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| "Darling, why did you pick Warren for a friend?" asked Cynthia. "I liked him," said Gerald. "Funny thing for me .. to say when I’ve stolen his wife." |
A story of two women-standing worlds apart -and two ways of loving
Night Flight
by Vina Delmar
Illustrations by James Montgomery Flagg
"IT COULDN'T have gone on much longer, anyhow," she said. "I'm glad he walked into your apartment tonight. It saves tiresome explanation." The man beside her did not answer at once, so she prompted him. "Aren't you glad, honey?"
Even then he did not reply but his silence might have been due to the fact that he was rushing his car past a huge transcontinental bus, and an approaching truck on the narrow road meant that success-if any-would be won only by a matter of inches.
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"You're fired!" screamed Cynthia.
"You give me my baby!"
But Miss Pembroke only clutched
Chubbins tighter to her breast.
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It was all right if he didn't answer, she decided. He was hurrying and she had told him to hurry. She looked at the speedometer. Eighty miles. That was nice. She raised her eyes to the profile of the man. That was nicer. She thought of all the handsome men who had ever come to Hollywood. None had been quite so handsome as Gerald Crysman. And-beautiful thought--he was hers.
She looked out at the ocean with its moonlit waves. This was romance. Moonlight, a balmy breeze, a handsome man and a beautiful woman running away from her husband. Yes, this was romance.
They were on a straight shining road now and the car was rolling along swiftly. "Cynthia," he said, "I feel like a kidnaper." She laughed her bell-like laugh. "Darling, I'm with you because I want to be. Oh, you mean the baby."
He frowned slightly. "Certainly I mean the baby. I've never walked off with a man's wife before, but somehow that doesn't seem so bad. This business, though, of beating it down here to steal his kid seems a little raw."
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"Sorry to have interfered with your plans,"
"Cynthia heard her husband say,
"I wouldn't have done it if the baby hadn’t been involved."
continued on page 104
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"Yes," he said grimly; "so you can get her before Warren does." "Well, why not? I love Chubbins, and she's mine. A mother has more right to a baby than a father has."
"I suppose."
Cynthia turned her glance back to the silver ocean. As though she'd let Warren lay a hand on the baby after that last crack of his. He stood a fat chance.
He had walked into Gerald's apartment and had seen more than she had ever wanted him to guess. It had been her own fault. As soon as she had begun really to care about Gerald she should have broken up the friendship between the two men, so that Warren would have stopped paying those informal calls.
He had just walked into Gerald's apartment without so much as knocking on the door! He had walked in, taken one swift glance and started out again. She had run after him, thrown her arms around his neck, but he had shaken her off.
"Don't touch me," he had said. "Keep away from me. Don't get scared. I won't hurt you. I'm not even sore. I'd have ditched you long ago except that I love the kid."
He'd had the nerve to say that to her. With her beauty and charm, a miserable second-rate director had dared to say that he was holding on to her just because she had had a baby. She'd fix him for that! He loved the baby, did he? Well, it would be a long time before he'd see that kid again. Possession was nine points of the law,· and besides, she was the mother and that went a long way- in a court. Let him try and get that kid! They were passing through a little town now, and Gerald slowed down. "I wonder if Warren did start down here when he left the apartment," he said. .
"He might have, and then again maybe not, but I'm taking no chances. I want my baby."
"I hate to think of Warren feeling miserable and everything. Say, Cynthia, what are you going to do with the baby when you get it? Have you thought?"
"Of course I've thought, you goofy old darling. We're going to drive them back to L.A. tonight and put them on a train."
"Them? Who?"
"The baby and the nurse. Did you think a sixteen-months-old baby was spending the summer here all alone?"
"Oh, I'd forgotten the nurse. So what are you going to do with them?" The little town was left behind now, and the big car was rolling again.
"I'm going to put them on a train tonight and send them to Albuquerque. Then I'll send for them in a day or two and ship them off to Honolulu. If I keep them moving, Warren can't find them and take the baby from me."
"He's crazy about that baby, He'll spend every cent he has locating her."
