Erle Gardner: Turn on the Heat

I was all alone in the cabin. I looked at the boarded windows and tried the door, expecting to find it locked. It wasn’t. Cool mountain air, filled with the tang of pine, struck my nostrils. Something black was out in front of the door. I brought out the candle and saw it was the agency car.

A mountain stream was making noises, apparently close to the cabin. I did a little exploring with the candle, and found a trail which led to the water. I wet my handkerchief in the ice-cold water and put it on my forehead, on my eyes, and then on the back of my neck. A gust of wind blew the candle out. I sat there in the dark letting the cold water do its stuff.

After a while I groped with cold, wet fingers for my matches, and lit the candle at the second try. I went back to the cabin. I didn’t have the faintest idea where I was.

I blew out the candle, closed the cabin door, and got in the agency car. The keys were in the ignition. I switched on the motor. The tank was half full of gas. The headlights showed a rugged mountain road leading from the cabin. I put the car into gear and found a paved highway within a quarter of a mile. I didn’t know directions, but I turned the car on the down grade, figuring I wanted to get towards the valley.

Bertha Cool pushed aside the Monday-morning accumulation of mail, lit a cigarette, looked across the desk at me, and said, “For Pete’s sake, Donald! You’ve been fighting again!”

I sat down in the chair across from the desk. “It wasn’t a fight.”

“What was it?”

“I was escorted out of town.”

“Who did the escorting?”

“From the way he acted, I would say he was a member of the local constabulary, but his tactics were a little too sophisticated for Oakview. I don’t think he was local. He must have had a friend who followed along behind in another car, or else he had one staked out for a get-away car. He left the agency heap. He even bought gas for it.”

“What makes you think he was a cop?”

“He looked like it, he talked like it, and he acted like it.”

She beamed at me, and said, “Donald, you do have the damnedest times.”

“Don’t I,” I said.

“Did you go back?”

“No. I didn’t go back.”

Her eyes hardened. “Why not?”

“The climate,” I said, “isn’t so hot. They have malaria. There are mosquitoes.”

She said, “Nuts.”

“And,” I said, “I think we can do more at this end than we can at that.”

“How so?”

“Two people have been there ahead of me. They wanted the same thing I did. I figured they took away more than they left.”

“Then why did they want you out of town?”

I said, “I’ll bite.”

Bertha Cool studied me through a blue haze of cigarette smoke. She said, “That’s funny as hell, Donald.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Now, don’t get sore, lover. You know it’s all in a day’s work. It’s what you get for being a little runt. People figure it’s easy to push you around. Who was this guy?”

“I don’t know. He was sitting in the hotel room when I came up, right after I’d sent you that wire. I started to go back to Oakview, and then figured I had a lead I could follow to better advantage at this end.”

She said, “Tell me about the lead.”

I took out my notebook and gave her a summary of the information.

Bertha Cool said, “It’s a bum steer on Mrs. Lintig. She never did sail through the Canal — not in 1919, nor the early part of 1920 — not under her own name anyway, and if she used an assumed name, we’re licked. It’s too far back to trace anyone by a description, and we can’t pay twenty-five bucks for information. They pay us for getting that, and we keep the dough for salaries, office expense, and profit. Don’t ever waste words in a wire asking a question like that again.”

“It was a night letter,” I said. “I had fifty words coming. It didn’t cost you anything extra.”

She said, “I know. I counted the words to make sure — but don’t do it again. Who gave you this information?”

“A girl. I don’t feel so generous towards her now. The guy who ran me out of town might have been Charlie.”

“Who’s Charlie?”

“I don’t know. It’s a nickname. What did you find out about the trunk?”

“An Evaline D. Harris made a claim for seventy-five dollars’ damage to a trunk and wearing apparel.”

“What happened to the claim?”

“Still in process of adjustment. The railroad company caved in one end of the trunk. They claim the trunk was old and defective. They say the claim for damages is exorbitant.”

“Get Evaline Dell’s address?” I asked.

“Evaline Harris,” she said.

“They’re the same. She was there for about a week.”

“Yes, I have it. Let’s see. Where is it? Hell’s fire, I can’t ever find anything!” She picked up the telephone, and said to Elsie Brand, “Find the address of Evaline Harris. I gave it to you... Yes, I did... Oh... In my right-hand desk drawer, eh? Thanks.”

Bertha Cool opened her right-hand desk drawer, rummaged around among some papers, and brought on out a slip of paper. I copied the address into my notebook.

“Going to see her?” she asked.

I said, “Yes. Here’s another hunch. The state medical board may have been asked to transfer a licence from Dr. James C. Lintig to some other name.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Lintig was an eye, ear, nose, and throat specialist. He skipped out. His office nurse went with him. Figure it out. A man doesn’t throw away his right to practice his profession.”

“What makes you think he’d be practicing in this state?”

“Because he couldn’t go to any other state without accounting for the time he’d spent in this state. That would make for inquiries. He probably got a court order changing his name, sent a certified copy to the state medical board, and had his licence issued in a new name as a matter of routine. That would be dead simple.”

Bertha Cool looked at me, her frosty grey eyes twinkling approvingly. “Donald,” she said, “you’re a brainy little runt. It’s a good hunch.” After a minute, she went on: “Of course, our instructions were to concentrate on Mrs. Lintig.”

I said, “After we find Mrs. Lintig, no one will ever know how we found her. I need fifty bucks for expenses.”

She said, “You sure do go through money. Here. Try to make this last. You think he knows where she is?”

“Dr. Lintig,” I said, “gave her everything. He probably gave her a secret property settlement.” I counted the money and pocketed it.

“Well, what if he did?”

“If he was going to give her everything, he could have stayed right on in Oakview where he had a practice built up. A court couldn’t have stripped him any cleaner than he stripped himself. He wanted to go away. If there was a secret property settlement, he probably knows where she is now.”

Bertha Cool narrowed her eyes. “There’s something to that,” she admitted.

“Do you have Smith’s telephone number?”

“Yes.”

“Well, give him a ring and—” I broke off, and Bertha Cool said, “What is it, Donald?”

“Let’s not let Smith know just what we’re doing right now. We’ll find Mrs. Lintig in our own way. I can get in touch with Evaline Harris as a claim adjuster for the railroad company. I’ll pay her seventy-five dollars for damage to her trunk and take a receipt. Later on, I can come back and crab that I made the adjustment under false representations. It’ll give me an angle of approach.”

Bertha Cool’s eyes popped wide open. “My God, Donald,” she said. “Do you think this agency is made of money? We should go around adjusting the claims of the railroad company!