The Marathon Mystery/Part 5/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III
Godfrey and I are "de Trop"
HEFFELBOWER insisted that we join him in an appetiser; he had evidently jumped to the conclusion that Godfrey was a famous New York detective, and he gazed at him with respect and a little awe. He wanted to discuss again all the details of the tragedy, but we got rid of him, after a while, and went in to dinner. Then we started toward the jail for a final talk with Drysdale. Another jailer had come on duty, but he made no difficulty about admitting us.
“Well?” asked the prisoner, as soon as we were alone.
“Oh,” said Godfrey, regarding him with a good-humoured smile, “you won’t be electrocuted this time—though I must say you deserve it!”
“What!” cried Drysdale, colouring suddenly. “You don’t believe”
“That you killed Graham? Oh, no; but you’ve made an unmitigated ass of yourself, my friend. Did you have a pleasant time, Monday night, kicking your heels by the hour together, out at the pergola?”
Drysdale flushed again, but this time it was with anger.
“Oh, so she told you, did she?” he asked between his teeth. “I dare say you had a good laugh together over it!”
“Jack,” said Godfrey calmly, “I protest you are becoming more and more asinine! Haven’t you sense enough to see that that note—by the way, how was it delivered to you?”
“I found it on my dressing table when I came back from New York Monday evening. What are you driving at, Godfrey? If you’ve discovered anything, for God’s sake, tell me straight out!”
“I’ve discovered an unusually large consignment of humble pie awaiting your consumption. You don’t deserve a magnificent girl like that, Jack; I swear you don’t. Do you remember your last words to her?”
“Yes,” answered Drysdale, with a sudden flushing of the cheeks. “And she deserved them. She got me out of the house and spent the evening with Tremaine. It was an indirect way of telling me that she was tired of me. I’d suspected it before!”
Godfrey looked at him pityingly.
“Really, Jack,” he said, “I’m half inclined to think the coroner’s right in his theory, after all.”
“What is his theory?”
“He thinks you’re crazy.”
Drysdale laughed a little mirthless laugh.
“Perhaps he’s right,” he said.
“You’ll be sure of it in a few minutes. It’s inconceivable that any man in his right mind should suspect a girl like Miss Croydon of such a thing.”
Drysdale turned to him with eyes bright with emotion.
“See here, Jim,” he said; “you’ve had your fun; you’ve tormented me long enough. Do you mean that Miss Croydon didn’t write the note?”
“I mean just that.”
“Then who did?”
“Tremaine!”
The word brought Drysdale to his feet like a thunder-clap.
“Do you mean,” he demanded, gripping his hands tight behind him, “that Tremaine wrote the note and placed it in my room in order to get me out of the house?”
“I do.”
“And that Miss Croydon knew nothing about it?”
“Not a thing—she was waiting for you in the house. She thought you’d deliberately broken an appointment you’d made with her.”
Drysdale ground his teeth together and struck himself a savage blow in the chest.
“Good God!” he groaned. “What a fool! What a perfect, muckle-headed fool!”
“Go on,” laughed Godfrey. “Do it again—sackcloth and ashes! You deserve it all!”
“Deserve it! Do you think she’ll ever forgive me?”
“I shouldn’t if I were in her place,” Godfrey assured him. “I’d think myself well rid of you. I shouldn’t want to marry an idiot.”
Drysdale cursed dismally to himself.
“Still,” Godfrey added, “there’s no accounting for the whims of women—there’s no telling what they’ll do. Maybe, after this, you’ll come nearer appreciating her as she deserves.”
“Appreciating her!”
“You don’t seem to have any curiosity as to how we’re going to save that precious neck of yours.” Godfrey observed.
“Oh, damn my neck! What do I care! Godfrey, I’ve got to see her right away—I’ve got to get down on my knees-crawl in the dust”
“That’s it!” nodded Godfrey approvingly. “You’ve caught the idea. You ought to feel like an insect—a particularly small one. But I hardly believe the jailer will release you on your own recognisance. Maybe, to-morrow after the inquest, if everything goes well”
“Oh, to-morrow be hanged! I’ve got to see her right away, Jim! Isn’t there any way?”
He was pacing furiously up and down the cell, biting his nails, tearing his hair. Could Tremaine have seen him, then, he might have modified his estimate of him.
“There’s no way,” said Godfrey, “unless Miss Croydon herself should commit the inconceivable folly—hello, who’s that?”
The outer door had been flung crashing back; there came a rush of feet down the corridor, a swish of skirts…
“Grace!”
It was Drysdale’s voice and he stood there like a man struck suddenly to stone.
And she? I turned a little giddy as I looked at her—at the shining eyes—at the quivering, smiling lips…
Godfrey had sprung instantly to his feet.
“Come, Lester;” he said, in a voice very, gentle, as the jailer opened the cell door, “we must catch our train; we’ve business in New York.”
Perhaps it was only my fancy that his step was not wholly steady as he went before me down the corridor.