"Yeah? Well, he hasn't got a cent. He's broke."
"Warren's broke! Why, he makes pretty big dough."
"I know, but he can't seem to hold on to it. He's flatter than a pancake. And I heard from a pretty good source that they mightn't take his option up this year. I don't think he can ever get the baby away from me, being broke like he is, and me skipping the baby all over here and there."
"No, maybe not"
Gerald knew about Warren's option. He knew that if it was taken up it meant an increase of five hundred dollars a week. And he also knew that that option was going to be taken up. Gerald knew it directly from the head of the studio. But he said nothing about this. It would only alarm poor Cynthia, who was hoping that Warren's poverty would help her hold her child.
"Say, Cynthia, won't the nurse think you're kind of crazy busting in there at night and sending her and the kid to Albuquerque?"
"No. She won't even think. I'll tell her Warren’s going down there on location and he wants the baby with him for a while. I'll say that he and I are flying down tomorrow. Then I'll wire her that the picture's off and to come right back. Oh, I'll fix up a story, all right."
"But she'll see in the papers-"
"She doesn't read the papers. She's a fussy old maid and she doesn't know anything but babies. She's English and so devoted. She simply adores Chubbins. She'll do anything, just so she won't get fired and be separated from the baby."
"It's going to cost a barrel of dough, Cynthia, to keep them on the go."
"It won't be forever. Warren will want a divorce, no doubt. Well, I'm the mother and I have the child, and in a law court that possession stuff is important. I bet I get the custody."
"Even so, that traveling around will cost a barrel of dough," he said gloomily.
"Oh, I have money. Quite a lot of it."
"Warren's money?"
"Well, what the hell? I earned it, didn't I? I've been married to him three years."
"He isn't a bad guy."
"Oh, no?"
"And he's clever."
"Clever, my eye!"
"You wouldn't know, Cynthia, unless you'd worked for him. He put me over."
"Oh, go on! A great actor is a great actor. The director doesn't do anything, especially Warren. If he had been clever he could have held me."
"I hope I'll be clever enough to hold you."
"Darling, I know you'll be. You're so different from Warren. How did you ever come to pick him for a friend?"
"I liked him. Funny thing for me to say when I've stolen his wife and am on my way to steal his kid. But he's swell, really, Cynthia. Only I couldn't help loving you, could I?"
"Dearest, you say such lovely things."
"Do I? It's because you're so lovely to look at, I guess. Cynthia, can we stop long enough for one little kiss?"
She laughed teasingly "I don't know, honey. Maybe for one very little kiss."
It was the sort of hotel that attracts children and old folks. A low, rambling building with a Spanish name and New England principles. The grounds were lovely by daylight and even lovelier when seen by the gentle radiance of the moon, but none of the hotel's guests were awake to appreciate the silver beauty of land and sea. All was quiet and every window was dark.
Cynthia felt that in three hours she had come a million miles from Hollywood. Gerald drove to the front step and looked for a brisk, uniformed boy to park his car. There was no such boy.
"Leave it here," Cynthia said. "They won't need their front step any more tonight."
They climbed out of the car and walked into the lobby. The clerk was old and sleepy. He was alone at the desk, sitting close to the switchboard and nodding over a newspaper. He stood up as Cynthia and Gerald approached him. He looked at them and saw a tall, handsome young man and a slim, lovely lady. He looked at them and disapproved.
"Good evening," he said, without a grain of warmth in his tone. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm Mrs. Warren Covert," Cynthia said. "My child and nursemaid are here."
"Oh, yes." The chill had gone now.
"What room are they in? Unfortunately, I've come to take them away."
"That's too bad."
"Yes. But that's the way things go. Will you figure up the bill? What room did you say they were in?"
The clerk squinted at a room index hung on the cashier's cage beside him. "Room Two Hundred and One. That's the room right at the head of the stairs." He pointed toward a long, dark flight reaching up into a deeper darkness. "Mighty cute baby you got there." He smiled and looked at Gerald. "Are you Mr. Covert?"
"No," Gerald said. He said it coldly, very coldly. Lord, didn't this man know him? Of course he'd done only one picture so far but he'd supposed that everyone had seen it. Well, hicks were hicks.
