The Blackbirder Read online

  He spoke at last. “Why, darling, you're shaking all over.” He set her away. “Sit here. You're frozen, poor child. Popin, bring some wine quickly. Let me help you.”

  Fran here. It was Fran. Free. Removing her bandanna, pulling off the jacket, instilling strength and courage and love into her again. She clung to his hand. “Don't go away.”

  His brown eyes were laughing. “Silly little goose. I'm just going to put these things aside. Here, drink this.” Popin held out the glass to her. But it was Fran who took it, brought it to her lips. Fran.

  She cried to the small bearded man, “You helped him escape! Why didn't you tell me you had planned this? I've been worried.” She explained to Fran, “He couldn't tell me. They were always here. I didn't have a chance to talk to him. And I had to leave. Jacques— ”

  His sensitive mouth moved. “Popin told me.”

  “The others.” She started up. “Bolt the door. They might discover I've gone.” Fran didn't understand. Nor Popin. “They found men Blaike and Schein. I ran away from them. I couldn't be locked up. I had to stay free. I had to get back here to ask Popin to help you escape. But he'd already done it.” She smiled at the artist. “If I'd known— ” She stroked Fran's sleeve. Prison hadn't broken him. It must have been a western one where he could work out of doors. He was tanned and strong. He'd grown bigger. The muscles under his coat sleeve were hard.

  He said, “Haven't I often told you, do not worry for me, Julie?”

  She nodded. She loved him so much, the ache of it burned hot. “But always I do, Fran darling. You were locked up so long. And I was afraid you would be hurt. But you aren't.” She smiled a little. “I think it agreed with you.”

  His face darkened. “Let's not talk about that, Julie.”

  “No.” She didn't want to see his anger, not tonight. “We must get away, Fran. As quickly as possible. Those men— Blaike and Schein— say they're from the F.B.I. I don't know. I think they're Nazis. I know one thing. Whatever they pretend they're after, I think they're looking for you. They've questioned me and questioned me tonight— ”

  “About what?”

  “About the Blackbirder. But underneath I knew there was something else. They wanted me to talk of you. And I didn't. I didn't mention your name.” Only that lapse with Blaike. Nothing dangerous. She sat very straight suddenly. “I understand now. They know you've escaped. That's what it is. They're looking for you because you've escaped. To send you back to prison. Nazis or F.B.I.— either way— they don't want you free.”

  His hand smoothed her hair. “I believe that's about it, my sweet.”

  “You know them?”

  “Popin told me. They came here asking questions.”

  “They killed Jacques.”

  “I'm afraid so.”

  “Because he wouldn't talk. Because he wouldn't betray you. Oh, Fran.” She turned in the chair, looked up at him. “We must get away. Before it's too late. If we can get in touch with the Blackbirder.” She appealed to Popin. “You know. You must ask him to take us out of the country quickly. I have the money to pay for it. Whatever he wants.”

  “You have— ? But of course.” Fran stood away from the chair, looked down at her. His eyes were bright. “It hadn't occurred to me. The estate— ”

  “It isn't the estate. I couldn't go to the Bank.” She laughed. “I didn't know what bank to go to. You can't imagine how many banks there are in New York, Fran. Paul never told me which it was. He wanted to manage my affairs without interference.” The bitterness tasted in her mouth.

  “How have you lived?”

  “I've worked. I've learned how to work. And"— she savored the surprise—"I have the necklace.”

  He didn't seem to understand. “The necklace?” The import of it reached him. “You have the de Guille necklace?”

  She nodded.

  “How?”

  “I took it, Fran. Before I left. Because I wouldn't leave it for the Nazis.” She shut her lips. She must be careful. She couldn't tell him, not yet, that his own father was one of them. Give him time for peace first.

  “Where is the necklace, Julie?”

  “Here. I'm wearing it.” She laughed up into his puzzled face. “Not where it shows, silly.”

  He shook his head, unbelieving. “You're an incredible child, Julie.”

  “Not a child now, Fran.”

  “No, no longer.” His thoughts were years away. His eyes turned back to her. “But you are tired. And I keep you here talking.”

