Spring Always Comes, page 18
She recognized the red hair, the ratlike face, the broken tooth, the lisp. This was Guy Holt, the man about whom Nick had warned her, the man who had watched her at the cafeteria, followed her along the street. Last night he had made that telephone call and he had waited for her to fall into his trap.
“But why? But what? But —”
The light reflected on the switchblade and she was silent. She sat with her shoulders rigid, her gloved hands holding each other tightly, heart hammering painfully against her side. Her lips were dry.
This can’t be happening, she thought. Not in bright daylight. Not on a crowded street. All around her there were people and yet she could not call for help.
They had turned south, moving in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Then they were in the Holland Tunnel, deafened by the thunder of motors reverberating in the narrow space. At last there was daylight ahead but they had passed the toll booth almost before she realized it. She had not had a chance to call for help. Anyhow, she admitted to herself, with that switchblade against her side she was too afraid to utter a sound. A knife was so terribly swift. So final.
Now they were on the Jersey Turnpike headed south. Where were they taking her. Where?
The driver was a thin young man. The man beside her, Guy Holt, sat staring ahead but aware of every motion she made. Wild ideas crossed her mind of flinging open the door and plunging out into the moving traffic, of running down the window and screaming for help. She abandoned each in turn.
Jeff, she called silently in her mind. Jeff, come find me. Don’t let them hurt me. Jeff! Jeff! But there was no one to hear that silent cry.
It was midmorning when, after leaving the turnpike, the car moved more slowly along an abandoned dirt road. For some time Connie had been aware that they were following the Jersey shoreline, flat, uninteresting country. Now they were headed toward the beach and a dismal line of summer cottages that were closed for the winter.
It was before one of these that the car finally stopped and the red-headed man got out.
“Here we are,” he said jovially. When Connie made no move he added, “Will you get out by yourself or shall I haul you out?”
She stumbled out, pulling her coat tight around her as the spray from the ocean cut into her face. She looked around in despair. How could anyone find her here? This was a place without landmarks, with almost no cottages, and such as there were looked like cheap summer cottages anywhere. Nothing to distinguish them. The only difference about the one before which they had stopped was that the windows were boarded up.
The thin man who had been driving pulled out a key and unlocked the door.
Inside as outside, it was typical of inexpensive summer resort cottages. There was a small living room, dark because of the boarded-up windows, a smaller bedroom, a kitchenette and bath. The place was damp and cold with a chill that struck deep into the bones.
Holt bent over to light a small gas fireplace, which provided the only heat. There was a hiss, a smell of gas, and then the artificial logs caught with a twinkling blue light.
The thin man went into the kitchenette carrying a paper bag of groceries he had taken from the car. “Coffee, bread, butter, canned soup, baked beans. Enough to keep her going two-three days.”
Two-three days. Huddled close to the gas fire Connie moistened her lips.
“What do you want of me?” she asked.
“It’s like this, sister,” Holt told her. “You know your brother got himself in bad trouble?”
She nodded.
“Very bad trouble. Now he had a chance to clear himself, to get all right with the boss. He was going to give us some valuable stamps. Instead, he’s gone off and taken the stamps with him.”
“But—” she began.
“That makes two mistakes,” Holt said. “The boss doesn’t like mistakes. One is bad enough. Two is all there is. All there is,” he repeated meaningfully.
She stared at him, her eyes immense, dark-shadowed, her lips white, her breath coming unevenly, shallowly.
“Nick hasn’t got the stamps,” she said. “A — a friend of mine took them away from him and sent Nick out of town to get him away from you. My — the friend gave them to — to the man they really belong to.”
After a long time Holt said, “Well, what do you know? Now that’s just too bad. There’s only one way now to save Nick from what he’s asked for.”
“You mean he’ll be killed?” It was a strained whisper.
“What do you think?”
She dropped into a wicker chair, staring unseeingly at the flickering gas fire.
“Now here is where you come in. There’s one chance, just exactly one chance, to save him. That depends on you.”
All the past was wiped out. Nothing remained except the fact that Nick was her brother, that he was Bill Wyndham’s son, that he was in danger.
“I’d do anything — anything —”
“Now that’s the right spirit. Cooperative. I told the boys I was sure you’d be cooperative once you knew the score. Now what you’re to do is to write a letter to your friend, Mr. John Kent, or, if you prefer, to his daughter — we don’t care which, broadminded, that’s us — and say that they’ve got to get a hundred thousand dollars together in small bills — unmarked — and be prepared to deliver them when they get the word. And no tricks. No police. Or — Nick gets it.”
It was a long time before Connie spoke, and her voice was flat and dead. “I can’t do it.”
“You’ve got to do it.”
“You don’t understand. It wouldn’t make any difference. They — Mr. Kent doesn’t like Nick. He doesn’t like me any more. He told me just the other day I could not expect to have anything more from him. Ever. He meant it.”
“Look —” Holt began harshly.
She put out a shaking hand. “I was planning to borrow enough money from him to get Nick out of this — mess he is in. I found that I couldn’t.”
There was a small silence. Holt’s small eyes never left her face. At last he turned to the thin young man who was waiting tensely in the background, eyes fixed on Connie’s face in a bemused look.
