Miss Maitland Private Secretary Part 25

Sitting there in the midst of them, she looked at the Chief, politely inquiring, and I couldn't help but think she was a winner. Mrs. Price, all weazened up and washed out, was like a cosmetic advertis.e.m.e.nt beside her. She held herself very straight, her hands folded together in her lap, her head up cool and proud. She had on the white hat with the wreath of grapes and a wash-silk dress of white with lilac stripes that set easy over her fine shoulders, and, believe me, bad or good, she was a thoroughbred.

The Chief, turning himself round toward her with a hitch of his chair, began as bland and friendly as if they'd just met at a tea-fest.

"We're very sorry to bother you again, Miss Maitland. But certain facts have come up since you were here that make it necessary for me to ask you a few more questions."

She just inclined her head a little and murmured:

"It's no bother at all, Mr. Whitney. I'm only too anxious to help in any way I can."

Honest-to-G.o.d I think the Chief got a jar; the words came as smooth and as cool as cream just off the ice. For a second he looked at his desk and moved a paper knife very careful, as if it was precious and he was afraid of breaking it.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Miss Maitland. It's not only what one would expect you to feel, but it makes me sure that you will be willing to explain certain circ.u.mstances concerning yourself and your-er-activities-that have-well-er-rather puzzled us."

It was my business to watch her and even if it hadn't been I couldn't have helped doing it. I saw just two things-the light strike white across the breast of her blouse where a quick breath lifted it, and, for a second, her hands close tight till the knuckles shone. Then they relaxed and she said very softly:

"Certainly. I'll explain anything."

"Very good. I was sure you would." He leaned forward, one arm on the desk, his big shoulders hunched, his eyes sharp on her but still very kind. "We have discovered-of course you'll understand that our detectives have been busy in all directions-that nearly a month ago you took a room at 76 Gayle Street. Now that I should ask about this may seem an unwarranted impertinence, but I would like to know just why you took that room."

There was a slight pause. Mrs. Price, who was sitting next to me, an empty chair in front of her, rustled and in the moment of silence I could hear her breathing, short and catchy, like it was coming hard.

Miss Maitland, who, as the Chief had spoken, had dropped her eyes to her hands, looked up at him:

"I have no objection to telling you. I took it for a school friend of mine-Aggie Brown, a girl I hadn't seen for years. A month ago she wrote me from St. Louis and told me she was coming to New York to study art and asked me to engage a room for her. She said she had very little money and it must be inexpensive. I had heard of that place from other girls-that it was respectable and cheap-so I engaged the room. It so happens that my friend is not yet in New York. She was delayed by illness in her family."

I sent a look around and caught them like pictures going quick in a movie-Mr. Janney glimpsing sideways, worried and frowning, at his wife, Mr. George, his arm on the back of his chair, pulling at his little blonde mustache and twisting his mouth around, and the Chief pawing absent-minded after the paper knife. Miss Maitland, with her chin up and her shoulders square, had her eye on him, attentive and steady, like a soldier waiting for orders.

Then out of the silence came Mrs. Janney's voice, rumbling like distant thunder:

"But you went to that room yourself?"

The Chief's hand made a quick wave at her for silence. Miss Maitland didn't seem to notice it; she turned to Mrs. Janney and answered:

"Yes, several times, Mrs. Janney. I'd had to pay the rent in advance and I had a key, so when I was in town and had time to spare I went there.

It was quiet and convenient-I used to write letters and read."

"Would you mind telling me why Mr. Chapman Price went there too?"

It was the Chief's voice this time, quite low and oh, so deep and mild.

Miss Maitland's att.i.tude didn't change, but again her hands clasped and stayed clasped. She gave a little, provocative smile, almost as if she was trying to flirt with him, and said:

"You seem to know a great deal about me and my affairs, Mr. Whitney."

He returned the smile, good-humored, as if he liked the way she'd come back at him.

"A little, Miss Maitland. You see we have had to, unpleasant but still necessary-you have no objection to answering?"

"Oh, not the least, only-" her glance swept over the solemn faces of the others-"I'm afraid Mrs. Janney may not approve of what I've done. I met Mr. Price there to tell him about Bebita; I was sorry for him, for the position he was in. He was fond of her and he heard almost nothing about her. So I arranged to give him news of her, tell him how she was, and little funny things she had said. It wasn't the right thing to do but I-I-pitied him so."

A sound-I can't call it anything but a grunt-came from Mrs. Janney. Mr.

George, still pulling at his mustache, shifted uneasily in his chair.

