17 - 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 seventeen 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
Black Eagle Mystery by Geraldine Bonner, Chapter seventeen, Jack tells

(00:25):
the story that night when I left Molly, there was
only one thought in my mind, to reach Carol and
help her get away. If the figure of Barker had
not stood between us, I would have then and there
implored her to marry me and give me the right
to fight for her. But I knew that was hopeless.
As things stood. All I could do was to tell
her the situation and give her a chance to escape.

(00:45):
I suppose it's a pretty damage and confession, but the office,
my duty to my work, and my associates cut now
ie it all, Heretofore, I'd rather patted myself on the
back as a man who stood by his obligations. That night,
only one obligation existed for me, to protect from disgrace
the woman I loved. I knew the trains to Azalea.
It was on the road to Fire Hill, and though

(01:07):
one left at midnight, the last train on the Branch
Line to the Azalea Woods Estates had long gone. The
shortest and quickest way for me to get there was
to take my own car. This would also ensure the
necessary secrecy. I could bring her back with me and
let her slip away in the crowds at one of
the big stations. It was a wild, windy night, the
waning moon showing between long streamers of clouds. By the

(01:28):
time I struck the New Jersey Shore, after maddening delays
in the garage and at the ferry, it was getting
on for one and the clouds had spread back over
the sky. It was a fiendish ride for a man
on fire, as I was. For miles. The road looped
through a country as dark as a pocket, broken with
ice skimmed pools and deep driven rots. In the daylight,

(01:48):
I could have made the whole distance inside an hour,
but it was after two when I came to the
Branch Line junction and turned up the long winding road
that led over the hills to the Azalea Woods Estates.
As I sighted the little red roofed station and the
houses dotted over the tract. The moon came out, and
I slowed up, having no idea where the cottage was
what had looked like the place was quiet as the grave,

(02:09):
the light sleeping on the pale walls of the stucco villas,
backed by the wooded darkness of the hills. I was
preparing to get out and rouse one of the slumbering
inhabitants when I heard the voices of women. They were
coming down a side road, and looking up it, I
saw three figures moving toward me, their shadows slanting black
in front of them at the gate of a large,
white walled house. Two of them turned in their good nights,

(02:29):
clear on the frosty air, and the third advanced in
my direction. I could see her skirts light colored below
her long dark coat, and her head held up in
some sort of scarf. By their clothes and voices, I
judged them to be servant girls coming back from a party.
As she approached, I hailed her with a careful question.
I beg your pardon, but I think I'm lost. Can

(02:50):
you tell me where I am? I can't, she said,
drawing up by the car. You're in the Azalea woods estates. Oh,
I am a bit out of my way. The asa
would the states. I surveyed the scattered houses in wide
cut avenues. I heard of them, but I never seen
him before. Doesn't the missus Whitehall live here? The girl smiled.

(03:11):
She had a pleasant, good natured face. She surely does
in the Reagan cottage over beyond the crest there. I'm
living with her, doing the big work until she gets settled.
I belong on the big farm. But as she was
lonesome and had no girl, I said I'd come over
and stay till her daughter joined her. I smothered a start.
Could Molly have made a mistake? Her daughter? Eh? Isn't

(03:31):
a daughter with her? Now? No, sir, She's coming tomorrow afternoon.
Then I'm going home. We'll have the cottage all ready
for her. She did not expected until two forty from town.
Do you know the ladies? I bent over the wheel, afraid,
even by that pale light, my face might show too much.
Mollie had made a mistake, sent me out here on
a fruitless quest, wasted three or four precious hours. I

(03:55):
could have wrung her neck. I heard my voice veiled
and husky as I answered only by his say, I
knew Miss Whitehall was the head of the enterprise. That's
all uh u. It's a zilia I'm aiming for. How
do I get there? She laughed, Well, you are out
of your way. You'll have to go back to the
junction on the main line. Then follow the road straight

(04:16):
ahead and you'll strike Azalea about twenty miles farther on.
Thank you, I said, and began to back the car
for the turn. No thanks, she answered, and as I
swung around, called out a cheery good night that ride back.
Shall I ever forget it? It was as if an
evil genius was halting me by every means malevolence could devise.

(04:38):
Before I reached the highway, the moon disappeared and the
darkness settled down like a blanket. The wind was in
my face this way, and it stung till the water
ran out of my eyes. Squinting through tears, I had
to make out the line of the road black between
black hedges and blacker fields. I went as fast as
I dared. Nothing must happen to me that night, for
if I failed her, Carol was lost with the desire

(05:01):
to let the car out, as if I was competing
in the Vanderbilt cup Race. I had to slow down
for corners and creep through the long winding ways that
threaded the woods, and finally, in a barren stretch without
a light or a house in sight, a tire blew out.
I won't write about it's what's the use. It's enough
to say. It was nearly six and the east pale
with the new day when I rushed into Jersey City.

