Thirty-Eight

I took a cab. It was an extravagance, but I was still shaky on my feet from the experience of the night before, and I was anxious to bring the suspense to an end. I had a pretty good idea who was behind it all now, but I had to prove my suspicions were true. I couldn’t think or plan for anything else until I did that. I knew Stephen wouldn’t approve, but I told myself I wasn’t going to the studios, at least not yet, so I wasn’t strictly going against his wishes. And I was confident there would be no wild animals allowed at the Bedford Hotel.

It was a comparatively staid older building in the Lincoln Park neighborhood. A bellman helped me climb down from the cab and I looked around before I entered the lobby, to be sure Detective Whitbread was not in sight. I suddenly realized that I only knew Babe had rooms on the floor below Alonzo Swift, but I didn’t know the floor or the number. As I stood deciding how to get the information I needed, I thought I saw one of Whitbread’s men enter. I took two steps back and put a pillar between us. He wasn’t in uniform and disappeared toward the registration desk, which made me think I was mistaken. I was just scolding myself for such a display of nerves when I saw the tall figure of Whitbread himself stride across to the elevator. He was followed by Fitz, Col. Selig, and two uniformed officers.

I ducked back until they were safely in the elevator car, then darted out to watch the metal half-moon indicating the floors. It stopped on the fifth floor. I hurried away, looking for the stairs, and quickly found the door I wanted. As I climbed, I realized why I’d arrived before them. They must have gone to collect Col. Selig first. Why had they brought him? Had Fitz insisted? Was he still trying to protect the filmmaker on behalf of the mayor? Oh, Fitz, how could you? And why would Whitbread agree? What if, as I suspected, Selig was behind it all? And I’d become convinced that Babe herself might be another victim of the blackmailer. How could she tell them anything, when he was standing right there?

And I couldn’t figure out if Mr. Hyde had been a blackmailer or if he’d been being blackmailed himself. Surely, he must have recognized his lost wife in the films during his screenings. If he did, had he still loved Babe enough to keep her secret? Perhaps, unlike Kathlyn Williams’s husband, he was willing to sacrifice his love for her so she could have the acting career she wanted so badly. Had someone else threatened to divulge her secret?

On the other hand, perhaps Hyde had blackmailed her, threatening to reveal her past and forcing her to return to him. That would certainly cause problems for her career.

There was also the possibility that Hyde’s death had no connection to his marriage to Babe. If he’d been working for Edison to destroy Selig, as I suspected, that was another motive to blackmail him…or kill him.

I was hoping that Babe would be able to fill in the gaps and shed more light on Mr. Hyde’s background. When I reached the fifth floor, I hid in the stairwell with the door partially open, watching for Whitbread and the others to come out so I could see which door was Babe’s. I needed to stay hidden from the detective and Fitz. I only hoped they wouldn’t take Babe Greer away with them. If they did, I’d have to find another way to get the truth. I knew Stephen didn’t want me to return to the studios, but there had to be something in Selig’s office that could help me expose him. I’d have to be quick. I was sure Fitz would come to see me in Hyde Park, as he’d promised, after the interview. When he found I wasn’t there, the alarm would be raised.

I’d almost decided to give up on Babe, and to try reaching the studios before Col. Selig, when I heard the men leave. I peeked and saw it was a door halfway down the corridor. I watched Whitbread stomping toward the elevator before I shut the door tight and prayed no one had seen me. Finally, after waiting nervously, I looked out and they were gone. I hurried down to the room they’d left and knocked on the door.

“Mrs. Chapman, how are you? Come in, sit down. Are you sure you’re recovered enough to be out?”

Babe’s rooms had high ceilings and ivory-painted woodwork. There were French doors, open to a little balcony with black iron railings, along the far wall. A huge mirror in a gilt frame hung over a low fireplace. I sat on a pastel flowered armchair, across from a white silk loveseat where she sat.

She wore a high-necked gauzy white shirtwaist over a taffeta skirt in black and white checks that rustled when she moved. The large diamond engagement ring from Alonzo Swift was on her left hand and she wore tiny earrings to match. Her auburn hair was twisted up with a black velvet ribbon that left ringlets falling softly around her face.

“I’m fine,” I said. “But my brother’s still not been released.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I told Detective Whitbread it was just mean gossip, that there wasn’t a word of truth in the story going around. I think it was Olga who started it. She was telling people that Kathlyn had staged the attack in the leopards’ cage to help your brother. It was just nasty of her. I don’t trust that woman for a minute. You shouldn’t believe a thing she says and that’s what I told the detective.”

“I know. Mr. Fitzgibbons told me. Thank you. But there’s something else I must ask you about. I only do so because I believe Alden is innocent, but the police won’t drop the charges.” She frowned. I didn’t want to give her a chance to think, so I plunged ahead. “Babe, you were married to Mr. Hyde, weren’t you? In Indiana, before you came to the city.”

Her face crumpled and I thought she was going to cry. “Oh, you know, too. The police found a wedding portrait. They were just here.” She covered her face with her hands. “Oh, Mrs Chapman, I’m ruined.”

“No, Babe. I know about the photograph…I saw it at Mrs. Busse’s house and I recognized you. But I could see you were very young. You ran away, didn’t you?”

She continued to hide her face in her hands. “I met a man,” she said. “I was so foolish. When he left me, I couldn’t go back. I couldn’t face the gossips in that town. They’d never let me forget it…or George, either. I came to the city to start a new life. I changed my name.” She let her hands fall away and sniffed. “It was so wonderful when I got to act in the pictures. I was so happy. I thought I’d left all that behind me.”

“But then Mr. Hyde saw you in the films and he recognized you, didn’t he?”

“Oh, I was so shocked. He came to see me, but I made him swear he’d never tell anyone. He wanted me back. I told him no, it couldn’t happen. It was good of him to want to forgive me, but he knew we could never get over the disgrace. I asked him to let me keep being Babe Greer. He understood. He was such a gentleman. He deserved better than me. I told him that.” She dug in a pocket and found a handkerchief. “I told the detective, but I don’t know if he believed me.”

“But someone found out, didn’t they? When did he start to blackmail you, Babe?” I leaned forward. “Was it Col. Selig or Leeder? Tell me, Babe.” She wouldn’t have been able to admit it to Whitbread with Selig standing there, but I hoped I could get her to confide in me. She buried her face in the square of white linen to avoid answering. “I know he blackmailed other people, Babe. Kathlyn Williams got notes demanding money.”

Her blue eyes stared at me over the handkerchief. “Kathlyn told you?”

“Yes, and Detective Whitbread has the notes.”

Her mouth opened. Suddenly she stood up. “Notes,” she said. “Yes, there were notes. Let me show you.” She hurried to a bureau and pulled open a drawer. When she turned back to me she held a small pearl-handled revolver pointed at my heart.