He followed Cynthia across the lobby. At the stairs she stopped and turned toward him. "Honey, you can't go up," she said. "Wait here."
Gerald slumped into a chair and picked up a three-months-old magazine.
Cynthia continued up the stairs. She knocked at the door of Room 201 and waited. A sleepy voice answered her.
"Who's there?"
"It's Mrs. Covert, Miss Pembroke. Open the door."
"Just a moment, please."
Cynthia's red lips closed on the impatient words she was about to utter. Perhaps Warren would arrive at any moment, and here was a fussy old maid taking time to bundle herself into a flannel wrapper before opening the door. But Cynthia knew that she must give no sign that she was nervous. The nurse was stupid about everything except babies; still, servants could be difficult if they sensed anything irregular.
The door opened at last, and there was Miss Pembroke in her flannel wrapper with her red braids hanging neatly down her back. "Has anything gone wrong?" she asked.
"No, nothing at all. I'm sorry to burst in at this hour but it's all quite unexpected. How is the little lamb?"
"Just splendid, Mrs. Covert."
Cynthia walked to the side of the crib and gazed down at the sleeping Chubbins. She looked at the slumber-flushed cheeks and thought again of Warren. It gave her a sense of satisfaction to see that his baby was sweet and beautiful. He was losing a lot, and it served him right.
Miss Pembroke was sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning. "Pardon me," she begged. "It takes me a few moments to get myself together when I've been awakened."
"It's quite all right," Cynthia answered in an offhand manner. "Take your time." She consulted her jewel-studded watch.
"You'll be able to pack and dress within twenty minutes, I suppose. You've nothing but suitcases."
"Oh, we're leaving?"
"How stupid of me not to have said that first. Yes. Mr. Covert wants the baby with him for a while. His next picture is going to be done in Albuquerque. You know, old mission stuff. He and I are going to fly there tomorrow, but of course we'd never trust Chubbins in an airplane."
Miss Pembroke shuddered. "I should think not."
"Mr. Covert only found out at dinner that he was going to do this picture. It's called 'Night Flight,''' said Cynthia with sudden inspiration.
"Oh, yes," said Miss Pembroke blankly.
"He was so disappointed when they called him for the picture. He was figuring on our coming down here to spend a little time with Chubbins. Then I thought of taking you to Albuquerque- or, rather, sending you. You and Chubbins will leave on the train tonight, and we'll meet you there."
"OH, YES," said Miss Pembroke again. She continued to sit on the bed looking dazed. Cynthia wanted to shake her into action, but instead managed to look at the nurse with a quizzical glance that was a gentle hint. "I shall be all right in a moment, Mrs. Covert."
"Take your time. I'm sorry to have come like this, but you must know by now that we're all-of-a-sudden people."
If Miss Pembroke had been in a position to speak her thoughts she might have said that Mr. Covert didn't answer that description. He was always the same pleasant, mild-mannered little man. Mrs. Covert had unexpected ways, however. Sweet as treacle or sour as alum, and when you encountered her you never knew which mood you'd find on top.
But Mr. Covert certainly wasn't like that. He worked hard and was the most devoted father Miss Pembroke had ever seen. If he wanted the pleasure of his baby's company, he was going to have it. It wouldn't be Miss Pembroke who'd disappoint him. She got to her feet and began to empty the bureau drawers.
"How long do you think you Will be?" Cynthia asked.
"I couldn't say exactly, Mrs. Covert. I'll do my best. Perhaps a half-hour. Oh, is Benjamin downstairs? He could help me with the packing."
"No. Mr. Crysman drove me down. We gave Benjamin the evening off because we didn't expect to go out. Mr. Covert had the script of 'Night Flight' to read, so Mr. Crysman drove."
"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'll hurry."
Cynthia went to the crib to look at Chubbins again. She was so sweet. Such a lamb. Wouldn't Warren be burned up when he found out that his little wife had been too smart for him? Cynthia hoped that he really would come down to get the baby. Wouldn't it be too, too divine if he dashed into the hotel just after she and Gerald Crysman had departed with Chubbins and Pembroke?
