"An aeroplane--in Cokesbury Lodge?"
"In the garage there. _That's_ why he wouldn't rent the house; _that's_
why he kept going down over Sunday all summer. The year he was in France
he'd done a lot of flying and was fascinated by it. Before he left there
he was an expert aviator, but his wife hated it and it was one of their
grounds of dissension. After she died he had a machine brought down in
sections, set it up himself, and kept it in the garage. Not a soul knew
it. He only flew at night for he wanted it kept a secret."
"Why--what for?"
"Because--here's the best thing I've heard about him--he carried a heavy
life insurance policy secured to his children. Cokesbury's not a rich
man, though he has a good business, and if he died his children would
have had to live on what their mother left them, which wasn't much. If
it was known that he was aviating the policy would have been
invalidated, so he indulged his secret passion at night. The isolated
position of the house made it easy to escape detection and his machine
was equipped with a very silent muffler. No one had a glimmering of it,
not even Sylvia.
"The phone message you heard was sent from the station at Jersey City
and when he sent it he _did_ intend coming to Mapleshade in his motor.
When he got to Azalea and found the car unmended in the garage he flew
into a rage, as he thought his plans were blocked. Alone in the Lodge,
ravaged by jealousy, he lost all caution and decided to take out the
aeroplane.
"You remember that there was a moon that night, but that in the evening
the skies were clouded and the air breathless. The darkness and the
weather were on his side and he came down in a field about ten minutes
walk from the house, closing the cut-out as he descended. He was early
and hid himself among some trees where he could watch the front door. He
says it was while he was waiting there for her that the idea came to him
of frustrating an elopement by carrying her off.
"He was laying round in his mind how he would get the truth from her,
when he saw her come out and gave a low whistle. She heard it and came
toward him. It was not till she was close to him and he could see the
outlines of her figure through the dark, that he made out a bag in her
hand. _Then_ he knew for certain she was going and decided on his
course.
"In all his other dealings with her he had found her subtle and evasive.
Now, perhaps because for the first time in her life she had decided on a
positive action, she went straight to the point. Without any preamble
she told him what she was going to do and that within a half-hour Reddy
would be waiting for her in the Lane.
"He showed no anger or surprise, apparently accepting the situation in
the most friendly spirit. He says he thought she was relieved, having
expected a scene with him. When he had disarmed her of her suspicions,
he told her of the airship and asked her if she wouldn't like to come up
for a spin before Reddy arrived. They had over half an hour and he could
take her for a short flight and would bring her down in ten or fifteen
minutes.
"Everybody agrees that she was a bold, venturesome girl, and the idea
appealed to her, as she had never been up. They walked quickly through
the fields and bit of woodland to the aeroplane. She was in high spirits
as she tucked herself in; he could hear her laughter as he took his
seat, and then, closing the cut-out, they soared up.
"They rose high--about two thousand feet, he thought--and then he headed
East. They were winging their way over Cokesbury Lodge on toward the
hills in the distance when Reddy must have sighted the lights of
Longwood as he came down the Firehill Road.
"Cokesbury swears he had no intention of kidnapping her. He says he had
no definite idea of where he was going, that his plan was simply to get
her away from Reddy and put an end to the marriage. Personally, I don't
believe him. I think he had a perfectly clear idea of carrying her off
to Cokesbury Lodge, and that his chivalrous scheme was to put her into
such a compromising position she would be willing to marry him. Maybe
I'm wrong--I don't know. Anyway, he very soon saw you can't abduct a
high-spirited, hot-tempered girl against her will.
"After about fifteen or twenty minutes he was conscious of her getting
uneasy and speaking to him--words that he couldn't hear but that he knew
to be at first startled questions, then angry commands. He shouted
replies, but the great machine kept steadily on its way, neither turning
nor dipping downward. Then she realized and broke into a fury, turning
upon him in the dark, putting her face close to his and screaming for
him to bring her down. The noise made it impossible to argue with her,
and fearful of what she might do, he held her off with his elbow, the
delicately balanced machine swaying as she seized his arm and shook it,
lunging up against him, her cries of rage rising above the thunder of
the screw.
"Can't you imagine it? The big ship sailing through the night with the
lights of farms and little towns sliding by far below, and above the sky
muffled deep in black clouds. Poised between them the man and woman,
each gripped by a different passion--suspended there like two naked
souls in a sort of elemental battle of the sexes.
