Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“Yes. Would you like her address?”

“If you don’t mind,” Mason said.

“It’s somewhere on Alewa Drive,” Marian Whiting told him. “I’m no good at remembering numbers. Just a minute and I’ll get her last letter.”

She left the room, and Drake said to Mason, “What is this, a run-around, Perry?”

Mason shook his head. “That girl’s on the square, Paul. I’m not so certain about the sister. The sister’s different from her-thicker lips, smoldering eyes, and hair of...” He broke off as Marian Whiting entered the room with some letters in her hand. “It’s 1091 Alewa Drive,” she said.

“Honolulu?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

Mason looked at the envelopes, laughed, and said, “I see you’re not a stamp collector.

“Oh, but I am.”

“You haven’t removed the Clipper stamps.”

“No,” she said, “I’m saving the envelopes. That gives me the complete postmark.”

Mason casually extended his hand, and she unhesitatingly passed over the envelopes. Mason looked at the stamps, studied the postmarks and said, “This one left Honolulu day before yesterday.”

“Yes,” she said, “I got it yesterday. It’s the last letter I’ve received from Sis.”

“Interesting handwriting,” Mason said. “It shows a lot of character.”

“Oh, do you read character from handwriting, Mr. Mason? I’m very much interested in it.”

“Yes,” Mason said, “it’s a hobby of mine. Of course, you can’t read character from just a few words, such as the address on the envelope, but if I had a page of handwriting, I’d be willing to bet I could tell you quite a good deal about your sister, what she looks like, where she’s been recently, what she’s been doing, and... oh, quite a lot of things about her.”

“Can you really? I think that’s wonderful. Mason took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and said, “I’d even be willing to bet you ten dollars against ten cents.”

Laughing, Marian Whiting took ten cents from her purse, placed it on the lawyer’s ten-dollar bill, and took the letter from the envelope. “There you are,” she told him.

Mason opened the letter.

“Now, wait a minute,” Marian Whiting said. “You can’t read it, because she says lots of things in there about what she’s been doing, things you were going to tell me from her writing.”

“Oh, certainly,” Mason conceded, “I merely want to glance at the handwriting. Here, I’ll let Mr. Drake hold the letter while I tell you. In the first place, your sister is younger than you are. She’s taller and has blonde hair. Her eyes are blue, with just a shade of green. Her lips are rather thin. She’s...”

Marian Whiting interrupted him to say, “You’d better take another look at that handwriting, Mr. Mason. You’re going to lose ten dollars.”

Mason frowned. “Why, I’d swear I was right.” He peered over Drake’s shoulder at the letter for a moment, then raised his eyes to Marian Whiting and said positively, “That letter was written by a tall, thin woman with a nervous temperament. Your sister may have the external appearance of a jolly good fellow, who lives a happy-go-lucky existence, but secretly she worries a lot. She’s quite a bit underweight. I hope the trip to the Islands does her good.”

“You’re wrong on that,” Marian Whiting said. “You haven’t described her at all. Now, what’s she been doing?”

“Well,” Mason said, “she’s been nursing someone.”

Marian Whiting perched herself on a corner of the table and said, “No cheating. You knew she was a nurse. That’s simple. Go on now, and tell me something else from the handwriting, something intimate. What’s she been doing over in Honolulu?”

“She’s been on a special case, a case involving a man who was injured, perhaps in an automobile accident, a man who has some sort of a harness around his shoulders and on his neck... Of course. Miss Whiting,” Mason added, laughing, “you understand I’m more or less of an amateur at this psychic business. I don’t see things too clearly”

“Well, you’re not seeing this clearly,” she said. “In fact, you’re not seeing it at all, Mr. Mason.”

“Hasn’t there been someone like that whom she’s been nursing?” Mason asked.

“No. She didn’t do any work on the Islands at all. This wasn’t a working trip.”

Mason’s expression indicated puzzled bewilderment. “Look here,” he charged, “you’re not trying to kid me out of ten bucks, are you?”

“Certainly not,” she said indignantly.

“Well,” Mason said, “either this isn’t your sister’s handwriting, or else...”

“Of course it’s my sister’s handwriting.

“It couldn’t be a forgery?”

“Why, Mr. Mason, who would want to forge my sister’s handwriting? Good heavens, no! That letter’s filled with little intimate details. I know absolutely it’s from Sis.”

“You share this apartment?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“And when do you expect her back?”

“She said she’d be back in about two weeks. If she could get the reservations she wanted, she might be back a boat sooner. She’s going to send me a cablegram as soon as she knows.”

“Well,” Mason said, “I guess you’re entitled to the ten dollars, although I still think... oh, well, never mind.”

Her face flushed. “You think I’m taking advantage of you? Here, take your ten dollars, I don’t want it.”

“No, no. It isn’t that,” Mason said hastily. “I just can’t understand how my deductions could be so completely wrong. Just what does your sister look like. Miss Whiting?”

“I’ll get you her picture,” Marian Whiting offered. “You can see for yourself.”

Mason glanced at Paul Drake. “Not a posed photograph, please. Something that will show her character and...”

“Certainly. Just a minute.”

She left them and went into the bedroom. “What does the letter say, Paul?” Mason asked in an undertone.

“All about the Islands, people she met, dances she’s attended, a luau , native feast, and how they ate with their fingers, and...”

“Never mind all that,” Mason said. “How about the intimate personal details?”

“She tells Marian she forgot to send her fall suit to the cleaners, to please have it cleaned and pressed, and there’s a spot on one sleeve which she’s to call to the attention of the cleaner. That she’d like to have her fur coat out of storage when she gets back, and... Wait a minute, Perry, she mentions her husband...”

Marian Whiting returned with a photograph album. She placed it on the table. Mason and the detective stood at her side as she turned the leaves. “Here’s Evelyn... There’s an old picture of Evelyn and Carl Moar. There’s another one of Evelyn. Here we are in bathing suits... Here we are...” Abruptly she laughed and turned the page. “I guess you hadn’t better see that one. Here we were on our vacation in shorts. Here’s Evelyn and a boyfriend. Here’s... Oh, wait a minute. I know... I have a dandy picture taken when Evelyn sailed.”

She turned over a dozen pages and showed them a mounted, eight-by-ten enlargement. “Here it is. I had the picture enlarged because it was such a good negative. You can see her up there at the rail. See, she’s holding on to the strips of colored paper...”

Mason said, “Pardon me,” picked up the photograph album and took the picture to the light so that he could study it carefully. “I’m something of a nut on photography myself,” he said, by way of explanation. “This is a fine piece of work. You must have a very good camera there. Miss Whiting.”

“I have,” she said. “It was given to me by an uncle who runs a camera store in the East. It takes a sharp negative, has an anastigmatic lens and a focal plane shutter...”