She glanced at Miss Pembroke. The woman really was getting things into the first suitcase with remarkable speed.
The phone rang. Miss Pembroke answered it. "Hello. Oh, yes, Mr. Crysman. One moment." She stepped aside so that Cynthia could get to the phone.
"Yes. Miss Pembroke is packing now. What did you say? About twenty or twenty-five minutes, I imagine. What? All right, Gerald; I'll come down."
Cynthia hung up the receiver and turned to Miss Pembroke. "I'll go settle your bill," she said. "I'll be back in a little while. You'll be finished packing by then," she added.
Cynthia turned and walked out, but it was several seconds before Miss Pembroke was aware of the fact that she had gone. The name Gerald always made her remember the one and only beau she had ever had. Long, long ago he had found a more enchanting face than Miss Pembroke's to gaze upon for life but Miss Pembroke didn't blame him. In fact, she always had a soft spot for Geralds.
She wondered how it was that she hadn't known till now that Mr. Crysman was a Gerald. Not that it mattered, with scads of packing still to be done.
Cynthia found Gerald prowling up and down between the overstuffed couches and chairs.
"I got sick of sitting here all alone," he complained. "I didn't know you intended to stay up there."
"Well, I had to tell her a plausible story. That took time. I couldn't just bounce in and say, 'Here we go,' could I?"
"How did the story take?"
"I told you she was packing."
"Well, I hope she makes it snappy. The more I think about it, the less I feel like facing Warren. I'm yellow, I guess."
"No, darling, not yellow. You just haven't the courage of your convictions."
"What do you mean, 'courage of my convictions'? I have no convictions that it's perfectly O.K. to run away with Warren's kid and help hide her from him. I don't mind so much about you."
Cynthia's wide brown eyes regarded him coolly. "I'm of less value than the baby. Is that it?"
"No, honey, but a baby's different. You made up your mind that you were through with Warren, but the baby has no chance to choose. Besides, that baby is Warren's flesh and blood."
"Oh, you're cute, dear. You want the baby to draw straws to see whether she'll be Warren's little girl or yours?"
He frowned. His frown was meant less for Cynthia than for the annoying, inexplainable doubts which buzzed through his head. It was impossible to be displeased with Cynthia for more than a moment or two. She was too exquisite and too desirable. But he had been displeased almost all evening.
He knew that the fault lay with him and "not with Cynthia. She was right. A mother should have her baby. If he could only forget Warren, everything would be all right. But he couldn't forget that Warren had trusted him, had given him his big chance in pictures and, worst of all, that Warren adored that darn kid of his.
Well, Cynthia adored the kid, too, and she was the mother. Yes, but she was the one who had, broken the rules, and it wasn't fair for Warren to lose both her and his baby. Still, maybe a baby was better off with its mother. But the child wasn't going to be with her mother. She was going to be with a nursemaid, just hiding from Warren. That was pretty mean. But Cynthia ought to know best. She was the mother.
"Will you quit frowning, darling? What are you thinking about all the time?" She put her arm through his and led him out of the French door into moonlight and the fragrance of honeysuckle. "When you frown like that I think you don't love me."
"Of course I love you." He kissed her. "I'll love you always."
"You're sweet."
"I'm sorry I frowned and spoke kind of mean, Cynthia, but I'm jittery. I don't want to face Warren. He's been so decent to me that I'm ashamed."
"Why, I think that's real sweet of you, honey, to feel that way. Very few people would, nowadays. You're sensitive, dear. All great actors are sensitive."
"I’m not a great actor."
"Of course you are. You're wonderful, dear, and my life's work is going to be making you appreciate yourself. Kiss me again, and then I'll run in and pay the bill and see how Pembroke is doing."
He kissed her, holding her tightly in his arms and enjoying the thrill to the utmost. To breathe her perfume and the spicy scent of her hair meant shutting out for a moment the thought that he was robbing Warren Covert of his wife and his child. But the moment had passed. Already Cynthia had run from him. Through the glass door he could see her at the desk.
