The Silver Shawl (6 page)

“But they will find the pearls,” observed
Diana Lewis, “because Charity has them.”

The three men simultaneously drew a sharp
breath, and then—“What?” said Edgerton.

“The pearls are on the white shawl. I hid
them among the pearl beads of the embroidery on the edges.”

“I always
did
think that elaborate
shawl was questionable taste for everyday wear,” observed Mrs.
Meade, “which was especially odd, since you have always had such
good taste otherwise.”

The delayed reaction of the men burst all at
once. Between Edgerton’s “You did what?” and Royal’s “Now you’ve
torn it!” Randall’s voice rose hoarsely. “Where did they take her?
You tell me that now or I’ll kill you myself!”

“Now,
really
, Randall,” said Mrs.
Meade mildly, but not at all as if she thought he meant it.

Edgerton interposed himself into the
forefront of the scene, speaking in rapid, businesslike fashion.
“Give me the names, descriptions, and any other information you
have about these people you believe responsible, and if Miss
Bradford is found unharmed I’ll do what I can on your behalf in
court—as difficult as I find it to feel any sympathy for you,” he
added, in a purely personal capacity.

“I don’t know any names,” said Diana Lewis.
“The one man I’ve seen is medium height—thin—he has a narrow hooked
nose, and most often wears a woolen scarf around his neck. As for
the others—I believe there are two, or maybe three—I received the
impression that there is another man and his wife.”

“That’s them,” said Edgerton. “Thank God, we
were
on the right track. I believe I can put my hands on
them.”

“Who?” demanded Andrew Royal.

Edgerton, apparently not hearing him, spoke
to Randall Morris. “It’s only a question of time now, and I think
we’ve got time on our side. I’ll wire my colleague in Denver, who’s
been shadowing this suspicious married couple, and then take a fast
train to meet him. I’ll have his reply sent to one of the stops
along the line. Are you coming?”

“You bet your life,” said Randall. “Do you
know where they are?”

“My colleague will know where they’ve been,
at any rate. The only thing that worries me is that they know
they’re being watched—I’m remembering that third letter.”

“You needn’t worry about that,” said Mrs.
Meade. “They never wrote that letter. Miss Lewis wrote it
herself.”

“How do you know that?” exclaimed Edgerton,
not even bothering to question the possibility of her statement
this time.

“Why, what other reason is there to suddenly
begin printing when you’ve been writing, other than to disguise
handwriting? Only, of course, it was Miss Lewis who wanted to
disguise hers—those other people weren’t worried about who would
see their letters. And they certainly didn’t want Mary Taylor to
flee if they were planning to kidnap her.”

“Let’s go,” said Edgerton to Randall, casting
a hasty look at his watch. “Sheriff, will you maintain custody of
Miss Lewis until—”

“I most surely will not,” said Andrew Royal.
“I’m not going to be kept out of this. I’ve got a deputy that can
keep Miss Lewis company here till we get back—boy needs something
to keep him busy anyway.”

* * *

A burning red sunset colored the sky over the
city, seeming to bring it lower, like a heavy canopy stretched from
mountaintop to mountaintop. Wisps of cloud, ever changing in shape,
slowly dissolved and then regathered themselves high up in the
still, glowing air.

Edgerton’s colleague, another unobtrusive man
in plain clothes, emerged from the shadows at a street corner and
joined their party, which already included a member of the Denver
police force.

“Early this afternoon,” he said in response
to Edgerton’s mute glance of inquiry. “Two men and a woman.”

“One woman?” said Edgerton. “It might be,
but…could you see what she looked like?”

“No, she had on a long cloak and hood.”

The street they turned into was narrower than
the last, and the sharp shadows of houses that crossed it and met
in the middle made it look as if it narrowed to a point and
disappeared. But they reached this point, passed it and were
cloaked in shadow themselves.

Randall Morris never remembered afterward
where he had been or what he had seen. His mind was too full and
too agitated to receive any further impressions of sight or sound.
He was only conscious of the looming shapes of buildings that
seemed to lean in on either side, black against the lurid glow of
the red sky. The scene in the dark lane at Sour Springs was
constantly repeating itself in his mind, blotting out all else like
a spill of ink each time it came up.