  “There is so much to say, Fran. I have so much to tell you.”

  “Not all in one evening. We will have time.” He smiled. “The rest of our lives to talk. You must sleep now. Popin.”

  She had forgotten the bearded man nodding by the fire. His head perched awake at the call.

  “Julie may remain here?”

  “Anyway you wish it to be, Fran.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “There's a fire laid?”

  Popin nodded.

  Fran turned to her. “Come along. I'll go up with you.”

  Popin bowed. “Good night, Miss Julie. Pleasant dreams.”

  “Good night and thank you. Thank you so much more than I can say.”

  She went hand in hand with Fran to the upper room.

  He lighted the fire. “You'll be safe here.” He stood above her, bent suddenly and kissed her mouth. “Good-by, dear.”

  “You're not going?” She was seized with sudden panic. “Where we you going?”

  “I don't dare stay here, Julie. Don't you understand the danger I am in? Escaped from internment. I would be shot if I were found.” He put his arm about her. “Don't be frightened. Popin has a hiding-place for me back in the hills. I must stay here until we can get away.”

  “You aren't coming here again?” She clung to him.

  “If I can, yes. If Popin thinks it safe. Tonight he believed it was. Yet I don't know. Suppose it had not been you at the door. Suppose it had been Schein and Blaike?”

  She whispered, “Suppose they come for me.”

  “Popin will take care of you. Do as he says. He knows the ways these affairs better than we. We can trust him.”

  “Yes.” But Popin could not stand up against the gray man and the waiter. Fran didn't understand. He didn't know the ruthlessness of these men. She asked, “If he weren't here and they came?”

  “He'll leave Quincy, the Indian boy, on guard. I'll warn him. You will be safe. I would not leave you unless I were certain of that.”

  In his arms she believed in safety. She closed her eyes. “I have been so alone without you, Fran.”

  “We'll be together again soon.”

  “For always.”

  He said solemnly, “Until death do us part.”

  She spoke with simplicity, “You know I have always loved you. All my life.”

  He held her silently for a moment. “Now I must depart. You will go quickly, to bed and to sleep. You have no luggage. There are pajamas in the bureau. I know. I have slept here. A little large for you. But they must fit all sizes. Popin has many calls. Good night, dear one. Until soon.”

  She wanted to cling but she let him go, listened until his footsteps descending were soundless. She closed the door, leaned against it peacefully. This was a dream. She'd wake in the morning in the West 78th Street hovel, in the empty Anstey house, in La Fonda with Schein and Blaike across the hall. A dream, yes, but it could be held as long as she was in this blessed sleep.

  It was a dream but she blocked the door as Blaike had demonstrated. The windows were inaccessible, a sheer wall to the ground below. She would be safe tonight. The diamonds— she'd meant to give them to Fran. But it was better that she retain them for the present. His danger was the greater. If he were taken again, she'd still need them to help him.

  She was awakened by rapping at the door. The windows showed morning, the sun filtering through a gray flannel sky. Panic gulped in her. Not this soon!

  She s
lipped from bed; the bright blue pajamas fell over her hands, crumpled at her ankles, as she approached the door. Her voice was atonal. “Yes?”

  “It is I, Popin. And Reyes with your tray.”

  She opened to his bright voice.

  “Good morning, Miss Julie. Reyes, you will put the tray there.” He might have been an innkeeper, the posture of his hands, the round of his brown corduroy shoulders.

  The Indian girl was already placing the tray. She knelt to the fire. When thin smoke arose, she pushed to her feet, padded out without looking back.

  Popin waited until she had gone. “I thought it better that you remain here until after our friends pay us a visit.”

  “Won't they search?”

  “Search my home?” It was incredible.

  “But they are F.B.I. They say they are that.”

  Popin said, “I believe I can handle them. If not, there will be ample opportunity for you to move.”

  She doubted. This room was isolated. The only way out was down the front staircase. Fran had said trust Popin. There was nothing better that she could do now.

  “Very well.” She smiled at him. “Fran is safe?”