Pictures of Warren Covert searching for his little daughter closed in once more on Gerald. He suddenly felt chilly and turned from the glittering ocean and the light, wayward wind.
Cynthia walked into Room 201 this time without knocking. The door was unlocked. She came in breezily with the words "Are you ready?" and then stopped, disappointed and vexed.
The baby was still asleep in the crib. Miss Pembroke still wore her flannel wrapper and the packing had not advanced one iota during Cynthia's absence. There sat Miss Pembroke on the floor, an empty suitcase before her and a worried look in her eyes.
"What have you been doing, Miss Pembroke? You don't seem to have got far."
"I am sorry, Mrs. Covert, but the catch on this valise wouldn't work. It was jammed, I dare say, and I've been trying to open it ever since you left. I didn't want to force it, for fear it might not catch again. I've just this moment managed to get the valise open. I do hope it's all right now." Experimentally she pressed the catch, and then sought to reopen the suitcase. "Heavens, it's jammed again. But I think I understand it now. I shan't take a moment to put it right."
"Can't you pile everything in the other two cases?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Covert. This is the largest -the one we need the most. The other two are comparatively small."
CYNTHIA looked at her watch. Five minutes. "Never mind the bag's beauty. Just burst the lock open.
"But then the bag won't remain closed when it's packed."
Ten minutes.
"Let me try that thing, Miss Pembroke. We can't play" around with a suitcase forever."
Cynthia knelt down beside Miss Pembroke and reached out for the irritating lock, but at that moment there was a snapping noise and the suitcase opened.
"There!" said Miss Pembroke triumphantly. "I knew I could do it."
"Well, let's get going," Cynthia said. "We have to make up for lost time."
"Yes, Mrs. Covert. I'll hurry."
Cynthia sat down in a chair at the window. She thought that Gerald must be dying of impatience. It was more than thirty minutes since she had first entered this room.
The packing was going on again. Not with breath-taking speed but it was going on. And at last -oh, at last -it was done, and Miss Pembroke had only to dress and get the baby ready.
"Shall I dress Chubbins while you're dressing?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh, that will only take me a jiffy and I'd sooner dress her. She cries so if everything isn't smooth and straight."
"Oh, yes," Cynthia said. She remembered now that she had once dressed the baby and had found it far less fun than she had anticipated. Everything gathered in bulky flannel rolls and pins wouldn't close, and the baby screamed.
She said, "Well, I'll be back in a little while." Certainly Gerald must need some reassuring by now.
She found him in the lobby.
"I thought you were never coming," he said. "We've been here an hour. You know if Warren started down here driving at an ordinary clip, he's about due."
She caught her breath. That was true. And he would take the baby. She knew Warren.
"I'll make her hurry," she said, and ran back up the stairs.
The flannel wrapper was still in evidence. "I've been delayed," Miss Pembroke apologized. "I did the most stupid thing. I packed all my underwear. I had to open a suitcase-"
"Have you got it now?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh, yes, I have it now."
"Well, for the love of heaven, put it. on and let's get going.
Miss Pembroke came down the stairs carrying Chubbins. Behind her staggered the ancient clerk with the three suitcases.
Cynthia looked at Gerald and breathed a sigh of relief. "At last," she said.
"Yes, at last. One hour and forty-five minutes it took that damn woman to get going."
Cynthia walked toward Miss Pembroke. "The car's at the front step," she said. "You get in the back seat. I'll ride up front with Mr. Crysman."
The clerk had not paused in the lobby. He had gone out to deposit the luggage in the car. Now he returned and settled himself once more behind the desk.
Miss Pembroke looked at Gerald with a witheringly icy stare. "Is Mr. Crysman going to drive?" she asked coldly.
"Why, of course," Cynthia answered. "I can't drive." "I know that, but I had supposed Mr. Crysman's chauffeur was here." "No, he isn't. What difference does that make?" Miss Pembroke said: "Mr. Crysman has been drinking."
"Drinking?" Cynthia gasped.
"WELL, I'LL BE damned!" Gerald glared at the woman. "I haven't had a drink since yesterday."