They stopped before a certain house. A second
policeman left the shadow at the side of it to join them. “The
second floor, sir,” he said in a low voice to Edgerton’s
colleague.

Edgerton noiselessly opened the door giving
onto the street, and they passed in one after the other. He led the
way up a dark, narrow set of stairs, and they followed cautiously,
stepping as lightly as possible to avoid betraying their presence.
Andrew Royal’s harsh breathing made more sound than all their feet
put together.

In the upstairs hall the two detectives drew
near a closed door and listened; from behind it was coming the
sound of several suppressed voices in rapid argument. Edgerton very
carefully tried the knob; it was locked. He motioned to the two
policemen, who moved to the forefront.

The door burst in with a crash and two men
who had been sitting at a table leaped to their feet, while a woman
who had been standing near looked across at the intruders with a
fleeting mechanical expression of alarm, but had not even time to
draw back a step. Randall saw all this in a second’s confused
glimpse; was aware of the rush forward by the invading party and
heard Edgerton’s sharp voice calling out to the inhabitants not to
move, that they were under arrest. But he only half heard and half
saw, for he was looking for just one thing. He made straight across
the room and burst into the one behind it. A single candle standing
on a night-table wavered wildly and went out in the gust from the
door. The red sunset light was coming in through the dusty panes of
a small window. A girl in a light gingham dress was half lying at
the head of the narrow bed, her wrists bound with a handkerchief,
her frightened brown eyes staring up at him from above the gag that
covered her mouth.

In seconds she was freed and clasped to his
heart. Her faint, sobbing cry of relief was muffled against him as
he held her close, held her for a long moment.

Edgerton stopped in the doorway and looked in
for an instant; having thus briefly assured himself of Charity’s
safety he disappeared again into the outer room.

Randall, for once in his life, was succinct.
“Come on,” he said steadily, and with his supporting arms still
around her he led her toward the door.

The three prisoners were in handcuffs, and
Andrew Royal, finding himself superfluous to the operation, was
making up for it by suspiciously supervising everyone else. He
looked at Charity’s white face as she leaned half fainting against
Randall. “Get her out of here!” he growled.

He became aware that Edgerton was going round
the room like a dog on a scent, and divining his purpose, began to
look hurriedly about himself. “Where is it?” he barked at the
hard-faced woman who stood straight and silent with her hands in
irons. Without waiting for an answer he stomped toward the other
room. Edgerton saw him and immediately made after him; but he was a
few seconds too late, and it was Andrew Royal who drew from a dingy
carpetbag that had been thrown aside on a chair in the bedroom the
crumpled folds of a white silk shawl.

* * *

The next morning found brilliant sunshine
sparkling in at the windows of the train racing back toward Sour
Springs. Four were seated by a window, the warm sunbeams flicking
over them, discussing the events of the past two days.

Charity had recovered somewhat from her
ordeal, but the effects of what she had been through were still
evident in her slightly pale face and soft, subdued voice, and she
remained close to Randall’s side. Edgerton and Royal sat opposite
them. Charity was recounting to them the details of her
experience.

“I hadn’t any idea what it was all about,”
she said, “and that’s what made it so frightening. I couldn’t seem
to make them understand that my name was not Mary Taylor, that I
had never even heard of such a person. They seemed determined not
to listen to me.”

“The real Mary Taylor would undoubtedly have
said the same,” said Edgerton, “which is why they took no stock in
your protestations.”

“But who
was
Mary Taylor really, Mr.
Edgerton? What did she do?”

Randall had only given Charity a brief,
hurried explanation the night before of the circumstances
surrounding her abduction, so she had yet to hear the story of
Diana Lewis’ treachery. Edgerton explained more fully now,
beginning with his own labor in tracing the jewel thieves, up
through the revelations of the previous day. Charity listened with
a serious, interested expression that gradually gave way to
astonishment.

“Then there really
were
pearls?” she
said slowly when he concluded.

