“Ah sure am.”
“Haycox, Ernest Haycox,Eugene Daily Guard. At least, I’m not a regular reporter—I’m a student at the university—but I happened to be talking to Mr. Fisher when some guy out at the airfield called in that you’d just flown into town. Mr. Fisher said would I like to interview you. Would that be O.K., ma’am?”
“Sure thing, but first we have to find a place to stay, me and my friends. This here’s the Honourable Mrs. Fletcher,and this gentleman’s Sir Roland Amboyne, the British War ace. And Mr. Fletcher’s out at the airfield consulting with your police chief. He’s a Detective Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard.”
“Whew!” Haycox whistled. “There’s gotta be a big story here. Say, ma’am, sir, can I interview you, too? And Mr. Fletcher? But aren’t you staying here at the Osburn … ? Oh, no, don’t tell me. You just wait, I’ll fix things. Come on in and sit in the lobby while I get to a phone.”
Daisy sank onto a sofa by a roaring fire, doubting that she’d ever be able to get up again. Bessie sat beside her, tensely upright, while Dipper leant against the mantelpiece, taking out his pipe. Haycox went over to the reception desk.
They couldn’t hear what he said, but he persuaded the clerk to lend him the telephone. He spoke for a few minutes, then came over to them, grinning.
“It’s all fixed,” he announced. “Mr. Fisher, the owner of theGuard, will be happy to host you, Mrs. Fletcher, and your husband, of course. And Mr. Earl Simmons, our local aviator and owner of E. C. Simmons Motor Company, would be thrilled to death to have you stay, Miss Coleman, and you, sir. They’re both motoring over to fetch you.”
Daisy did not think Alec would be thrilled to be staying with a newspaperman, but she was beyond caring. When the desk clerk came over to say he had consulted Mr. and Mrs. Osburn and there were rooms free after all, she was almost tempted just to stay put. The man had obviously overheard Haycox crying them up on the phone. But to accept would be to let down Bessie, and to disappoint Mr. Fisher, who was expecting to put up a Scotland Yard detective.
Mrs. Fisher took the unexpected guest in her stride and asked for no explanations. While her husband drove off to the airfield to find out what was going on and to bring back Alec, she lent Daisy a nightdress and dressing gown. It was utter bliss to get out of the flying suit and Jake’s trousers, and into a hot bath.
Food completed the transformation: Daisy was beginning to feel almost human again when Mr. Fisher returned with Alec. He had apparently been told enough to satisfy him for the present, for he let Alec eat in peace.
Daisy didn’t like to ask Alec what plans had been made for her to identify Pitt—always supposing he actually landed in Eugene—in case she let slip something Mr. Fisher had not been told. Her thoughts turned to Miss Genevieve, ex-crime reporter, who must be dying to know what was going on, might even be worrying. After all, Daisy, Alec and Lambert had dashed off without a word of farewell.
Lambert might have sent her a telegram, as Daisy requested, but he was not to be relied upon. Moreover, if hehadsent one, it would have worried the Cabot sisters still more to know Daisy had embarked on a perilous cross-country aeroplane flight.
“Mrs. Fisher, would you mind awfully if I sent a telegram? Just a short one, to reassure a friend. If Alec hasn’t enough money to pay for it, I’m sure Sir Roland will.”
“Pay for it?” cried Mr. Fisher. “Nonsense! It’s a business expense. Make it as long as you like.”
So to the brief message that she had arrived safely in Eugene, Oregon, Daisy added a request to notify Mr. Thorwald—and Kevin, she tacked on as an afterthought. She did not want the Misses Cabot roused in the night, soshe told the Western Union clerk to deliver the telegram in the morning.
By the time they read it, Pitt might have landed. Or he might not. Daisy was too sleepy to care.
Having gone to bed early, Daisy woke early the next morning. It was still dark outside, but the luminous hands of her wrist-watch told her it was after six o’clock. She slipped out of her bed and tiptoed across the rag rug to squeeze into Alec’s bed with him.
It wasn’t nearly as tight a fit as the bunk they had shared crossing the Atlantic. Plenty of room for what she had in mind.
Daylight was seeping through the curtains an hour or so later, when they heard domestic noises from below. “That sounds like breakfast preparations,” said Daisy. “I’m starving. Gosh, I hate to get back into Jake’s trousers.”
“Mrs. Fisher seems to possess the imperturbability necessary to a newspaperman’s wife—or a policeman’s. I don’t suppose she’d mind you going down in that dressing gown she lent you. I’ll pop out as soon as the shops are open and see if I can find a frock for you. Judkins will just have to wait.”
Daisy kissed him, so it was a few minutes before she got up. She found Mr. Fisher at the breakfast table, studying the competingMorning Register.
“They haven’t even a mention of your arrival,” he said with satisfaction. “Good morning, Mrs. Fletcher.”
“Good morning. I hope you don’t mind this.” She indicated her dishabille, just as his wife came through from the kitchen.
“That’s just fine, honey,” said Mrs. Fisher. “I ran you upa dress last night on my sewing machine. You can try it on after breakfast. Ingrid’s making waffles.”
“Spiffing!” Daisy assured her. “It’s awfully kind of you to make me a frock. I can’t tell you …”
“A cable came for you,” Mr. Fisher interrupted, flipping through a heap of letters beside his plate and fishing out a yellow Western Union envelope.
“Heavens! Who on earth …? Oh, it must be from Miss Genevieve. I’d forgotten the time difference. She’s the only person who knows where I am.”
Mr. Fisher handed her a paper knife. He didn’t resume his perusal of his competitor’s newspaper but watched as she slit the envelope, no doubt hoping for something newsworthy. Alec came in as she unfolded the form.
“A cable from Miss Genevieve, darling. Shewasfeeling extravagant. It’s miles long.” Daisy started to read. “Ohno! How too, too dreadful! Gilligan’s arrested Barton Bender for murder, and Mrs. Carmody as an accessory. So it wasn’t Pitt, after all.” Despairingly she gazed at Alec over the telegram. She had hounded an innocent man into committing a crime!
“Great Scott!” Frowning, Alec leant across the table and twitched the telegram from her fingers. He read, then looked up at her with a wry grin. “Buck up, my love. You didn’t read far enough. Gilligan’s arrested that precious pair, yes, but Agent Whitaker has arrested Lambert.”
