The Girl at Central. Bonner Geraldine

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СКАЧАТЬ was all. Before he could ask her a question she'd disconnected. And, naturally, he made no effort to find out where the call had come from, being in such a hurry to get to her – Sylvia who was in trouble and wanted him to come.

      When she came out of the booth she carried a small purse in her hand and Hines then noticed that she had only one glove on – the left – and that her right hand was scratched in several places. Thinking she looked cold he asked her if she would have something to drink and she said no, then pushed back her cuff and looked at a bracelet watch set in diamonds and sapphires that she wore on her wrist.

      "Twenty minutes to ten," she said. "I'll wait here for a little while if you don't mind."

      She went over to the stove, pulled up a chair and sat down, spreading her hands out to the heat, and when they were warm, opening her coat collar, and turning it back from her neck. Both Hines and Tecla Rabine noticed that her feet were muddy and that there were twigs and dead leaves caught in the edge of her skirt. As she didn't seem inclined to say anything, Hines, who admitted that he was ready to burst with curiosity, began to question her, trying to find out where she'd come from and what she was waiting for.

      "You come a long way, I guess," he said.

      She just nodded.

      "From Bloomington maybe?" he asked.

      "No, the other direction – toward Longwood."

      "Car broken down?" he said next, and she answered sort of indifferent,

      "Yes, it's down the road."

      "Maybe I might go and lend a hand," he suggested and she answered quick to that:

      "No, it's not necessary. They can fix it themselves," then she added, after a minute, "I've telephoned for someone to come for me and if the car's really broken we can tow it back."

      That seemed so straight and natural that Hines began to get less curious, still he wanted to know who she was and tried to find out.

      "You come a long ride if you come from Longwood," he said.

      But he didn't get any satisfaction, for she answered:

      "Is it a long way there?"

      "About a hundred and eighteen miles by the turnpike – a good bit shorter by the Firehill Road, but that's pretty bad after these rains.

      "Most of the roads are bad, I suppose," she said, as if she wasn't thinking of her words.

      They were silent for a bit, then he tried again:

      "What's broke in your auto?"

      And she answered that sharp as if he annoyed her and she was setting him back in his place:

      "My good man, I haven't the least idea. That's the chauffeur's business, not mine."

      He asked her some more questions but he couldn't get anything out of her. He said she treated him sort of haughty as if she wanted him to stop. So after a while he said no more, but sat by the bar pretending to read his paper. Tecla Rabine came and went, tidying up for the night and none of them said a word.

      A little before ten she got up and buttoned her coat, saying she was going. Hines was surprised and asked her if she wouldn't wait there for the auto, and she said no, she'd walk up the road and meet it.

      He asked her which way it was coming and she said: "By the Firehill Road. How far is that from here?"

      He told her about a quarter of a mile and she answered that she'd just about time to get there and catch it as it came into the turnpike.

      Hines urged her to stay but she said no, she was cramped with sitting and needed a little walk; it was early yet and there was nothing to be afraid of. She bid him good night very cordial and pleasant and went out.

      He stood in the doorway watching her as far as he could see, then told Tecla, whose toothache was bad, to go to bed. After she'd gone he locked up, went upstairs to his wife and told her about the strange lady. His wife said he'd done wrong to let her go, it wasn't right for a person like that to be alone on such a solitary road, especially with some of the farm hands, queer foreigners, no better than animals.

      She worked upon his feelings till she got him nervous and he was going to get a lantern and start out when he heard the sound of an auto horn in the distance. He stepped to the window and watched and presently saw a big car with one lamp dark coming at a great clip down from the Firehill Road direction. The moon had come out a short while before, so that if he'd looked he could have seen the people in the car, but supposing it was the one the lady was waiting for, he turned from the window, and, thinking no more about it, went to bed.

      Before he was off to sleep he heard another auto horn and the whirr of a car passing. He couldn't say how long after this was, as he was half asleep.

      How long he'd slept he didn't know – it really was between four and five in the morning – when he was roused by a great battering at the door and a sound of voices. He jumped up just as he was, ran to the window and opened it. There in the road he could see plain – the clouds were gone, the moon sailing clear and high – a motor and some people all talking very excited, and one voice, a woman's, saying over and over, "Oh, how horrible – how horrible!"

      He took them for a party of merry-makers, half drunk and wanting more, and called down fierce and savage:

      "What in thunder are you doing there?"

      One of them, a man standing on the steps of the piazza, looked up at him and said:

      "There's a murdered woman up the road here, that's all."

      As he ran to the place with the men – there were two of them – they told him how they were on a motor trip with their wives and that night were going from Bloomington to Huntley. The moon being so fine they were going slow, otherwise they never would have found the body, which was lying by the roadside. A pile of brushwood had been thrown over it, but one hand had fallen out beyond the branches and one of the women had seen it, white in the moonlight.

      They had unfastened an auto lamp and it was standing on the ground beside her. Hines lifted it and looked at her. She lay partly on her side, her coat loosely drawn round her. The right arm was flung out as if when the body stiffened it might have slipped down from a position across the chest. As he held the lantern close he saw below the hat, pulled down on her head, with the torn rags of veil still clinging to it, a thin line of blood running down to where the pearl necklace rested, untouched, round her throat.

      It was Sylvia Hesketh, her skull fractured by a blow that had cracked her head like an egg shell.

      V

      There were so many puzzling "leads" and so much that was inexplicable and mysterious in the Hesketh case that it'll be easier to follow if, in this chapter, I put down what the other people, who were either suspects or important witnesses, did on that Sunday.

      Some of it may not be interesting, but it's necessary to know if you're going to get a clear understanding of a case that baffled the police and pretty nearly… There I go again. But it's awfully hard when you're not used to it to keep things in their right order.

      I've told how Jim Donahue said he put Sylvia on the train for the Junction that night at seven-thirty. Both Jim and the ticket agent said they'd seen her and Jim had spoken to her. She carried a hand bag, wore a long dark fur coat and a small close-fitting СКАЧАТЬ