(05:24):
I was desperate then, and police or no police flashed
like a gray streak through the town to the ferry
on the boat. I had time to think. I decided
to phone her, tell her I was coming and to
be dressed and ready. I could still get her off
three or four hours ahead of them. I stopped at
the first drug store and called her up. The weight
seemed endless. Then a drawling nasal voice said, I can't

(05:46):
raise the number. The next thirteen sixty doesn't answer. I
got back in the car with my teeth set, sleeping
so sound on this morning of all mornings, poor unsuspecting Carol.
The day was bright, the slanting sun ray touching roofs
and chimneys. When I ran up along the curb at
her door, an old man in a dirty jumper who
was sweeping the sidewalk stopped as he saw me leap

(06:08):
out and run up the steps. The outer door was shut,
and as I turned I almost ran into him. Standing
at my heels with his broom in his hand, he
said he was the janitor, took a bunch of keys
from his pocket and unlocked the door, fastening the two
leaves back. As I pressed her bell, there was no
answering click of the latch, and I tried the inner
door fast and all my shaking failed to budget. Is
it miss Whitehall here, I said, turning on the man

(06:30):
who was watching me interestedly. Sure, he answered, anyway, she
was last night She talked to me down the dumb
waiter at seven and told me she wasn't going till
this afternoon. Opened the door, I ordered, speaking as quietly
as I could. She's probably a sleep. I've an important
message for and I want to give it to a
now before I go downtown. He did as I told him,

(06:50):
and I ran up the stairs and pressed the electric
button at her door. As I waited, I heard the
janitor slow steps pounding up behind me, but from the
closed department there was not a sound. She ain't there,
I guess, he said, as he gained the landing. She
must have gone last night. I turned on him. Have
you got a key for this apartment? I have a
key for every apartment, he answered, holding out a bunch

(07:12):
in his hand, then opened the door. If she's not
in there, I've got to know it. He inserted a
key in the lock, and in a minute we were inside.
The morning light filtered in through the drawn blinds, showing
a deserted place left in the chaos of a hasty move.
Everything was in disorder, trunks opened, furniture stacked and covered.
The curtains to the front bedroom that I had always

(07:33):
seen closed were pulled back, revealing the evidences of a
hurried packing. Clothes on the bed, bureau drawers half out,
a purple silk thing lying in a heap on the floor.
She was gone, gone in wild haste, gone like one
who leaves on the summons, as imperative as the call
of death or love. She's evidently gone to a mother

(07:53):
or some friend for the night, I said, carelessly. She'll
be back again to finish it up. The janitor agreed.
He didn't ask if I'd leave a message. No, I'd
phone up later. I cautioned him to keep my visit quiet,
and he nodded understandingly took me for a desperate lover,
which Heaven knows I was, But in order to run
no risks of his speaking to those who would follow me,

(08:14):
I sealed his lips with a bill that left him
speechless and bowing to the ground. I was in my
own apartment before Joanna and David were up, ready to
be called to breakfast from what they, in their fond
old hearts, thought was a good night's rest. Sitting on
the side of my bed with my head in my hands,
I struggled for the coolness that day would need. Of course,
she'd gone to Barker. Nothing else explained it. The state

(08:34):
of the apartment proved she had intended leaving for the
cottage her mother had unquestionably expected her. Not a soul
in the world, but myself could have warned her. Only
another command from the man who ruled her life could
account for her disappearance. Sometime that night, she had heard
from him and once again had gone to join him.
I tried to dull my pain with the thought that
she was safe, kept whispering it over and over, and

(08:56):
threw it under it, like the unspoken anguish of a nightmare,
went the other. She's with him, flown to him in
his arms. There was fury in me against every man
in the Whitney office, but I could no more have
kept away from it than I could have from her
if she'd been near me. At nine o'clock I was there,
and I found the Chief, George and O'Malley already assembled. The

(09:17):
air was charged with excitement. The long, slow work had
reached its climax. The bloodhounds were in sight of the quarry.
I could see the assurance of victory in their faces,
hear it from the triumphant note of their voices. I
don't think any man has ever stood higher in my
esteem than Wilbur Whitney. But that morning, with the machinery
of his devising ready to close on his victim, I

(09:38):
hated him. Immediately after I arrived, they sent a phone
message to her. I sat back near the window, to
all intents and purpose as a quiet, unobtrusive member of
the quartet. When the reply came that the number didn't answer,
they concluded she was out arranging for her departure that afternoon.
The second message went at nine thirty, and on the

(09:59):
receipt of the same answer, a slight promontory uneasiness was visible.
A third call was sent a few minutes before ten,
and this time Central volunteered the information that Lennox thirteen
sixty wasn't answering at all. That morning, the Chief and
O'Malley kept their pose of an unruffled confidence, but George
couldn't fake it. He was wild eyed with alarm. After
a few minutes consultation, O'Malley was sent off to find

(10:21):
out what was up, leaving the Chief musing in his
big chair and George swinging like a pendulum from room
to room. I had to listen to him. He only
got grunts from his father, and it took pretty nearly
all the control I had to answer the stream of
questions and surmises he deluged me with. When O'Malley came
back with the news that the bird had flown, the
fall of the triumph with Whitney and Whitney was dire