“Go out and get the car warmed up, Max,” he said. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“You won’t — hurt her —”
The wolfish grin twisted Holt’s lips. “I won’t hurt her — unless I have to.” As Max lingered, he growled, “Get out! Do I have to tell you everything twice?”
Max went out with a frightened look at Connie. Holt waited until he heard the motor turn over.
“So Kent won’t pay up — even to save you.”
“I know he won’t. Believe me, I’d do anything for Nick but this just wouldn’t work.”
The truth in her tone was inescapable. For a long bleak moment Holt stared at the picture of his own failure, at its effect on the boss who did not excuse failures.
He glanced toward the door but Max was at the wheel of the car. “We’ll give you twenty-four hours to think it over.” He looked around. “But no sense in making this too homelike for you.” He chuckled. “You might not want to leave it.”
He went outside, she heard him moving around the cottage. Then the flame in the gas fireplace flickered, died down, went out. He had shut off the gas.
A few minutes later she heard him lock the door. The car rolled away.
Before the sound of the motor had faded, Connie was out of her chair, trying the doorknob, beating on the solid oak door. What else? The windows! She forced them up, one by one, but the shutters were immovable. There was nothing in the little cottage with which she could pry them open.
At last she sank down on the chair and stared blindly at the wall. Jeff, where are you?
Nineteen
When Lil reported for work at one o’clock Céleste gave her a curt nod and returned to the customer to whom she was talking. In a few moments she went into the back of the shop where Lil had stopped to exchange greetings with one of the dressmakers.
“This is outrageous,” Céleste said. “You should know better, Lillian. If Constance was unable to report for work you should have done so, whether or not you had a half day coming. There was no one to model that new line of spring suits for Mrs. Whiteside.”
Only one part of this tirade reached Lil. “You mean Connie never came in?”
Something in the girl’s horror-struck face checked Céleste in the acid comment that trembled on her lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asked instead.
“Oh, Madame, something has happened to Connie! Something terrible has happened to her.”
“Don’t be hysterical!”
“You don’t understand. Someone tried to kidnap her last night. He got away from the police. Oh, Connie!” Lil ran to the telephone and dialed the number of Emery & Emery.
“I’m sorry,” a crisp voice said. “Mr. Colin Emery is in conference. If you will leave your name —”
“It doesn’t matter where he is,” Lil cried wildly. “This is a question of life and death.”
In another moment Colin said, “Colin Emery speaking. What kind of gag is this?”
“Colin, it’s Lil. Connie has been kidnaped. She never came to work this morning.”
“Kidnaped!”
“Listen.” She told him what had happened the night before while they were out at dinner. “And she never reached Céleste’s this morning. And there’s been no word. She would have called — she —”
“Steady,” Colin said, but it was his voice, confident, reassuring, that steadied her. “Now let’s have it from the beginning.”
When the torrent of words had stopped he said, “Now let’s see if I got this straight.”
“There’s no time to talk, Colin. We have to hurry.”
“We can’t hurry until we know where we are going, dear. Now, Connie got a fake telephone call last evening, and, being one of those rare people who follow my advice, she checked on it. Then she saw the car waiting outside and called Gray. Okay so far? All right then. The police came but the guy saw the blinker and got away. Still okay? This morning she set out for work, so far as you know, and she never got there.”
“She never got here.” Lil’s voice was shaking. “What are we going to do?”
“Leave it to me, Lil. I’ll handle it. We’ll find her. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have any news. And try not to worry too much.”
When Colin set down the telephone he found Steve scowling at him across the desk. As he started to dial a number his brother said, “What’s that all about?”
When Colin had told him succinctly, Steve looked at him, appalled. Then he said, “This is awful. A terrible situation. But I don’t quite see why you offered to take over the responsibility. What can you do?”
“First, I’m calling the police. That seems’ to be the obvious course.”
Steve put out a hand to check him. “In four generations we’ve never handled a sensational case, Colin. We don’t deal with criminals.”
“I do. There’s a girl’s life at stake, Steve,” Colin told him and his brother looked at him in astonishment. He did not know this determined man. There was nothing of the playboy about him now.
“Who is the girl you were talking to?”
“Lillian Debaney. She’s Connie’s roommate. She’s also the girl I hope to marry if I’m lucky and she will have me.”
“The girl you were with last night?”
“That’s the one.” Colin began to dial a number.
“Wait! If this — Miss Debaney — is right and Constance Wyndham has been kidnaped, you may add to her danger by calling in the police. Hadn’t you better make sure of the situation before you start something that you won’t be able to stop?”
Colin set down the telephone, staring at his brother. “But, Steve,” he said at last, “I don’t know where else to turn. Lil has told me all she knows. There is no one else —” His voice trailed off. “That girl you were with last night —”
Steve stiffened.
“She’s Miss Kent, isn’t she? She and Connie are old friends. She might know —”
“We can’t involve Alexandra,” Steve said sharply.
“Just Connie and Lil, I suppose.” When Steve made no reply, Colin said, “Is she made of finer material than the rest of the world or doesn’t she have the guts to back her friends, to help save their lives, if she can?”