  “Yes, indeed. I will leave you to breakfast now. It is wise you lock your door as you have. Do not worry.” He closed the door after him. She blocked it.

  She didn't dress until after breakfast. The sun was truly breaking through. If watery, it was good to see after these days of monotony. She realized quickly it was more than good; it meant ceiling, and ceiling meant the Blackbirder would fly again. She was restless for action this near the end of the journey.

  She readmitted Quincy with an armload of piñon logs, Reyes to collect the tray.

  The girl said, “I bring you the paper. Anything more you will ask me.”

  “Thank you. There's nothing I want now.” Nothing but Fran. And she must wait. After waiting so long it shouldn't be hard. It was. It was more grueling than before. Because he was so near. Why couldn't she be with him in his hideout? Perhaps if she asked Popin. She must do as told. It wouldn't be for long.

  She again bolted the door. The paper was Friday night's from Santa Fe. She sat down to read it. War news with more hope in it. Local news. A paragraph. Jacques Michet, Tesuque workman, found dead. Believed he had been attempting to repair telephone lines at home of Yosif Popin, Tesuque artist. Lines down by storm. Dead several days.

  She pushed the paper away. No police investigation. No suspicion of violence. Simple accident. Who had suppressed murder? Who could but Blaike, Schein, cooperating with the police. But why? Too obvious. One of those men was the murderer. He had taken in the other as well as the small-town police. That wouldn't be difficult. What connection had Popin with the suppression? Was he— could he be a third in their plan? Fran said trust. She must trust.

  She heard the car, the thump of the knocker. She crept to her door, listened. She couldn't hear voices. Too far away. She went back to the chair, lifted the paper again, reading unrelated items with eye, not mind. An hour. Two hours. She hadn't heard the car go away. She remembered only then the car she'd taken last night. Where was it now? Were the police searching for it?

  She jumped to the knock at the door. Her voice wasn't her own. “Yes?”

  “It is Reyes.” .

  Fearfully she opened the door. The girl was alone, again with a tray. She said, “It is early for lunch. Popin say bring it now while they are not in the house.”

  “Who is here?”

  “The man in gray. The fat one came earlier.”

  She hadn't heard his arrival. “The car— the one I came in— ”

  “Qi'in Tse took it away early.”

  She nodded. She need not have been disturbed. Popin took care of things. Of persons. Of Jacques. She said it aloud. “Jacques?”

  The girl's eyes were without feeling. “He died.”

  “I know.”

  “He was buried yesterday. There was no one to mourn.”

  I mourn. I, helpless, mourn. “Reyes, he didn't fall.”

  “Popin said so.”

  “Who told him to say that? Who came?”

  Reyes walked to the door. “Is there anything more you want, you ask me.”

  “Jacques?”

  “I do not know nothing what happens here.”

  Julie quickly bolted the door after her. Reyes saw nothing, said nothing. For that reason she continued to work here.

  Julie ate, waited long. There were books but she couldn't read. At long last she thought she heard a car. Popin did not come. Reyes did not return. Julie walked the room. She sat quietly lest her steps be heard below. She walked again. It was early dusk. No one came.

  At five she could endure the silent tension no longer. She opened the door a silent crack. The hall was in darkness. She couldn't be seen. She heard the muffle of voices from the living-room. Her ears ached with listening. She took one step, another, and suddenly she recognized the voice. Fran's! It was safe to go on. Fran wouldn't be here if it were not safe.

  She started down quickly. Halfway she saw into the lighted living-room. Yes, Fran. Fran and a girl. An exquisite girl, copper hair ruffed about her small face, a beautifully curved leg, a silken leg, pointed to the gray whipcord leg of Fran's.

  The girl's voice was precise. “I see nothing ridiculous about it.”

  “But, darling.” He said darling. His thin brown hand was under her hair.

  Julie didn't move, didn't take breath.

  “It is so ridiculous.” He spoke with an accent; he had no accent.

  “Ridiculous? That you take this girl with you to Mexico and refuse to take me?”