"He admits he was scared and if he could have spoken to her would have
pacified her with all sorts of assurances. But speech was out of the
question, and when she made a sudden lunge across him for the wheel he
realized she would kill them both if he didn't bring her to earth.
Throwing her back with a blow of his elbow, he yelled that he was coming
down and as she felt the machine begin its glancing, downward glide she
fell back into her place, suddenly quiet, then leaned forward scanning
the country below them.
"A momentary break of the clouds let a little light spill through and by
this he saw a bare, bold landscape darkened by woods, and with the gleam
of a large body of water to the right, showing against the blackness
like polished steel. He made a landing in an open space, an uncultivated
field with a hillock in the center covered with grass and surrounded by
trees. The water had drained off this and it was quite dry.
"She was hardly out on the ground and he was preparing for an
explanation when to his surprise she curtly told him to follow her and
led the way along a ridge that skirted the lake. This, too, was dry, a
fact curiously in his favor, for their feet left no tracks, the grass
closing on the trail they swept through it. She did not address him
again till, the dim shape of a house appearing, he asked her if she was
going there and she answered in the same, curt way: Yes; she was cold. A
wharf jutted out in front of the house and in stepping from the grass to
the planks he made a motion to help her, but she started away from him
as if he was a snake, making two or three steps into the liquid mud that
ran up to the wharf's edge. It was then he thought she dropped the
glove. Once again on the planks she took a key from her purse, fitted it
in the lock and opened the door.
"The room was pitch dark and Cokesbury stood in the doorway while she
went in. She moved about as if she was accustomed to the place, lit a
lamp, set a match to the fire already laid and gave him a copper kettle
to fill with water from the lake. When he came back with it the table
was set out with tea things and the fire was leaping up the chimney. She
hung the kettle on a crane, swung it over the flames and then, turning
to him, said:
"'Do you know where you are?' He said he didn't and she answered:
'You're in Jack Reddy's bungalow at Hochalaga Lake, the place where I've
spent the happiest days of my life.'
"He looked at her in amazement and she smiled scornfully back at him.
'You fool!' she said, 'to think you could come blundering in and stop me
from marrying the only man of all of you who's worth a heartbeat.'
"She made tea and then motioned him to sit down by the table, taking a
seat at the other side. Facing each other in the lamplight they had a
conversation that put an end to all his dreams. For the first time in
his acquaintance with her he thought she spoke frankly. She told him of
her friendship with Reddy from the start, and how the Doctor's senseless
opposition had fanned a boy-and-girl flirtation into a passionate love
affair.
"When the quarrels began at Mapleshade they found that they could meet
without fear of detection at the Lake, she going out there in her car
and he in his. She had her own key and often, during the autumn, she had
gone to the bungalow in the morning, Reddy had joined her and they had
spent the day together, canoeing and fishing on the lake, cooking a
picnic meal over the fire, and driving home in the afternoon, the racer
towing her car till they came to the turnpike.
"Cokesbury says he thinks at first it was only the spirit of romance and
adventure which made her do such a rash thing, but that in the end
Reddy's devotion and chivalrous attitude made a deep impression on her
and she came as near loving him as she could any man. He says there is
no doubt that the meetings were perfectly innocent and that Reddy had
behaved from the start as a gentleman.
"'Whether she really loved him or not,' he said, 'he'd taught her to
respect him.'
"They talked for over an hour, taking the tea she had made and Cokesbury
smoking a cigar. He remembered leaving the butt in the saucer of his
cup. It was half-past eight when they rose to go. Sylvia put out the
lamp but the fire was still burning and the tea things were left on the
table. Cokesbury says he promised to take her home, that he saw his case
was hopeless, and he'd made up his mind to have done with her forever.
"The sky was clouded over and it was as dark as a pocket when they went
back to the aeroplane. He had to direct the machine by guesswork, the
country black below him and the sky black above. He swears that he
intended to take her back to Mapleshade, and I believe him. No man--not
even a bad egg like Cokesbury--wants to run away with a woman who hands
out the line of talk that girl had in the bungalow.
"Anyway, we've only his word for the statement that he completely lost
his bearings. He could see no lights and after making an exploratory
circle, realized he hadn't the slightest idea which way to go. To make
matters worse, he could hear from shouted remarks of hers that her
suspicions were on the alert and that she was ready to flare up again.
By this time there wasn't much of the lover left in him. According to
his own words he was as anxious to get her home again as she was to be
there. With his head clear and his blood cold he did not relish a second
flight with a woman fighting like a wildcat.
