Thursday afternoon I was sitting in the Exchange, feeling as if the
bottom had fallen out of the world. I hadn't given up yet--I'm not the
giving-up kind--but I _couldn't_ think of anything else to do. I'd
tossed on my bed all night thinking, I'd dressed thinking, I'd tried to
eat thinking, I'd put in the plugs and made the connections
thinking--and nothing would come.
Two days more--two days more--two days more--those three words kept
going through my head as if they were strung on an endless chain.
And then--isn't it always that way in life? Just when you're ready to
throw up the sponge and say you're beaten, Bang--it comes!
It came in the shape of a New York call for Azalea.
Like a dream, for I was pretty nearly all in, I could hear the
operator's voice:
"That you, Longwood? Give me Azalea, 383."
And then me answering:
"All right. Azalea 383. Wait a minute."
I plugged in and heard that queer grating sound as if the wires were
rubbing against each other:
"Hello, New York. All right for Azalea 383."
And then a woman's voice, clear and small.
"Here's your party. Just a minute. There you are--Azalea 383."
Then a man's voice far away as if it might be in Mars:
"Hello, is that Azalea 383?"
"Yep--the Azalea Garage," that was close and plain.
"This is Mr. Cokesbury's butler----" Believe _me_, I came to life.
"Cokesbury, Cokesbury of Cokesbury Lodge--get it?"
"Yep."
"I've a message for Miner--the manager."
"Fire away, I'm Miner."
"He wants to know if you found a raincoat in that auto he had from you
last time he was down? _Raincoat_, waterproof. Do you hear?"
"Yes sir, I hear perfect. We've got it and I'd 'a' sent it back but I
thought he'd be down again any time and it was just as well to keep it
here."
"That's all right. The coat doesn't matter--but he's lost a key that
does. Thinks maybe he left it in the pocket. Have you found any key?"
"I haven't looked. Hold the wire while I see?"
There was a pause while I prayed no one would come in or call up. My
prayer was answered. There was nothing to interrupt when I heard the
garage man's voice again:
"The key's there."
"Good work! Mr. Cokesbury's had the house here upside down looking for
it. He wants you to do it up careful and give it to Sands the Pullman
conductor on the six-twenty to-night. I'll come across and get it off
him at Jersey City."
"All right. Will I send the raincoat along, too?"
"No, he don't want that. He's goin' to Europe Saturday and I guess he's
calculating to buy a new one. Thanks for your trouble. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
I dropped the cam, sat tight, and thought. People kept coming in and out
and calls came flashing along the wires and I worked swift and steady
like an operator that's got no thought but for what's before her.
But my mind was working like a steam engine underneath. How could I get
him--how could I get him? It was as if I had two brains, one on the top
that went mechanical like a watch and one below that was doing the real
business.
Before the afternoon was over I'd decided on a line of action.
I called up Katie Reilly and asked her if she'd relieve me at
five-thirty instead of six--that I'd an invitation to go down to a party
at Jersey City and I was keen to get there early. She agreed and at six
I was on the platform of the station waiting for the New York train.
I took a seat in the common coach and at Azalea watched from the window
and saw a man on the platform give Sands a packet. I knew Sands well and
when he passed back through my car nodded to him and he stopped and
stood in the aisle talking.
It wasn't long before I said, careless:
"I hear Cokesbury Lodge is for rent."
"I ain't heard it," said Sands, "but I ain't surprised. Now he's sent
his family away he don't want a house that size on his hands."
"Has he been down lately?"
"No--not for--lemme see--it's several weeks. Yes--the last time was the
Sunday before Sylvia Hesketh's murder."
I knew all that but it doesn't do to jump at what you're after too
quick.
"Lucky for him he could prove his car was on the blink that time," I
said, looking languid out of the window.
"Sure. He and Reddy were the only ones of her fellers within striking
distance. But no one ever'd suspicion Cokesbury. He ain't the murderin'
kind, too jolly and easy. I hear he's goin' to Europe."
"Is he now? Where'd you hear that?"
"From Miner, that runs the Azalea Garage. He come down to the station
just now and gave me a package. Something Cokesbury left in the motor
the last time he was down. I'm to hand it over to his servant at Jersey
City."
"Is it love letters that he don't want to leave behind?"
"No, I guess he's careful of them. Here it is," he drew out of his
breast pocket an envelope with Cokesbury's name and address written on
it and held it out to me. "That ain't no love letter."