Beside me I could hear that stifled breathing of Mrs. Price, and her hand, all covered with rings, stole forward and clasped like a bird's claw on the chair in front. I don't think Miss Maitland noticed any of this. Her eyes were on the Chief, fixed and sort of defiant. Her face had lost its calm look; there were pink spots on her cheek bones.

"A natural thing to do," said the Chief mildly, "though hardly discreet considering the situation. But we won't argue about that-we'll pa.s.s on to the business of the moment. Now you told us last time you were here that you left the taxi in front of Justin's. Inquiries there of the doorman have elicited the information that he remembers the cab and the child, and says it was still there when you came out and that you got into it and drove away."

"How can the doorman at a place where hundreds of carriages stop every day remember the people in each one?" All the softness was gone out of her voice and her face began to look different, as if it had grown thinner. "It's absurd-he couldn't possibly be sure of every woman and child who stopped there. My word is against his, and it seems to me I'm much more likely to know what I did than he is-especially _that_ day."

"Certainly, certainly." The Chief was all kindly understanding. "Under the circ.u.mstances every event of that morning should be impressed on your memory. But another fact has come up that seems to us curious. One of our detectives has heard from a clerk in a book bindery at the corner near 76 Gayle Street, that on Friday last, at about half-past eleven, he saw a taxi standing at the curb there. He noticed a child in it talking to the driver and his description of this child, her appearance and clothes, is a very accurate description of Bebita."

He looked at her over his gla.s.ses, with a sort of ominous, waiting attention. I'd have wilted under it, but she didn't, only what had been a restrained quietness gave place to a sort of steely tension. You could see that her body all over was as rigid as the hands clenched together, the fingers knotted round each other. It was will and a fighting spirit that kept her up. I began to feel my own muscles drawing tight, wondering if she'd get through and praying that she would-I don't know why.

"It's quite possible that this man-this clerk-may have seen such a taxi with such a child in it. There must be a great many little girls in New York whose description would fit Bebita. I dare say if your detective had gone about the city he would have heard of any number of cabs and children that would have fitted just as well. I can't imagine why you're asking me these questions or why you don't seem to believe what I say.

But even if you don't believe it, that won't prevent me from sticking to it."

"A commendable spirit, Miss Maitland, when one is sure of one's facts,"

said the Chief, and suddenly pushing back his chair he rose. "Now I've just one more matter to call to your attention, a little memorandum here, which, if you'll be good enough to explain, we'll end this rather trying interview."

He went over to her, fumbling in his vest pocket, and then drew out my folded paper and put it into her hand:

"It's the record of a telephone message received by you yesterday at Gra.s.slands, and tapped by our detective, Miss Rogers."

He stepped back and stood leaning against the desk watching her. We all did; there wasn't an eye in that room which wasn't glued on that unfortunate girl as she opened the paper and read the words.

It was a knock-out blow. I knew it would be-I didn't see how it couldn't-and yet she'd put up such a fight that some way or other I thought she'd pull out. But that bowled her over like a nine pin.

She turned as white as the paper and her hands holding it shook so you could hear it rustle. Then she looked up and her eyes were awful-hunted, desperate. Yet she made a last frantic effort, with her face like a death mask and all the breath so gone out of her she had only a hoa.r.s.e thread of voice:

"I-I-don't know what this is-oh, yes, yes, I mean I do. But it-it refers to something else-it's-it's-that friend of mine-Aggie Brown from St.

Louis-she's come and Mr. Price-"

She couldn't go on; her lips couldn't get out any words. You could see the brain behind them had had such a shock it wouldn't work.

"Miss Maitland," said the Chief, solemn as an executioner, "we've got you where you can't keep this up. There's no use in these evasions and denials. Where is Bebita?"

"I don't know-I don't know anything about her. I swear to Heaven I don't."

She raised her voice with the last words and looked at them, round at those stony faces, wild like an animal cornered.

"What's the matter with you? Why do you think I'd be a party to such a thing? Why don't you believe me-why _can't_ you believe me? And you don't-not one of you. You think I'm guilty of this infamous thing. All right, _think_ it. Do what you like with me-arrest me, put me in jail, I don't care."

She put her hands over her face and collapsed down in her chair, like a spring that had held her up had broken. That breathing beside me had grown so loud it sounded as if it came from some one running the last lap of a race. Now it suddenly broke into a sound-more like a growl than anything else-and Mrs. Price got up, shuffling and shaking, her hands holding on to the chair in front.

"She ought to be put in jail," she gasped out. "She's bad right through-everything she's said is a lie. And she's a thief too."

There was a movement of consternation among them all-getting up, pushing back chairs, several voices speaking together:

"Keep quiet."

"Mrs. Price, I beg of you-"