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Words: 70186 in 35 pages
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FOREWORD
The following story of what has been known as "The Black Eagle Mystery" has been compiled from documents contributed by two persons thoroughly conversant with the subject. These are Molly Morgenthau Babbitts and John Reddy, whose position of inside observers and active participants makes it possible for them to give to the public a consecutive and detailed narrative of this most unusual case.
Mr. Harland's body had been found on the sidewalk. 'Say,' he said, 'you're a live one, aren't you?' It was locked or I would have gone in. 'When did they discover it?' she said in a low voice.
MOLLY TELLS THE STORY
"Hello!" said Babbitts from the sheets of the morning paper.
I'll call him Babbitts to you because that's the name you'll remember him by--that is if you know about the Hesketh Mystery. I generally call him "Soapy," the name the reporters gave him, and "Himself," which comes natural to me, my mother being Irish. Maybe you'll remember that too? And he calls me "Morningdew"--cute, isn't it? It's American for my last name Morgenthau--I was Molly Morgenthau before I was married.
And so having taken this little run round the lot, I'll come back to Babbitts with his head in the morning paper saying "Hello!"
It was a clear, crisp morning in January--sixteenth of the month--and we were at breakfast. Himself had just got in from Cleveland, where he'd been sent to write up the Cheney graft prosecution. It took some minutes to say "How d'ye do"--he'd been away two whole days--and after we'd concluded the ceremonies I lit into the kitchen to get his breakfast while he sat down at his end of the table and dived into the papers. His egg was before him and I was setting the coffeepot down at my end when he gave that "Hello," loud and startled, with the accent on the "lo."
"What's up now?" said I, looking over the layout before me to see if I'd forgotten anything.
"Hollings Harland's committed suicide," came out of the paper.
"Last night at half-past six. Threw himself out of his office window on the eighteenth story."
"Eighteenth story!--that's some fall. I've got to take this cream out with a spoon." I spooned up some, all white spikes and edges, wondering if it would chill his coffee which he likes piping hot. "Darling, do you mind waiting a little while I warm up the cream?"
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