Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

“What will I tell them?”

“Tell them that you don’t know where he is.”

“I’m going to tell them that I spent the night in Santa Barbara and came back on the bus.”

Mason squinted his eyes, and said, “I wouldn’t advise you to do it.”

“But I’m going to do it.”

“They’ll check up on you.”

“They won’t have any reason to check up on me. But what will you tell them about Uncle Pete?”

“I,” Mason said, “won’t tell them a damn thing.”

“Won’t they make trouble for you?”

“They may try to.”

“When will they question me?”

He looked at his watch again. “Almost any minute now. They’re examining the room and the body. Duncan’s bursting with a desire to spill some information. I don’t know what it is. Probably it’s something that’s only about half as important as he thinks it is. Both he and Maddox hate your Uncle Pete and they hate me. We can’t tell just exactly what they’ll do nor how far that hatred will take them.”

“They wouldn’t commit perjury, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past either one of them. Maddox is a crook. I think Duncan is a pettifogger. They were both trying to shake your uncle down. I stood in the way of that and naturally they resent it.”

“But what can they do?”

“I don’t know. That remains to be seen. In the meantime I want to put in a telephone call. You hold the fort.”

“Okay. But remember I came here in a taxicab after spending the night in Santa Barbara.”

“Don’t tell them where you spent the night,” he warned. “Refuse to do that until after you’ve consulted me.

“Will that make trouble?” she asked.

“Plenty,” he told her, “but anything you can do is going to make trouble. Tell them that where you spent the night doesn’t have the faintest bearing on the murder case but does concern your uncle’s business affairs. But remember this, sooner or later they’re going to put you under oath and then you’ve got to tell the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll prosecute you for perjury if you don’t.”

“Oh, dear… I’m not going to tell them anything.”

“All right,” he said cheerfully, “don’t tell them anything.”

“But you won’t give me away?”

“Listen,” he said, “any information that they get out of me you can put in your eye. I’m going to telephone.” He went to the soundproof telephone closet and called Della Street. “Della,” he said, when he heard her voice on the line, “something’s happened out here. Get Paul Drake to pick up a couple of good men and come out. They probably won’t let him in, but he can hang around and find out as much as he can. Have you heard anything from Santa Barbara?”

“Yes. Jackson telephoned just a few minutes ago. He said he and Mr. Harris took turns watching Doris Kent’s house all night; and she didn’t go out anywhere, but Jackson has something he wants to tell you personally. He says he doesn’t want to tell it over the telephone.”

“Why not?”

“He said that it was filled with dynamite.”

“Who’s watching the house now?”

“I think Mr. Harris is. Jackson said that he kept on duty until some time before midnight, when Harris relieved him, and that Harris wants to be relieved.”

“Tell you what you do, Della. I think Drake’s agency has a man up in Santa Barbara. Tell Paul to get some photographs of Mrs. Kent, and a good description of her. Then he can contact Harris and take over the job of watching. I want to know when she leaves the house, and, if possible, where she goes. Tell Jackson to get that final decree just as quickly as he can. Tell him to keep you advised by telephone. I’ll get the information from you. Have you got that straight?”

“Yes,” she said. “What happened out there?”

“A carving knife got stained,” he said.

There was a moment of silence during which only the sound of the buzzing wires came to his ears. Then she said, “I see.”

“Good girl,” Mason told her, and slipped the receiver back on the hook. He left the closet and found Edna Hammer in the hallway.

“Everything okay?” she asked. He nodded. “You’re fixing things so Uncle Peter can get married?” she asked.

“I want to do the best I can for my client,” he told her.

The eyes which regarded him were filled with shrewd appraisal. “You’re a clever lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Meaning what?” he asked.

“Meaning,” she said, “that I happen to know it’s the law of this state that a wife can’t testify against her husband. If Uncle Pete and Lucille Mays are married, then she couldn’t testify to anything against him, could she?”

Perry Mason raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what she could testify to… Here comes Sergeant Holcomb now.”

“Tell me,” she said, grasping Perry Mason’s wrist with cold fingers, “are you going to stand by Uncle Pete?”

“I always stand by a client.”

“How far?”

“If,” he said, “your Uncle Pete committed a coldblooded, deliberate murder, I’m going to tell him to plead guilty or get some other lawyer. If he killed a man while he was sleepwalking I’m going to go the limit for him. Does that satisfy you?”

“But suppose he did commit a coldblooded, deliberate murder, as you call it?”

“Then he can either plead guilty or get some other attorney to represent him.”

“Who’s going to decide whether he committed a coldblooded murder?”

“I am.”

“But you’re not going to decide hastily. You won’t jump at conclusions? Promise me you won’t.”

“I never do,” he said grinning. “Good morning, Sergeant Holcomb.”

Sergeant Holcomb, who had been striding down the corridor toward them, looked from Perry Mason to Edna Hammer. His eyes were glittering with suspicion. “It looks very much,” he said, “as though you’re instructing this young woman what to say.”

“So often appearances are deceptive, Sergeant,” Perry Mason said suavely. “Miss Hammer, permit me to present Sergeant Holcomb.”

The sergeant paid not the slightest attention to the introduction. “How does it happen you’re here?” he asked Perry Mason.

“I’m negotiating an agreement between a chap by the name of Maddox, and Mr. Peter Kent.”

“And where’s Peter Kent?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It would be betraying the confidence of a client.”

“Bosh and nonsense!”

Mason bowed and said, “That’s the way you feel about it, Sergeant. I feel that it would be betraying a professional confidence. That means, of course, it’s merely another one of those differences of opinion we have so frequently.”

“And after you’ve said that,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “then what?”

“After that, I’m quite finished.”

“I still don’t know where Kent is.”

“Doubtless,” Mason said, “there are other sources of information available to you.”

Holcomb swung to Edna Hammer, “You’re his niece?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your uncle now?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

Holcomb’s face darkened with rage. “I’ve sent for Sam Blaine, the deputy district attorney. You two come into the living room.” Sergeant Holcomb turned on his heel and strode down the long corridor toward the living room.

“You,” Perry Mason told Edna Hammer, “had better tell them the truth.”

“I can’t.”

He shrugged his shoulder, placed his hand under her elbow, walked down to the living room with her. They found the others assembled, a solemn, hushed group. Sergeant Holcomb looked at his watch, said, “Sam Blaine, the deputy district attorney, should be here any minute. I want to ask a few questions. Who’s the dead man?”