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Chapter III. I Receive A Warning · The House of Skulls

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  Chapter three of the House of Skulls by H. Bedford Jones. This LibriVox
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  recording is in the public domain. Read by Ben Tucker, Chapter three,
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  I receive a warning. I had never had a fainting lady on my hands
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  before, except once, when missus Wanderhoof of Peoria saw the fifth Avenue apartment
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  I had decorated for and looked at the bill. In that instance, mister
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  Wanderhof had assumed charge. But in this instance we were out of sight of
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  Passo Robles, and there was not a soul nor a house in view.
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  There was no water to throw on the girl's face. She was no more
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  than a girl, I judged, and the radiator water was apt to be
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  dirty. So, not knowing what else to do, I swung over into
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  the rear seat beside her and set her slim, drooping body upright against the
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  cushions. As I did so, I was relieved to see her blue eyes
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  flutter open. Then I remembered a flask of whiskey in the door pocket and
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  produced it. I got the screw cup to her lips, but at the
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  first taste you pushed it away. Thank you, she said in a low
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  voice. I am very well now, She seemed unable to take her eyes
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  from me. The color slowly crept back into her cheeks, but in her
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  eyes I read a bewildered fear. Then she said something strange. You said
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  they killed Jack after all, I was puzzled Jack. Oh, she must
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  mean John Balliol. Poor girl. I must have given her a stiff jolt.
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  No, I said, gently, No one killed Balliol. Madam,
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  I have the paper here with an account of it. It was suicide.
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  May I ask if you are a friend of his. She seemed to shudder
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  slightly and drew a long breath. Yes, I am a friend, she
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  said in a low voice, and flushed. I had the uneasy conviction that
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  she was lying to me. Your words were a shock. I saw him
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  only last night before my train left, or rather yesterday day afternoon. When
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  this car passed the train this morning, I felt that it was he.
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  I knew we were ahead at Passo Rubbles, so I left the train and
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  waited, and I saw the car and got in. When you came along,
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  I thought it was Jack and meant to surprise him. And when you
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  spoke, I discovered she broke off the words failing her that told me the
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  whole story. Of course, even from the train, she had not been
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  able to mistake this accursed car. But I objected gently. You must have
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  known that Balliol could not be ahead of you if you saw him just before
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  your train left. But it was only six last night when I saw him,
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  and my train did not leave until nearly midnight. There's been a wreck
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  somewhere and the trains were all held up. It never occurred to me that
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  he was not in the car. She broke off again, staring at me.
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  My name is York Desmond, I said, trying to make matters smooth.
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  To my dismay, I saw her eyes widen again with that same startled
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  expression. I could have sworn that she had heard my name before I met
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  mister Balliol two days since, on business I bought a ranch from him,
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  in fact, and bought this car to boot. I'm on my way up
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  to the ranch now, If, as I presume you are en route to
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  San Francisco, I shall be very glad to place the car at your disposal.
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  She looked away from me, looked at the horizon with a fixed,
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  despairing gaze. My dismay became acute when I perceived that she was going to
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  cry, and she did. Oh, she flung up her hands to her
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  face suddenly. Oh, and to think that it took place last night,
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  right afterward, and now it's too late. A spasm of sobbing shook her
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  body. Not knowing what else to do, and feeling that I had been
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  a blundering ass, I went for a walk and let her cry it out.
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  All my married friends tell me that crying it out is the only solution.
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  As I paced down the road side, I found myself extremely puzzled,
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  even suspicious. She admitted to me that she had seen Baliol the previous evening,
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  But first, when she had not been on guard at all, she
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  had cried out, they killed Jack after all. Upon hearing that Balliol was
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  dead, she had immediately taken for granted that they had killed him. Things
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  looked rather badly. The initials on her suit case, which I had seen,
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  were M J B. Was she a Balliol? No. She had
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  said that she was a friend, and had distinctly said friend, not relative,
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  and she had been lying about it somehow. A minute later she had
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  lied when she told of seeing Balliol the previous night, for her train had
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  not been late. It had left Los Angeles, a little before midnight,
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  on regular schedule, regular as clockwork, had said the garage man. As
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  the train had passed us, I remembered that incident. Now, this girl
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  must have known Balliol pretty well. She had seen him last night, and
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  he had gone from her to his suicide, and by heaven, she knew
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  it. She was lying well. This conclusion gave me quite a jolt to
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  be frank. That girl did not look like an ordinary liar, and she
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  did not lie with practiced ease. Why should she deliberately set out to deceive
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  me? I could not see any light whatever, and the mysterious they whom
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  she took to be Balliol's murderers. The whole affair was strictly none of my
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  business. As I walked back to the car, I took out my pipe
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  and filled it. This girl was in trouble in My best course was to
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  mind my own affairs and ask no questions. When I had regained the car,
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  I found that the girl had composed herself and was now staring at the
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  horizon again, a poor, crumpled bit of exquisite femininity. I removed my
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  cap and addressed her, Madam. It seems that there has been a mistake
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  somewhere. Please consider me at your service in any way possible. If you
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  want to get to Frisco, we can reach there to night. I believe
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  Bergaze came to me for a moment, and she drew a deep breath.
