13 - Black Eagle Mystery by Geraldine Bonner

In the heart of New York, a corporate lawyer plunges eighteen stories from the ominously named Black Eagle Building. Police quickly rule it a suicide, but Molly Morgenthau Babbits, an audacious part-time detective, isnt so easily convinced. The deceased, Hollings Harland, was rumored to be involved in a covert organization controlling the copper market, and was on the brink of being exposed. Just before his death, Harland had a heated argument with the affluent Johnston Barker, another suspected member of the secretive organization. Could Harland have been considering defection? Or was there something more sinister at play? With the help of an insider at the Black Eagle, Molly dives headfirst into her own unofficial investigation, suspecting a foul play murder.

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter thirteen of The Black Eagle Mystery. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Recording by Mike overby Midland, Washington, dedicated to UNI. The

(00:22):
Black Eagle Mystery by Geraldine Bonner. Chapter thirteen. Jack tells
the story to say that the expectant Whitney office got
a jolt as putting it mildly on the threshold of success.
To meet such a setback and raged George and made
even the Chief goucy. The new developments added new complications

(00:42):
that upset their carefully elaborated theories. There had to be
a readjustment. Whoever Samus was, and whatever his motive could
have been, it was undoubtedly he who had attacked twenty Ford.
It was inexplicable and mysterious. The Chief had an idea
that there was a connection between Sam Mims and Barker,
that the man no Dead might have been planted in

(01:03):
Philadelphia to divert the search from the live man who
had stolen to safety after a rise to the surface
in Toronto. George scouted it an accidental likeness had fooled
them and made them waste valuable time. The devil was
on the side of Barker, taking care of his own.
It did look that way. Investigation of the few clues
we had led to nothing. The tailor whose bill was

(01:25):
found in Samos's pocket remembered selling a Susan overcoat to
a man called Samos on January tenth. He was a quiet,
polite old party who looked poor and shabby, but bought
good clothes and paid spot cash for them. The typewritten
letter indicated that Samos had been sent to Philadelphia and
well paid for some work that had not yet started.
It was upon this letter the Chief based his contention

(01:47):
that Samos's appearance in the case was not a coincidence.
He was another of Barker's hencemen, and it was part
of Barker's luck that at the crucial moment he should
have died. But it was all speculation, nothing certain, except
that we had lost our man again. Philadelphia had dropped
out as a point of interest, and the case swung
back to New York, where it was now centered round
the bed of Tony Ford. We were in constant communication

(02:10):
with the hospital, and on Thursday received word that Ford
would recover. That lifted us from the smash of Wednesday night.
When he was able to speak, we would hear something
everything if he could be scared into a full confession.
The hospital authorities refused to let anyone see him till
he was perfectly fit, a matter of several days. Yet
that suited us, as we wanted no speech with him

(02:32):
till he was strong enough to stand the shock of
our knowledge. Caught thus with his back against the wall,
we expected him to make a clean breast of it.
The enforced waiting was to me anyway distracting. With the
hope I'd had of Parker gone, I was now looking
to Ford. He must he could exonerate her. There wasn't

(02:52):
the slightest out of it, but to have to wait
for it to be cool and calm to get through
the next few days. I felt like a man caught
in the rafters of a burning building, trying to be
patient while they hacked him out. After the news from
the hospital, the temperature of the office fell to an
enforced normal. O'Malley went back to his burrow and babbits
to his paper, with his big story still in the air.

(03:15):
That night in my place. I measured off the sitting
room from eight till twelve, five strides from the bookcase
to the window, seven from the fire to the folding doors.
If I could only induce her to speak, if she
herself would only clear up the points that were against her,
there was still a chance of getting her out of
it before Ford opened up. That she had something to hide,
some mystery in connection with her movements that night, some

(03:37):
secret understanding with Barker, even I had to admit. But
whatever it was, it would be better to reveal it
than to go on into the fierce white light that
would break over the Harlan case within a week. In
that midnight pacing, I tried to think of some way
I could force her to tell to tell me. But
the clocks trammed on, and the fire died in the hearth,
and I got nowhere. She knew me so slightly, might

(04:00):
think I was set on by the office. The very
fact that I was what I was might seal her
lips closer. Instead of breaking down her reticence, I might
increase it, strengthened that wall of secretiveness behind which she
seemed to be taking refuge, like a hunted creature. When
I went to the office on Friday morning, the chief
asked me to go to Buffalo that night to look
up some witnesses in the Litton area. It would take

(04:21):
me all Saturday, and I could get back by Sunday
night or at the latest Monday morning. A phone message
sent to the hospital before I came in had drawn
the information that Tony Ford would not be able to
see the Philadelphia detectives. O'Malley and Babbitt's posed in that
role till Monday. That settled it better to be at
work out of town than hanging around cursing the slowness
of the hours. But the questions of the night before

