When we had thus made an end, a dead silence followed, during which McGinity and I looked at each other for a moment or two, in silence. After I had told him what Olinski had said, the reporter spoke.
"I've put it out of my mind that Olinski had anything to do with this affair," he said. "The more I think of it, Mr. Royce, the more I'm dead certain that Mrs. LaRauche is our only hope. Finding her husband will be a police detail, and several days may elapse before he's apprehended. Now, if we could get to her, the first thing in the morning. Do you think that would be possible?"
Before I could answer, Chief Meigs walked in to say that a plane, answering the description of LaRauche's machine, had passed over Montauk Point, heading south, a little before three o'clock, had been picked up by a coast-guard searchlight, but had dodged out of the light. With this announcement, all thoughts of Mrs. LaRauche vanished, and—to me, at any rate—did not recur until we had driven back to the castle at the break of dawn, after a weary vigil of waiting at the police station to hear further word of LaRauche. But the reports were blank and disappointing.
XXIX
Interviewing Mrs. LaRauche did not prove as difficult as we had anticipated. At ten o'clock—McGinity and I were still in bed—the manservant I had installed at the LaRauche house, telephoned that Mrs. LaRauche was feeling much stronger, and was most anxious to see Henry and me on a matter of very urgent business; and would we please bring along the village Chief of Police, also the young newspaper reporter who had accompanied the officer and me to the house the night before.
At eleven o'clock, we drove off. On our way through the village, we picked up Chief Meigs, and the first thing he did after boarding the car was to give me a wink, and mutter: "Screws!" Henry was pallid and trembling. He had been deeply shocked when he learned of Orkins' death. He seemed to have aged ten years during the night.
McGinity was in a state of excitement. After a late and hasty breakfast, he and Pat had taken a stroll on the terrace. In spite of the tragedies and excitement, Pat had come downstairs looking as fresh and as bright as I had ever known her. I met them as I came out to get into the car. McGinity had just reached out to take her hand in his, and she had not drawn it away. She seemed a little breathless.
The strain of the past twenty-four hours, and loss of sleep, had been too much for me. As we breezed along in the crisp, morning air, I was no more capable of keeping my eyes open than I was of writing poetry. My conversation was limited to monosyllabic answers; between monosyllables, I fell into a light doze.
Nearing the LaRauche place, I became more wide-awake, and began to speculate whether Mrs. LaRauche knew, and was in a position to tell, the whole truth. Doubt had entered my mind. Even after we had been admitted into the house, and had gathered around her, in a sitting-room adjoining her bedchamber, I felt certain that she would be able to contribute very little to the sum of information which we had.