear investigation.”
“Not even that. Since you’ve taken this attitude, I’ve decided to come
through myself. I killed Robert Gleason.”
Belknap looked at him. “Now, Mr Barry, that’s too transparent. You’re
saying that to shield Miss Lindsay.”
“Seems to me you’d better not jump at conclusions too continuously.
And are you logical? You suspect Miss Lindsay with no evidence—only
because she chanced to go out when you wanted to see her. Yet when I
come and give myself up, you refuse to believe my confession. Can you
not say, at least, that it needs investigation? Isn’t it your habit to
look into the matter of a serious confession?”
Belknap stared at him.
But Millicent Lindsay cried out: “Oh, Phil, I’m so sorry! Do you know,
I felt it was you all along. And I like you so much! But when I
learned about the letter you wrote to Robert—you did write it, didn’t
you?”
“Yes,” said Barry.
“Well, as soon as I heard about that, I knew you did it. You never
liked Robert, but that was mostly because you thought he would get
Phyllis away from you. But to kill him! I can hardly believe it—and
yet, I’ve felt sure of it for some time!”
The doorbell rang, and in a flurry of tears and agitation Millicent
ran away to her own room.
The newcomer was Pollard, and as he entered he observed the serious
attitude of the two men.
“What is it?” he asked, simply.
“I’ve just confessed to the Gleason murder,” said Barry.
“What did you confess for?”
“Because I did it. What does any one confess for?”
“Usually because he didn’t do it. The real murderer rarely confesses.”
“Just what I think,” Belknap said; “Mr Barry has an idea that Miss
Lindsay will be accused, and he has confessed to prevent it.”
“That it, Phil?” and Manning Pollard looked Barry squarely in the
eyes.
“Take it any way you like, Pol,” Barry said. “I make my confession, I
give myself up—now let the law—if such a thing exists—take its
course. And there’s that letter. You know I wrote it, Pollard. You
know I must have written it. There’s no other possible theory. You
know I left you about six—or a little before. You know I’ve no
alibi—and there was time enough for me to go down to the Gleason
place and get back for the dinner party.”
“You rattle it off like a lesson, Phil. How did you go down there?”
Barry stared, but quickly said, “Taxi.”
“Did no one see you go in?”
“Not that I know of. Shut up, Pollard.”
Pollard shut up, and Belknap asked a long string of questions. These
Barry answered, but even then, Belknap did not arrest him. The
attorney went away, leaving the matter in abeyance, for, as a matter
of fact, he had no idea Barry was telling the truth.
“Shielding somebody?” Pollard asked as soon as Belknap had gone.
Barry look at him. “I confessed,” he said.
“Yes; I know. To shield Phyllis—or Louis?”
“Don’t, Pol.”
“Own up, old chap. Or perhaps you suspect them both.”
“I do! How did you know? They were there together. There was trouble.
Louis sent that telephone message—after the shooting—and he muddled
it. It’s all been a muddle ever since!”
“It surely has,” agreed Pollard. “But I’m not sure you’ve chosen the
best way to clear it up.”
“Well, I had to. I can’t see Phyllis dragged through a trial—and she
would say or do anything to shield Louis. So I thought I’d throw
myself into the breach.”
“You’ve certainly done so—whether for good or ill.”