Steve’s fury nearly broke out. Then he remembered Alexandra saying that perhaps Connie was paying for other people’s mistakes. He saw Colin’s drawn face. Wordlessly he reached forward and took the telephone from him.
The maid at the Kent apartment said that Miss Kent was not at home but took Steve’s message and promised to mark it “urgent.”
The receptionist at Kent Enterprises demanded that Emery state his business and was finally persuaded to switch him to Kent’s secretary. She, too, held him up maddeningly by demanding his name and his business.
At last Steve found himself speaking to Kent. He introduced himself and Kent merely grunted. Then Steve, who was beginning to share Colin’s worry, told him that they believed Constance Wyndham had been kidnaped. Did Mr. Kent have any lead, did he know of any reason for such a situation? They had not called the police for fear of increasing any danger that she might be in.
“I can tell you exactly what is behind this, Mr. Emery,” Kent said. “The young Wyndhams are completely unscrupulous. They have been attempting one trick after another to get money out of me. I do not for one minute believe that Constance has been kidnaped. I wouldn’t believe it if a ransom note came in — and if they are trying this stunt I am bound to be the one to be approached. I am convinced that this is simply another attempt at extortion. And I might say that the Wyndhams are badly mistaken if they believe that I will submit to it.” Kent slammed down the telephone.
Steve found himself staring at his own phone blankly. He set it down.
“Well?” Colin demanded hoarsely.
“Kent thinks it’s a trick perpetrated by the Wyndhams — there seems to be another one, brother or sister — in order to extort money from him.”
“Why the —” Colin broke off, staring at his brother. “I guess this is sensitive ground. You seem to like Kent’s daughter. Maybe you don’t want any trouble with Kent. But, honestly, what do you think of the way he is reacting, Steve? Do you believe his unspeakable implications against Connie?”
“I can’t believe it,” Steve said at last. “That girl — she has a quality of honesty, of integrity, of personal honor — I know something about people. I can’t be that mistaken about Miss Wyndham.”
“Then,” Colin asked, “are you with me in this? Or are you against me?”
Steve stretched out his hand across the wide desk. “I’m with you.”
ii
For the second time in two days Kent flung open the door of Jeff’s private office.
Jeff looked up in surprise. Then he said stiffly, “I’ve just dictated my letter of resignation, Mr. Kent. My secretary is typing it now. I allowed thirty days in which to clear up my work here and, if you like, get someone else trained to handle it.”
Kent blinked as though he were taken aback by the words. Then they finally penetrated. “Oh, that,” he said with an impatient gesture. “Let that go for the time being. You’ll get over this mood, Jeff.”
“Will I?”
“You will if you have the common sense I credit you with. Something has just happened that makes evident just how great a mistake you have made about Constance Wyndham, just how much you have been taken in by her.”
Before Jeff could speak Kent described his telephone call from Stephen Emery.
“Oh, my God, they’ve got her!” Jeff leaped to his feet with a cry of horror.
“It’s a trick, I tell you,” Kent said. He turned irritably as Jeff’s secretary appeared at the door.
“Mr. Kent,” she said breathlessly, “your secretary has just transferred a call to my desk. It’s some man who says it’s a matter of life or death.”
Kent reached for the telephone. A man’s voice with a strong lisp said, “Kent? We have Constance Wyndham. We want one hundred thousand dollars in small bills. Unmarked. We’ll give you instructions later. Tomorrow you’ll get a call from her showing she’s still alive. After that it is up to you. Don’t call the police or you’ll never see her again.”
“Put her on the telephone as often as you like,” Kent snapped, “but you’ll never see a penny of my money. Not one cent. And don’t make the mistake of threatening me again. I don’t scare.”
He set down the telephone. His face was almost purple with suppressed rage.
“What is it?” Jeff demanded.
Kent told him.
“They’ve got her!” Jeff held on to the back of his chair. “They’ve got her!”
“Nonsense,” Kent said. “You’re a young fool, Jeff. But, thank God, I’m not an old one.” He reached for the telephone.
“What are you going to do?”
Still scowling at him, Kent spoke into the telephone. “Get me the police,” he said coldly. When he had reached a man in authority he reported the alleged kidnaping of Constance Wyndham. “I wish to go on record,” he said, “as refusing categorically to yield to extortioners. When they are discovered I want them prosecuted to the full extent of the law.”
“You don’t believe the Wyndham girl has been kidnaped?” the police sergeant asked alertly.
“Of course she hasn’t been kidnaped. She is probably holed up right now with that scoundrel of a brother of hers and they are laughing their heads off. Well, they had better do their laughing while they can.”
Twenty
Connie turned on her side, pulled the thin summer blanket around her, reached for the coat she had placed at the foot of the cot. Still the cold seemed to penetrate her very bones. Why was she so cold? She remembered then that she was in the deserted summer cottage on the Jersey shore, that there was no heat, there was no escape, and tomorrow morning Holt would come back. Twenty-four hours, he had said. After that —
There was no more sleep for her now. She had not undressed, merely lain down because she was emotionally exhausted. It was a surprise to know she had actually fallen asleep.