(04:42):
haunted me. Why anyway couldn't I go see her? Wasn't
it up to me whether I succeeded or not to
make the effort to break through her silence, the silence
that was liable to do her deadly damage. I had
to see her. I couldn't keep away from her. At
lunch time, I called her up and asked her if
I could come. She said yes and named four. That afternoon,

(05:03):
on the stroke, I was in the vestibule, pushing the
button below her name, and with my heart thumping against
my ribs like a steel hammer. She opened the door,
and as I followed her up the little hall told
me the servant had been sent away and her mother
was out, As on that former visit. She seated herself
at the desk, commotioning me to a chair opposite. The
blinds were raised, the room flooded with the last warm

(05:25):
light of the afternoon. By its brightness, I saw that
she was even paler and more warned than she had
been that other time, obviously a woman harassed and preyed
upon by some inner trouble. On the way up, I
had gone over ways of approach, But sitting there in
the quiet, pretty room, so plainly the abode of gentlewomen,
I couldn't work round to the subject. She didn't give

(05:45):
me any help, seeming to assume that I had dropped
in to pay a call. That made it more difficult.
When a woman treats you as if you're a gentleman
actuated by motives of common politeness, it's pretty hard to
break through her guard and pry into her secrets. She
began to talk quickly, and it seemed to me nervously,
telling me how the owner of her old farm in
the Azialie Woods Estates had offered them a cottage there,

(06:08):
to which they would move next week. It was small
but comfortable, originally occupied by a laborer's family who had
gone away. The people were very kind, would take no rent,
and she and her mother could live for almost nothing
till she found some work. I sympathized with the idea
she could get away from the wear and tear of
the city, have time to rest and recuperate after her

(06:29):
recent worry. She dropped her eyes to a paper on
the desk and said, yes, I'm tired. Everything was so
sudden and unexpected. I once thought I was strong enough
to stand anything, but all this. She stopped, and, picking
up a pencil, began making little drawings on the paper,
designs of squares and circles. It's one yout I said,

(06:51):
looking at her weary and colorless face, like the thrust
of a sword. A pang shot through me. Love of
a man hidden and disgraced had blighted that once blooming beauty.
She nodded and looked up. It's not the business, only,
there have been other other anxieties. That was more of
an opening than anything I'd ever heard her say. I

(07:13):
could feel the smothering beat of my heart, as I
answered as quietly as I could. Can't ye tell him
to me? Perhaps I could help you. One of those
sudden waves of color I had seen before passed across
her face. As if to hide it. She dropped her
head lower over the paper, touching the mark she was making.
Her voice came soft and controlled. That's very kind of you,

(07:37):
mister Reddy. But I know you're kind I knew it
when I first met you a year ago in the country. No,
I can't tell you. I leaned nearer to her. If
I had a chance to make her speak, it was
now or never, miss Whitehall, I said, trying to inject
a simple, casual friendliness into my voice. Ye almost alone

(07:59):
in the world. You've no one, no man I mean
to look after you or your interests. You don't know
how much help I might be able to give you
in what way? She asked, with her eyes still on
the paper. For a moment, I was nonplussed. I couldn't
tell her what I knew. I couldn't go back on
my office. I was tied hand and foot. All I

(08:19):
could do, with honesty was to try and force the
truth from her, like a fool, I stammered out, in advice,
in a larger knowledge of the world than you can have.
She gave a slight, bitter smile, and, tilting her head backwards,
looked critically at her drawings. My knowledge of the world
is larger than you think, maybe larger than yours. There's

(08:41):
only one thing you can do for me, But there
is one. I leaned nearer, my voice gone a little hoarse.
What is it? She turned her head and looked into
my eyes. Her expression chilled me, cold, challenging, defiant. Tell
me if the Whitney Office has found Johnston Parker Yet

(09:02):
for a second our eyes held and in that second
I saw the defiance die out of hers and only question,
a desperate question, take its place. No, I heard myself say,
they have not found him. Thank you, she murmured, and
went back to her play with the pencil. I drew

(09:22):
myself to the edge of my chair and laid a
hand on the corner of the desk. You've asked me
a question and have answered it. Now let me ask one.
Why are you so interested in the movements of Johnston Bacha.
She's stiffened. I could see your body grow rigid under
its thin silk covering the hand holding the pencil began
to tremble. Wouldn't any one be interested in such a

(09:45):
sensational event? Isn't it natural? Perhaps knowing mister Parker personally,
as I told you in mister Whitney's office, I'm more
curious than the rest of the world, that's all. The
trembling of her hand made it impossible for her to
continue drawing. She threw down the pencil and locked her
fingers together, outstretched on the paper, A breath deep taken

(10:06):
in sudden, lifting her breast. It was pitiful, her lonely fight.
I was going to say something, anything to make her
think I didn't see when she spoke again, do any
of you, you men who are hunting him, ever think
that he may not be able to come back? Abel
I exclaimed excitedly. For now again I thought something was coming.