  “Listen, my sweet. I take her to Mexico. It is the least I can do. She is in trouble. She is so distant a cousin but she is that. I cannot refuse to aid her. She is young, helpless.”

  “Why can't I go along?”

  “Coral, please. Have not I told you? There is so much freight I must bring back for your father. There will be room only for myself on the return. Why must you be so unreasonable? I have told you this girl means nothing whatever to me. I take her to Mexico. That is that. I pick up the freight. I return here. Two days’ time. Can you not give me two days’ time?”

  Julie stood rigid. The sickness was all through her, in her lungs, in her knees, in her mind and heart. She watched his hand turn the face of the lovely girl to his, watched him bend to her. Julie didn't close her eyes. She watched the kiss.

  The girl pushed him away, not soon, not with impact. “You can't get around me this way, Spike. Experienced as you are at that sort of thing. If this girl means nothing to you— ”

  “I have sworn it, Coral. Shall I swear it again?”

  “Don't bother.” The copper of her sweater was against his sandy tweed coat, pressed hard even if the voice was cool with hidden laughter. “I know very well if she did mean something to you, you'd swear it just as fondly.” The cigarette between her scarlet lips was thin and white as a stiletto. “I can't see that she is. A poor cousin throwing herself on your doubtful mercy. And for some reason you're willing to help her out. She must have something on you.” The girl's scarlet pointed finger touched his cheek sharply. “You see, darling, I have no illusions about you, none at all. I know you'd dispense with me without regret if something came your way that equaled me in looks, in willingness, and in fortune. And knowing all that, Spike, I still"— the word cracked like a whip—"want you, and intend to have you.”

  “There's only one thing wrong in that, Coral. I would dispense with you only with great regret.” His voice held that bantering tenderness Julie knew so well. Eye to eye now, suddenly shattering the tension with laughter, moving together.

  Julie closed her eyes. She mustn't watch again. She'd been a fool, an utter, hopeless fool. This was the kind of woman he'd known always in Paris. She had believed he could turn from one like this to her gaucherie, her inexperience, to her who had nothing to offer but blind adoration. Fran didn't want devotion, undying love; he wanted somethi
ng to whet his skill.

  She stepped softly, upward one step, another.

  “You are a devil, Spike. All the trips you make to Mexico but you won't ever take, me. Always an excuse.”

  “Your father has told you.”

  Julie was backing up to what? To isolation of a room again. She'd been tricked into staying there. Not because of danger for Fran— the girl called him Spike— but because she must stay out of the way, leave the house to Spike and his woman. The gray man had asked, “What do you know of Coral Bly?” He had known of her. He had known of Julie's betrayal.

  She couldn't return to that upstairs cell. She couldn't wait there for. Fran to call, Ready. To believe his lies. To believe they were escaping to Mexico together. To pretend to accept the plausible tale he would have for her when he left her there. But she had to get to Mexico. Her danger hadn't diminished even if Fran was safe. She would accept no favors here, none from him. She would find her own way to safety. She could trust no one here, not again. Jacques had been murdered and the newspaper reported accidental death. Someone was evil here. Blaike and Schein weren't strangers to Popin. All had worked together to keep her from embarrassing Fran in his new life.

  There would be no escape from that upper room. What must be done must be boldly, chancily. She was at the top of the stairs now. She drew breath, breath that hurt all through her. She ran down again quickly, turned into the living-room, stopped short.

  She said, “Oh, Fran. I didn't know you were here. I'll be back in a minute. I left something in the studio.” She too could lie in her face, in her throat.

  She went on past them. She didn't look at Coral Bly but she saw every particle of the exquisite copper girl.

  Without turning back she went on into the dining-room, through the kitchen where Reyes prepared dinner. The Indian girl raised black eyes to her and returned them to the vegetables.

  Julie went on, out the kitchen door into the dark dusk. She shivered. Jacques's coat was upstairs. She rounded the house. There was a lean low touring car in the drive. Coral's car. There were keys in it. Only mechanically did she move. She touched the handle of the front door, refused it. She opened the back door, got down on the floor and pulled the heavy lap robe over her.