Miss Pembroke said, "Mr. Crysman has been drinking."
"Mr. Crysman has not been drinking," Cynthia answered, "and even to discuss the matter with you is ridiculous. He drove me down here and he's going to drive me back again, and you'd better hurry up and get in that back seat."
For answer Miss Pembroke sat down stubbornly. Gerald gave voice to a terrible oath, and the nursemaid looked at Cynthia as though to say, "His language proves that he has been drinking."
There was a moment's silence, during which Gerald and Cynthia looked at each other in dismay. Miss Pembroke looked at nothing. She kept her lips tight and disapproving, and held the sleeping baby close to her meager breast.
Cynthia's eyes considered the clerk. He was reading his paper. Their voices had not been heard across the lobby. She tried Miss Pembroke once again.
"Miss Pembroke, I give you my word that Mr. Crysman is sober. He's tired, perhaps, but he hasn't been drinking."
Miss Pembroke answered, "Mr. Crysman has been drinking, and I'm not going to trust myself or Chubbins in that car with him.He's plain drunk."
Gerald swore again, only this time he swore directly at Miss Pembroke.
She said, "You wouldn't talk like that, Mr. Crysman, if you were sober."
He reached into his pocket and drew forth a roll of bills. "I know your kind," he said; "trying to hold us up because you know Mrs. Covert wants you to catch a train. All right. How much do you want to get going?"?
Miss Pembroke turned to Cynthia. "Will you please ask this gentleman not to address me again?"
"I'll address you, you damn old sour-face! I'll-"
Miss Pembroke got to her feet. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Covert. I'm going back to the room. I'll neither drive with Mr. Crysman nor stay here to take his insults. I'll have the clerk carry the bags up again."
"Like hell you will!" Cynthia's eyes were blazing now. Her small, pointed face was white with fury. Her hands reached out for the baby. "You're fired! Do you understand?"
Miss Pembroke clutched the baby tighter to her breast and Cynthia's white, jeweled hand flew upward and gave the woman a stinging blow on the cheek. "You give me my baby."
Miss Pembroke looked coldly at her employer. There were tears in her pale gray eyes -tears of rage or perhaps the blow had hurt -but the Covert baby still lay in her arms.
"Are you going to pass over that baby to its mother?" Gerald asked threateningly.
"No."
"I'll call a cop in a minute. I've stood enough of this nonsense from you."
"You'll call a cop, will you?" Miss Pembroke asked.
Cynthia was battling for the baby now, pulling at Miss Pembroke's arms to loosen her grip on the little body. Miss Pembroke's eyes went wildly toward the clerk. He was watching the scene in wonderment and terror.
"Help me!" she cried. "Help me."
He came nimbly from behind the desk. "What's the trouble?" he demanded.
"This woman -is trying- to take the baby from me," Miss Pembroke gasped.
"Well, ain't she the mother?"
"No," said Miss Pembroke. "I never saw her before."
"Never saw me before!" Cynthia's eyes fairly popped in amazement. "What do you mean, you never saw me before? I'm Mrs. Warren Covert, that child's mother, and you know damn well that I am."
The clerk scratched his head. He looked at Miss Pembroke. "Why did you pack and everything if this woman was a stranger to you?"
"She told me Mrs. Covert was waiting down here for me."
"And damn it, she is!" Gerald exploded. "This is Mrs. Warren Covert."
"It isn't," Miss Pembroke said calmly. "Mrs. Covert is a tall blond woman many years younger than this lady."
Cynthia flashed on Miss Pembroke a venomous eye. "She's a lying servant girl! I'll have her arrested."
"She tried to tear the baby right out of my arms," Miss Pembroke said. "You saw her."
"You mean she's a kidnaper, Miss Pembroke?" the clerk asked with interest.
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Perhaps the poor thing is just demented and fancies herself Mr. Covert's wife."
"Maybe I ought to get a policeman," the clerk said.
"I don't care," Miss Pembroke said. "I wouldn't want her hurt. Just get my bags back out of their car, and I'll return to bed. Of course I want a policeman if she touches this baby again."