(10:27):
What do you mean by abel? I had said, or
looked too much? With a smothered sound, she jumped to
her feet, and before I could rise or stay, her,
with a gesture, brushed past me and moved to the window.
There for a moment she stood looking out, her splendid
shape crowned with its mass of black hair in silhouette
against the thin white curtains. Look here, miss Whitehall, I said,

(10:50):
with grim resolution. I've got to say something to ye
that ye may not like, may think is button in,
But I I can't help it. What came on a
caught breath? If you know anything about Boka, his whereabouts,
is inability to come back, why don't you tell it?
It will help us and help you. She wheeled round

(11:12):
like a flash, all vehement denial. I I I didn't
mean that. I knew. I was only wondering, guessing. It's
just as I told mister Whitney that day. And you
seem to think I'm not open am hiding something? Why
should I do that? What motive could I have to
keep secret anything I might know that would bring mister
Parker to justice. As she spoke, she moved toward me,

(11:33):
bringing up in front of me, her eyes almost fiercely
demanding mine fell before them. It was no use. With
my memory of those letters, of her mysterious plot with
Barker clear in my mind, I could go no farther.
I muttered some sentences of apology. Was sorry if I
had offended her, hadn't meant to imply anything was carried
away by my zeal to find the abscond her. She

(11:55):
seemed mollified and moved to her seat by the desk. Then, suddenly,
as if a spring that had upheld her had snapped,
she drove into the chair, limp and pallid. I'm tired,
I'm not myself, she faltered. I don't seem to know
what I'm saying. All this, all these dreadful things, have
tore me to pieces. Her voice broke and she averted

(12:16):
her face, but not before I had seen that her
eyes were shining with tears. That sight brought a passionate
exclamation out of me. I went toward her, my arms,
ready to go out and and fold her, but she
waved me back with an imploring gesture, Oh go, I
beg of you. Go. I want peace. I want to
be alone. Please go, Please don't torment me any more.

(12:37):
I can't bear it. She dropped her face into her hands,
shrinking back from me, and I turned and left her.
My steps as I went down the hall were the
only sounds in the place, but the silence seemed to
thrill with unloosened emotions, to hum and sing, with the
vibrations that came from my nerves and my heart and
my soul. The big moments in your life ought to

(12:58):
come in beautiful places. At least that's what I've always thought.
But they don't anyway with me. For as I went
down that dingy staircase full of queer smells, dark and squalid,
the greatest moment I'd ever known came to me. I
loved her, I'd loved her always. I knew it now
out in the country those few first times, but then

(13:20):
more as a vision, something that wove and through my thoughts,
aloof and unapproachable, like an inspiration in a dream. And
that day in Whitney's office is a woman, and every
day since deeper and stronger, Seeing her beset, realizing her danger,
longing with every fiber to help her. It was the
cause of that burst of the old fury, of the
instinct that kept me close and secretive of this day's

(13:43):
fruitless attempt to make her speak. All the work, the
growing dread, the rush of events had held me from seeing,
crowded out recognition of the wonderful thing. I stood in
the half lit, musty little hall in a trance like
ecstasy outside myself, holding only at one thought I loved her,

(14:04):
I love to her, I loved her. Presently I was
in the street, walking without any consciousness of the way
toward the park. The ecstasy was gone. The present was
back again, the present blacker and more terrible. After those
radiant moments, I don't know how to describe that, coming
back to the hideous reality, everything was mixed up in

(14:27):
me passion, pity, hope, jealousy. There was a space when
that was the fiercest. Gripped me in like a physical pang,
and then passed into a hate for Barker, the man
she loved who had left her to face it alone.
I think I must have spoken aloud. I saw people
looking at me, and if my inner state was in
any way indicated by my outer envelope, I wonder I

(14:49):
wasn't run in as a lunatic. In a quiet bypath
in the park, I got a better hold on myself
and tried to do some clear thinking. The first thing
I had to do was to rule Barker out. Even
if my fight was to give her to him. I
must fight that. I couldn't do till we heard from Ford.
Until then, it was wisdom to say nothing, to keep
my pose of a disinterested adherent to the theory of

(15:10):
her innocence. If Ford's story exculpated her, then she was
out of the case forever. If it didn't, I couldn't
decide what I'd do till i'd heard where it placed her.
It was a momentary dedlock, with nothing for it but
to wait. That I was prepared to do. Go to Buffalo,
get through my job there, and come back. But I'd

(15:30):
come back with my sword, LuSE that its scabbard, to
do battle for my lady. End of Chapter thirteen.