“Very valuable ones, Miss Bradford.” Edgerton
put out his hand and took up a fold of the white silk shawl, which
reposed at that moment on Andrew Royal’s knee. He would have liked
to take the whole garment, but found the other end still held
firmly in the sheriff’s grasp. Royal had determinedly maintained
possession of the shawl all night and all morning, despite many
similar attempts on Edgerton’s part to draw it away from him;
evidently bound to hang on to his one share in the business for as
long as possible. “Do you see the larger ones here and there among
these pearl beads? You might not be able to tell the difference,
other than the size, but an expert would tell you that they’re the
real thing.”

Charity leaned forward and put out her hand
to touch the glistening hem of the shawl. “And I had them all the
time, and never knew it!”

“Didn’t any of the kidnappers see the beads?
One would think, with pearls uppermost in their mind, it would have
caught their notice at once.”

“Or that
I
would have noticed, since
they kept questioning me about pearls so insistently! No, no one
did. It was dark at first—and when they made me put on that dark
cloak to avoid anyone noticing us, one of the men shoved the shawl
into that carpetbag, and it wasn’t taken out again until you found
it.”

Charity’s fingertips rested on the edge of
the brocade for a moment, a slight shadow touching her face. “It
all still seems so incredible,” she said. “I—I can hardly believe
that Diana would do such a thing to me.”

“I found it hard to comprehend at first
myself, Miss Bradford,” said Edgerton. He leaned forward in his
seat, resting his elbows on his knees, and looked over at Randall
Morris. “Do you know, I have the oddest feeling of having bungled
this entire investigation, in spite of the fact that we’ve
succeeded in every way. I suppose that, following our original line
of reasoning, we would have traced the supposed ‘Mary Taylor’ to
Faraday’s old associates in time. But we’d never have happened on
Diana Lewis! And the way Mrs. Meade so quickly uncovered the
kidnapping plot undoubtedly saved Miss Bradford much more danger
and harm, by getting us there so soon—quite possibly, Miss
Bradford, even saved your life.”

Charity’s hand tightened in the one of
Randall’s that held it as he said, “Mrs. Meade—God bless her! She
had her head on straight the whole time, when the rest of us were
going round in circles.”

Edgerton nodded. “I really can’t think of any
commendation high enough. You know, I’ve thought myself a fairly
proficient detective, but they do say that woman’s intuition—”

“Woman’s intuition nothing,” said Andrew
Royal shortly. “That twittering hen of a Henney woman didn’t see a
thing when you flapped the evidence around right under her nose.
Women aren’t created equal.”

Edgerton was hard put to it, for a moment, to
keep from laughing.

He looked across at the other two. It was
perhaps something he saw in their faces that prompted his next
speech.

He stood up and looked out of the window. “It
looks like a beautiful morning,” he said. “Since that’s the case,
Sheriff—suppose you join me on the platform for a breath of
air?”

“Air!” said Andrew Royal, staring at him in
frank amazement.

“Yes,” said Edgerton, taking him by the arm.
“You’ll find it invigorating, I’m sure. You’ve been through a great
deal, you know, Sheriff, and you could do with a little bracing up.
Fresh air ought to be just the thing. And—let’s leave that here,
shall we?” he added, twitching the shawl away from the indignant
sheriff’s hands and bestowing it on his own side of the seat; and
forestalled Royal’s protest with, “Really, Sheriff. I’m sure Mrs.
Meade would say it was questionable taste for morning
wear—especially for a man of your age.”

He steered the sputtering sheriff down the
aisle of the car and out at the door, and it closed behind
them.

Randall and Charity watched them go, both
smiling a little, and when the two men had disappeared they sat
quietly for a few moments. There were only one or two other people
in the carriage, so they were nearly alone.

Randall gently turned over Charity’s hand in
his own, looking at the faint purple shadow of a bruise on her
wrist. He looked down into her face. “You’re sure you’re all right,
darling?” he said.

“Yes,” said Charity. “They were a little bit
rough with me, but—I’m not hurt. I’m fine now.”