"This was the situation--she, angry and disbelieving; he, scared and
unable to conciliate her--when the twinkle of a light caught his eye and
he decided to come down and ask his way. They dropped into a stretch of
grass land among fields, with the light shining some way off through a
screen of trees. Farther away, just a spark, he saw another light. He
told her to wait while he went to inquire, and walked off toward the one
that was nearest.
"It was Cresset's Farm. There he had the interview with Mrs. Cresset,
telling her he had an auto in order to explain his presence. When he
went back he found that Sylvia had disappeared. At first he didn't know
what to do, realizing that if the story of their flight got abroad,
there would be the devil to pay. He was certain she had disbelieved him
and had taken the opportunity to get away from him. She was either
hiding or had gone for the second light. This being the most plausible,
he walked toward it--quite a distance across fields and through
woods--and brought up at a ramshackle roadhouse--the Wayside Arbor.
"He stole round from the back to a side window and there, through a
crack in the shutter, looked in and saw Sylvia talking to Hines. He says
he stayed there for some minutes, afraid if he went in after her she
would make a scene and start a scandal. Then his eyes fell on the
telephone booth and he felt sure she had telephoned either to her own
home or to Reddy. Her air of waiting--she was sitting by the stove with
her feet on its lower edge--confirmed him in this and he decided to let
her alone.
"He went back to the aeroplane, wondering what would be the outcome of
the whole crazy escapade. He says he felt confident of her cleverness to
hush the thing up, but he was uneasy. His discomfort wasn't lessened
when he found that she had left her bag in the machine, and on his way
home one of the things that preoccupied him was thinking up the best way
of getting the bag back to her.
"Monday morning he went to town in a state of suspense. If she should
tell there was no knowing what might happen and he was on the alert for
a visit from the Doctor or even Reddy. But the day passed without any
sign of trouble, and he was just calming down, thinking she had either
found Reddy and gone with him or invented some story to quiet the
Mapleshade people, when he read of the murder in the evening paper.
"_Then_, you better believe he was frightened. He knew the bag was
hidden in his room at the Lodge and that as far as he could tell, not a
soul had seen the airship. As to Mrs. Cresset, he felt safe for she
couldn't possibly have made out a feature in the darkness."
"But," I cried out, "why if he hadn't done it----"
"That's all right," Babbitts interrupted. "He hadn't done it, but I tell
you he was a coward. He was in a sweat for fear of being suspected, of
being pulled in as a witness, of his reputation, his business, his
position. He wanted to keep out of it at any cost."
"What a cur!" I said.
"Oh, he's that and more, and he's ready to admit it himself. But it
wasn't as smooth sailing as he thought it would be. After the inquest he
read of the overheard phone message and that brought him up with a jolt.
He got in a state of terror, realizing too late that his silence was
more incriminating than any confession.
"Every day his fears grew worse. He wouldn't answer any phone calls,
faking up reasons to his clerks and his servants. Finally it got on his
nerves so he couldn't stand it and he made ready to skip to Europe. The
key was what tripped him up. Do you remember Mr. Whitney saying how
criminals overlooked important details? Well, what he overlooked was the
key of the garage. In his preoccupation on Monday morning he had put it
in the pocket of the raincoat he was accustomed to leave in the auto and
had simply forgotten it. Then when he went to pack his things he
couldn't find it, hunted in a nervous frenzy and finally had his man
telephone over to Miner's place. You and the key were the combination
that beat him."
"But Jack Reddy?" I said. "Was he going to slink off and let him be
tried for the murder when he could have cleared it all up?"
"He _says_ not and I guess the fellow's not as yellow as to have stood
by and let an innocent man go to his death. He says there wasn't enough
evidence to convict Reddy and if things had gone badly he would have
come out and told what he knew. And I think that's true--anyway, we'll
give him the benefit of the doubt."
"How can you be so sure? How do you know he's _not_ the murderer after
all?"
"Oh, there's no doubt. Everything fits in too well. The police were out
at Cokesbury Lodge on Saturday and saw the aeroplane and found Miss
Hesketh's bag. Both the Whitneys--father and son, who've had a vast
experience in this sort of case--say there's no question of his
innocence."
We sat silent for a spell, looking at the stove, then I said:
"We're back just where we were in the beginning."
Babbitts leaned forward and shook down some ashes.
"The case is, but we're not," he said.
"How do you make that out?" I asked.
"Six weeks ago we didn't know each other and now we're friends."
"That's so," I said, and we both sat staring thoughtfully at the red eye
of the stove.