(10:42):
and dreadful. The announcement was met with dead silence. Then
George burst out sentences of sputtering fury. Heads would drop
in the basket for this. Even the Chief was shaken
out of his stolidity, rising from his chair, a terrible
old figure, fierce and bristling like an angry I don't
think in the history of the firm they'd ever had

(11:02):
a worse jar, a more complete collapse in the moment
of victory. But O'Malley and the man were too tired
and seasoned timber to let their rage stand in the way.
The detective had hardly finished before they were up at
the table getting at their next move. All were agreed
that she had had another communication from Barker and had
gone to him. They saw it as I had, as

(11:23):
anyone who knew the circumstances would. The first message had
been by phone, the second might have been, and there
was the shade of a possibility that she might have
phoned back. If she had, there would be a record
easily traced. The power of the Whitney office stretched far
through devious channels. In fifteen minutes, the machinery was started
to have the records of all out of town messages

(11:45):
sent from Lennox thirteen sixty within the last week turned
into Whitney and Whitney. It was what I had feared,
But I was powerless, so I thought the chances were
in her favor. Barker, no matter how he loved her,
might not dare to trust her with his telephone number.
Judging by the way he had frustrated all her efforts
to find him, he was taking no risks. He would
have been in keeping with his unremitting caution to hold

(12:07):
all communications with her by letter. That kept me quiet,
kept me from bursting out on them. As they schemed
and plotted close drawn around the table, the next move
was suggested by the chief to find missus Whitehall and
bring her to the office. In default of the daughter,
they would try the mother. All were of the opinion
that the older woman was ignorant of the murder, but
it was possible that she might know something of her

(12:29):
daughter's movements, and even if she didn't, that attack by surprise,
which was to have broken down, Carol Whitehall might tried,
in a lesser degree draw forth some illuminating facts from
her mother. It was nearly midday when George and O'Malley
set out on a high powered motor for the Azilia
Woods Estates. I spent the next hour in my own office,
sitting at the desk. Every nerve was as tight as

(12:50):
the violin string, Hope and dread changing places in my
mind awful hours now when I look back on them.
The whole thing hung on a chance. If her recent
communication with Barker had been by letter, if her mother
knew nothing, there was a fighting hope for her. But
if she knew his number and had phoned, if her
flight had been planned, and missus Whitehall did know, I

(13:10):
remembered her as i'd seen her in the country, a fragile,
melancholy woman. What chance had she with the men pitted
against her. I don't know what time it was, but
the sun had swung round to the window when I
heard steps in the passage and a woman's voice, high
and quavering. I'd leaped up and entered the Chief's office
by one door, as miss Whitehall, George and O'Malley came

(13:31):
in by the other. She looked pale and shriveled. I
didn't then know what they'd said to her, whether they'd
already tried their damnable third degree, but they hadn't. All
they had done was to tell her her daughter had
been wanted at the Whitney office and couldn't be found.
That scared her. She'd come with them at once, only
insisting that they stop at the flat and let her
see that Carol was not there. This they did, admitting

(13:53):
afterwards that her surprise and alarm struck them as absolutely genuine.
These emotions were playing on her face. A fool could
see she was racked with fear and anxiety. It was
stamped on her features. It was in her wildly questioning eyes.
Mister Whitney, she said, without preamble or greeting, what does
this mean? Where is my daughter? The old man was

(14:16):
as courteous as ever, but under the studied urbanity of
his manner, I could feel the knife edged sharpness that
only cut through when his blood was up. That is
what we want to know from you, missus Whitehall. We
needed some information from your daughter this morning, and we
find that she has I think I may say, fled
where too? Surely you her mother must know. No, she cried,

(14:40):
her hollow eyes riveted on his No, she was coming
to me this afternoon. Everything was arranged, ready and waiting,
and now she's gone, and you, you men here want
to find her. What is it? There's something strange, something
I don't know. Her glance moved over the watching faces.
They were ominously unresponsive. Where she'd look for hope or help,

(15:02):
she saw nothing but a veiled menace, every moment growing clearer.
What is it? She cried, her voice rising to a
higher note, shrillin' shaking. What is the matter? Tell me
you know you know something you're hiding from me. We
think that of you, missus Whitehall, said the chief, ponderous

(15:23):
and lowering, and we want to hear it. The time
has come from frankness. Hold nothing back, for as you say,
we know. The woman gave a gasp and took a
step nearer to him. Then, for God's sake, tell me
where is she gone? His answer came like the spring
of an animal on its prey to join her lover,

(15:45):
Johnston Barker, if he expected to have it strike with
an impact, he was not disappointed. She fell back as
if threatened by a blow, and for a second stood transfixed, aghast.
Her lower jaw dropped staring at him. Isn't the word
for the look on her face. It was a stupefication,
a paralysis of astonishment. The shock was so violent it

(16:07):
swept away all anxiety for her daughter, but it also
snapped the last frail remnant of her nerve. From her
pale lips, her voice broke in a wild, hysterical cry,
Her lover, He was her father. End of Chapter seventeen.