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  Thank you, mister Desmond, she said quietly, but she did not give
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  me her name. Jack told me of selling his ranch to you, but
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  did not mention the car. That was how my mistake came to be made.
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  Her lips quivered and she looked down. Then she forced herself and to
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  calm again. If if it would not be asking too much, will you
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  take me on to San Francisco with you? She pursued. I'm very sorry,
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  indeed, to have made this terrible blunder. It will be entirely my
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  pleasure, madam, I returned rather pointedly, But she did not take the
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  hint, and obviously intended to keep her identity to herself. So I got
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  into the car, and as I did so, removed the paper from my
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  pocket. Here is the newspaper in question, I added, handing it to
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  her. She took it in silence and leaned back again. I started the
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  car and we went on for the remainder of the afternoon. The two of
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  us exchanged scarcely a word once or twice. I attempted to divert her thoughts
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  by comments upon the road or the country, but she discouraged my efforts quite
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  visibly. I was too occupied with the road, which again alternated good with
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  bad, to let my mind dwell upon the mystery of the girl. We
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  made time, however, I took the chance of speed cops and let out
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  the arragon on the good stretches. To my satisfaction, we got into Salinas
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  a trifle before seven o'clock, with fine boulevard all the rest of the way
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  to San Francisco. We have about a hundred and twenty miles ahead, I
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  remarked to my companion as we rolled into Salinas, we'd better get a bit
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  to eat here, for we can't make Frisco before ten or eleven o'clock.
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  I imagine you had no luncheon, I added, hastily, seeing a refusal
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  in her eye, So I must really insist that you eat something. She
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  had been crying again, but assented composedly to my request. We located a
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  Greek restaurant and went in together. After a cup of execrable coffee and some
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  alleged food. We felt better now for the last lap, I said cheerfully,
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  as we came out again to the car. I haven't much faith in
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  the speed cot myth, so we'll let her out while the going's good.
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  I'll set yes, thank you, she responded, settling herself in the rear.
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  We started north, and the Paragon flitted along like a bat out of
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  purgatory. She was a sweep boat for speed. When it got gloomy,
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  I threw on the head lights in the big spotlight which formed a part of
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  her equipment, and we zoomed past the California landscape in the finest fashion imaginable.
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  These vast stretches of country were entirely different from the driving around New York,
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  and I liked to change immensely. It was intoxicating. Then we came
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  to the extra territorial suburbs of San Francisco, after getting through San Jose and
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  Palo Alto and safely past the military camp. I am not at all certain
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  where the spot was, but I know the Paragon was hitting a pretty good
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  clip when into the zone of light beside and ahead of us flashed a man
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  on a motorcycle. He passed us like a flicker. Then he slowed down
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  and extended his hand. Good night, I remarked with sinking heart. There
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  was a basis for the myth, after all. When we were halted,
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  the motorcycle planted itself at my elbow, and the officer took out his pencil
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  and pad. Know how fast you were going, he inquired, Ah,
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  I am afraid to guess, I said, meekly, your words, good
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  officer, I made at fifty eight. He observed, Also, there's a
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  head light law in this state, and you've got a blaze of lights there
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  that would blind a shooting star, and your tail light is on the bum.
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  That's three counts. You seem to be sober, Thank heaven, I
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  am. I returned anything else. He grinned and took down more information about
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  me than would have filled a passport. Then he gave me a slip and
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  told me to report to a certain San Francisco judge at ten in the morning.
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  Isn't there any way out of the delay, I queried, I'm trying
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  to get north in a hurry, so I judged. He retorted, too
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  much of a hurry. Well, I must say, you've took it like
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  a gent Tell you what, run along with me and we'll drop in on
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  a justice of the peace. This is a first offense, so you can
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  give bail and forget it. See. Of course we're not supposed to give
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  this info. But but you're a gentleman, I added, and I'll make
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  it right with you. If you can fix that tail light of mine i'd
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  appreciated. Jolt it out of contact, I guess, he said a moment
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  later, go ahead. Half an hour later we were once more on our
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  way, with full instructions as to the proper rate of speed, and I
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  was minus fifty five iron men, and luckily to get off that cheaply.
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  But the whole thing had delayed us so that it was hard on midnight.
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  When we saw the gay white way of van Ness Avenue off to our left,
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  I halted the car and turned around asleep. Comrade, No, Well,
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  if you'll be good enough to give me orders, I'll take you wherever
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  you're going. M J. B. Gave me the name of a hotel
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  on Sutter Street, where she was known favorably, it seemed, and instructed
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  me to drive up van Ness. She appeared quite at home in the city,
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  I followed her instructions, and ten minutes later drew up beside the doorway
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  of a quiet family hotel. I helped her out of the car with her
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  suit case, but she refused to let me take it inside for her.
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  She held out her hand. Thank you, mister Desmond, for your kindness,
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  she said earnestly, and I've been trying to think over what's right to
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  do. Would you take some very serious advice from me. I'd take anything
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  from you, I said, small shoot, I am not joking, mister
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  Desmond. She made grave response. Please please do not go on to the
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  ranch. I can't give you any reasons, but I mean it deeply.
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  For your own's sake, do not go on to that ranch. Not until
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  the end of the month, at least. Good bye. She picked up
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  her suit case and was gone, leaving me staring after her. End of
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  chapter three,