Gerald had wandered away for a moment. Now he returned, carrying the three-months-old magazine. It was a motion-picture journal. He opened it and showed the clerk one of the pictures. "There," he said, "see those two men? And see what it says under the picture: 'Gerald Crysman and Director Warren Covert talk things over.' That man is this lady's husband and the other man is me, isn't it?"
The clerk looked from the picture to the man beside him. "You look alike," he admitted.
"Oh, yes," said Miss Pembroke, "this man is Gerald Crysman, but I work for Mr. and Mrs. Covert. I can't give their baby up to any stray actor who comes along and fancies the child."
THE CLERK scratched his head again. He looked at Cynthia. "You'd better beat it, madam," he said.
A dark red flush replaced the pallor on Cynthia's face. She was choking with rage.
"Probably they're both drunk," said Miss Pembroke.
"I'll show you how drunk I am !" Cynthia threatened. She opened her handbag and began to fumble through it. Maybe there was a card or a bill or something that would identify her. But there was nothing.
"You see," said Miss Pembroke, "she's drunk or insane."
"Well, I don't know what to do," the clerk said. "Still, I've known you all summer and you're a good, steady woman. Right's right. I got to take your word."
"I should think so," said Miss Pembroke airily.
Gerald drew Cynthia aside. "What's got into the damn woman?"
"I don't know. I think she's gone insane."
"We can't make the train now."
"I know it, but if I can get the baby I'll manage to keep her."
"If you touch that kid again, you'll stay in the jug till you can get somebody to identify you."
"What shall I do?"
"Let's go. Maybe you can get the kid some other time."
"Warren won't give her up. He'll hide her from me."
"You'll hide the kid from him; he'll hide the kid from you. I wish somebody had kept her hidden from me. What a night this has been! It'll probably end up with the pair of us being lynched for attempted kidnaping."
"Well, Warren's not going to get that baby."
"No, he won't get her. Look, he isn't here by now, so that means he didn't start for here. He probably never dreamed you'd try to take the kid. We can go back to town and get proof of your identity and come down here again tomorrow."
"Yes, we could do that," she agreed.
"Well, let's, then." He glanced at the clock over the desk. "We've been here two and a half hours."
Cynthia walked over to the clerk and Miss Pembroke. "I'm going," she said to the clerk. "I'm coming back with proof of my identity. You'll be sorry you believed this woman."
"Maybe," he said, "but I don't know."
Cynthia's eyes rested scornfully on Miss Pembroke for a moment; then she and Gerald started across the lobby. At the same moment a car rolled into the driveway. Cynthia clutched Gerald's sleeve. "I'll bet it's Warren," she said.
It was. He walked into the hotel past his wife and Gerald Crysman and directly to Miss Pembroke. He patted her on the shoulder. "Nice going, young woman," he said. He took the baby from her, and Miss Pembroke fell limply into a chair and burst into wild sobs.
"Oh, it was awful pretending not to know her!" she cried. "I never could have gone through with it if the baby hadn't been involved."
Warren Covert looked at the two in the doorway. "Sorry to have interfered with your plans," he said. "To quote Miss Pembroke, I wouldn't have done it if the baby hadn't been involved."
"Don't flatter yourself," Cynthia said. "You didn't interfere."
"Well, I did the directing, though the credit goes to Miss Pembroke for her splendid performance. She phoned two and a half hours ago, and I told her how to hold you till I arrived."
"She phoned you?" Cynthia demanded sharply. "What for?"
"To tell me that she suspected something was wrong. It was a pardonable mistake you made, dear. You spoke on the telephone to the gentleman who is now standing beside you quaking in his boots and you called him Gerald."
Cynthia looked puzzled. "What did that signify?"
"It signified that you were on your guard, that you had something to hide, for always before in that quaint Hollywood way of yours you had called him 'honey' or 'darling.' Oh, must you go? Well, drop in to see me occasionally, Crys. I'm not sore at you. If you want Cynthia, then we're both in luck." He smiled down at his baby, and when he raised his head, Cynthia and Gerald Crysman had gone.
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