Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

Duncan, raising his voice, said, “I’m an attorney. I think I can be of some help to you in this. I have some very valuable information.”

“Who’s the dead man?” Holcomb asked.

“He’s Phil Rease, a halfbrother of Peter Kent,” Maddox answered.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Frank B. Maddox. I’m Mr. Kent’s business partner, the President of the Maddox Manufacturing Company of Chicago.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Straightening out some business matters with Mr. Kent, and this is Mr. Duncan, my attorney.”

“You’re the one Mason was dealing with?” Holcomb asked.

“Mr. Mason,” Duncan observed pompously, “represented Mr. Kent. He was here last night, and he spent the night in this house. He had a doctor with him. Dr. Kelton, I believe the name was.”

Holcomb turned to Mason, asked, “Where’s Kelton?”

“He had some important cases. He couldn’t wait. Naturally, you can locate him at any time you desire.”

Maddox volunteered a statement. “This man, Mason,” he said, “Dr. Kelton, and Miss Hammer knew that some one had been murdered. They didn’t know who it was. They were prowling around looking us over this morning. They thought I was the one that had the knife stuck in me.”

“How did you know someone was murdered, Mason?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.

Mason’s eyes widened. “I didn’t.”

The door opened, and Arthur Coulter, the butler, showed a dapper young man, with eye glasses from which dangled a long, black ribbon, into the room. “Here’s Sam Blaine,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “He’ll take charge of things.”

Blaine, freshly shaven, his tan shoes glittering, his white linen gleaming, smiled inclusively, and said, “Just a minute while I get posted.” He led Sergeant Holcomb off to a corner where the two conversed for several moments in low tones. When they had finished, Blaine returned, drew up a chair at the head of the table, opened his brief case, produced a notebook and said, “Did any of you hear anything suspicious during the night?”

Duncan cleared his throat importantly. “I’d like to make a statement,” he said, “I think I can tell you exactly what happened.”

“Who are you?” Blaine asked.

“John J. Duncan, a lawyer.”

“Go ahead,” Blaine invited.

“Shortly after midnight last night I was wakened by someone walking past the French windows. It was moonlight. The shadow fell across me. I am a very light sleeper. I think the person was barefooted.”

“What did you do?”

“I had a glimpse of this person walking past my room. There’s a cement porch in front of the French windows. I jumped to my feet and ran to the windows. It was full moon. I saw someone sleepwalking.”

“How do you know this person was sleepwalking?” Blaine asked.

“From the manner in which the person was attired, and the peculiar walk. The figure wore a nightgown. The head was thrown back. I knew instantly it was a sleepwalker.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“Er—Er—well, you see, it was moonlight and…”

“Never mind answering that question now,” Blaine said hastily, “what did this person do?”

“Walked across the patio, fumbled around with one of the coffee tables for a minute and raised the lid. Then the figure disappeared through a door in the north side of the patio—a door which enters a corridor.”

“You saw this?”

“Very clearly.”

“How do you fix the time?”

“By the clock which was by my bed.”

“What time was it?”

“Quarter after twelve o’clock. I couldn’t get back to sleep for a long time.”

Blaine asked Edna, “Are you Miss Edna Hammer?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know about this?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you see anyone enter your room last night?”

“No.”

“Was your door locked or unlocked?”

“Locked. I’m nervous at night. Almost a month ago I had a new spring lock put on my bedroom door. I have the only key to it.”

“Did you know someone had been murdered this morning?”

“Certainly not.”

“Did you leave your room last night?”

She hesitated and said, “Where I was last night doesn’t have any bearing on the matter.”

Blaine asked, “Where is Peter Kent?”

“Ask Perry Mason,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “he seems to know.”

Mason said, “My client, Mr. Kent, is absent on a business matter which has nothing whatever to do with the present situation.”

“When did he leave?”

“I can’t answer that question without betraying the confidence of a client.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“I think I can promise that he’ll return either late tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

“Where is he now? This is a serious business, Mason. Don’t try to stall. We want to question your client.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

“Look here,” Blaine threatened, “if you don’t dig up your client now, we’re going to find out where he is and drag him in.”

“Go ahead,” Mason remarked, “drag him in.”

“Who knows where he is?” Blaine asked.

For a moment there was silence, then Maddox said, “I happen to know that Mr. Jerry Harris, Miss Edna Hammer, and Miss Helen Warrington, Mr. Kent’s secretary, all left last night upon a mysterious errand. I think they went to Santa Barbara. There’s a chance Mr. Kent went with them.”

“ Santa Barbara, eh? What are they doing in Santa Barbara?” Blaine asked.

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

Blaine turned to Sergeant Holcomb, said in a low voice, “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere this way. We’d better talk with these people one at a time and we’ll want the servants as well. Will you please have everyone leave the room but remain available for questioning?”

Sergeant Holcomb nodded importantly. “The patio,” he announced, “is the proper place. You folks all go out in the patio and don’t start talking among yourselves… Hadn’t we better finish with Perry Mason and keep him away from the rest? He’s representing Kent. We might find out a lot more if we get through with Mason first.”

Blaine said, “Good idea. What do you know about this, Mason?”

Mason waited until the shuffling confusion of moving feet had ceased, then said, “I was negotiating an agreement between Kent and Maddox. For certain reasons, which I won’t bother to discuss at present, it became advisable to postpone the negotiations. I remained here last night. I slept in a room in the upper floor with Dr. Kelton. This morning Peter Kent left on a business trip. I may say that that trip was taken at my suggestion. I have no intention of disclosing his destination. After he left, Miss Hammer called my attention to the fact that the carving knife was missing from the sideboard. I happened to know that Peter Kent had previously walked in his sleep. I believe it is a matter of record that he picked up a carving knife on that occasion.”

“Where’s the record?” Blaine interrupted.

“In a divorce case filed against him by his wife, Doris Sully Kent.”

“Where?”

“In Santa Barbara.”

“Go on. What did you do?”

“I went with Miss Hammer to Mr. Kent’s bedroom. I raised the pillow on his bed and found the knife under his pillow.”

“Under his pillow!” Blaine exclaimed.

Mason nodded coolly. “The knife was, and is now, under the pillow of Peter Kent’s bed. I didn’t touch it. But as soon as I saw it, I suspected what had happened. Therefore, I aroused Dr. Kelton, and, in company with Miss Hammer, we made a round of the guests. We found Mr. Rease lying in bed, the covers up around his neck. Apparently he had been stabbed through the covers. I didn’t make a close investigation. As soon as I found the body I left the room and telephoned police headquarters.”