Erle Gardner - The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe

“I get you,” Drake said. “You want to check on everything. Is that right?”

“On everything,” Mason told him.

“Well, here we are,” Drake observed, driving the car into a parking station. “The bank’s across the street.”

They crossed the street, to enter the sumptuous marble interior of the bank, where a uniformed policeman paraded back and forth in slow dignity. Officers sat behind desks, dictating, making notations, holding conferences. Cashiers were busily engaged in accepting deposits and paying out checks. “Who’s our man?” Mason said.

“The white-haired bird over here on the left,” Drake told him.

Mason said, “He looks absolutely impregnable.”

Drake chuckled, “Remember the story about the banker’s glass eye, Perry. Come on, let’s go.”

They approached a breast-high marble railing on which appeared a brass plaque bearing the name, MR. MARQUAD. The white-haired man was listening with cold impassiveness to a man who sat on the opposite side of his desk. The visitor was leaning forward, sitting on the very edge of the chair, giving the impression of wanting to crawl up on the desk in order to get nearer to the banker. Finally, Mr. Marquad shook his head. The man engaged in a barrage of conversation. Again the banker shook his head and, with a gesture of finality, picked up some correspondence on his desk. Mason heard him say, “I’m sorry, but it’s absolutely impossible.”

As the man still lingered, Marquad said, “That, of course, is my judgment. I’ll take it up with our advisory board if you desire... Very well, I’ll make a note and submit it to them. You can drop in at ten-thirty tomorrow morning for your answer.”

He made a note on a pad, smiled a cold farewell at the departing visitor, and then got up to come to the partition and regard Mason and the detective with an expression of neutral greeting. Mason felt that the face could change instantly into patronizing courtesy or cold negation without seeming in the least inconsistent with that initial expression. Drake flashed a questioning glance at Mason. Mason nodded and said, “I’ll handle it, Paul.”

Mr. Marquad turned to Mason. Mason said, “I wonder if you read the morning paper, Mr. Marquad?”

“Just what did you have in mind?” Marquad asked. Mason slid his card over the counter. Marquad looked at it, and his face showed a flicker of expression. “Yes, Mr. Mason,” he said, “I’ve heard of you. What did you have reference to particularly?”

“The murder of Austin Cullens,” he said.

“Indeed!” Marquad remarked.

“I’m trying to check up on Cullens’ activities immediately preceding the murder,” Mason said. “There was a photograph and, in addition to the photograph, an excellent description. In case you haven’t read about it, Mr. Marquad, I’ll call your attention to the clipping.” Mason took a newspaper clipping from his pocket, unfolded it and handed it to the banker. Marquad glanced at it and nodded. “Please read the description,” Mason insisted.

The banker read the description and then said, “I’m sure I don’t know just what you’re getting at, Mr. Mason.”

“Did you know him?” Mason asked.

“No,” the banker said. “I don’t remember ever having seen him.”

Mason said, “Think back, Mr. Marquad. I think you saw him last night.”

“Last night?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think that?”

“My records,” Mason said, “show that Mr. Cullens went to The Golden Platter shortly before he was murdered.”

The banker stiffened and said, “The Golden Platter? To what do you refer, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said, “A restaurant and gambling joint on East Third Street.”

“I don’t think we carry their account,” Marquad observed haughtily.

Mason slightly squared his shoulders, pushed forward his jaw and said, “I’m not asking you about an account. I’m asking you if you weren’t at The Golden Platter last night.”

“Me?” the banker said, in indignant surprise. “At a resort of that nature? Surely, Mr. Mason...”

Mason glanced a sidelong interrogation at Paul Drake. The detective nodded. Mason said, “All right, Mr. Marquad, if you want it straight from the shoulder, I’ll dish it out. You were there with a cute little blonde trick.”

Marquad said with dignity, “Mr. Mason, I’m going to ask you to excuse me. This is indeed most insulting. There’s an officer on duty over there.”

Drake took a notebook from his pocket and said, “You left at eleven forty-five, Mr. Marquad. You drove the jane to her apartment at ninety-three sixty-two Phyllis Avenue. You parked the car and went up with her. She has apartment number nine hundred six under the name of Ruby Benjamin. You turned the lights on and pulled the shades down. At two forty-five A.M. you came out and...”

The banker looked around him in alarm, lowered his voice and said, “Hush! Please, gentlemen, hush!”

“All right,” Mason said, “what’s the answer?”

The banker moistened his lips with the tip of a nervous tongue. “What is this,” he asked, “blackmail?”

“No,” Mason said, “this isn’t blackmail. I’m trying to find out whether this man was at The Golden Platter some time around seven or eight o’clock in the evening. I think you would have seen him there. Now, think back and see what you can remember.”

“Do you mean to say that you want to call me as a witness to what occurred in that place?” Marquad asked.

Mason said, “If you give me the information I want, that’ll probably be all that’s necessary. If you don’t give me the information I want, I’m going to subpoena you, put you on the witness stand, prove that you were there, and ask you what you saw.”

“You can’t do that,” Marquad said.

Mason pulled a folded paper from his pocket and said, “The hell I can’t. I’ll subpoena you right now.”

Marquad made as though to push the paper back. “No, no, Mr. Mason,” he said. “Please, please. Can’t you understand? This place is open to the public.”

“All right,” Mason said, “did you see him there?”

Marquad shifted his eyes and said, “There was a little commotion at the club. I don’t remember exactly what time it was. I was having a mild stimulant at the bar. A gentleman who answers this description had been in the inner office. There was the sound of rather loud conversation. After a moment, the bartender picked up something from behind the bar and stepped through the door into the office, but there was no trouble when the gentleman came out.”

“Could you hear what was said?”

“No. I could hear the tone in the voices, however.”

“Was the meeting friendly or hostile?”

“Decidedly hostile.”

“What else did you see?”

“That’s all.”

“Were you there when we came in?” Mason asked. Marquad nodded. “How long were you there after that?”

“Nearly an hour, I guess. My — er — the young woman who was with me, was alternating between the bar and the gambling table. ·. Now, gentlemen, I certainly trust there won’t be any publicity about this.”

“Were you drinking?” Mason asked.

“Very sparingly. The bartender can vouch for that, Mr. Mason. I don’t think I had over three drinks during the entire evening.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What’s your contact with the place? How did you get in there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t ordinarily go around to gambling joints, do you?”

“No.”

“Were you paying cash for your drinks?”

“Well — er — I — er, that is, I was, in a sense, the guest of the Management. They’d asked me to drop in several times.”

“Bill Golding?” Mason asked.