Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“I see you’re something of an expert yourself,” Mason laughed.

She nodded. “I’m just crazy about it,” she said, “and this color photography gives me the biggest thrill of all.”

Mason said, “Yes, I bought a miniature camera over in China and snapped hundreds of colored pictures. Perhaps when your sister gets back you’ll be interested in seeing those I took in Honolulu and while I was on the ship coming over. By the way, who’s this young chap standing just back of your sister? He seems to be acquainted with her, and...”

Marian Whiting grabbed up the album, started to say something, and then checked herself and said, “Someone on the boat, I guess.”

“He seems to be taking quite an interest in your sister,” Mason said.

“Oh, Sis just slays ‘em when she gets on a boat, ” Marian Whiting said. “Why, I remember one time—”

“I notice his hand is on her shoulder,” Mason insisted.

Marian Whiting looked up and said, “I’m not supposed to tell you about this, Mr. Mason. I’d forgotten about him being in that photograph.”

“Of course,” Mason said, “I don’t want to pry into your sister’s private affairs. I take it this is some young man she’s friendly with?”

“He’s her husband.”

Mason remained silent.

“Sis was secretly married and went to Honolulu. She’s over there on her honeymoon. That’s Morgan Eves, her husband. She’s not ready to announce the marriage yet.”

“I see,” Mason said. “Then she’s still over in the Islands on her honeymoon?”

“Yes.”

“Her husband still with her?”

“Of course.”

“Looks like a nice chap,” Mason said. “I would size him up as a bond salesman.”

“Well, he isn’t,” Marian Whiting blazed. “And if you ask me, he isn’t any good.”

She checked herself abruptly.

Mason said, “Oh, surely, it can’t be that bad. He has rather a nice face.”

“Ever since he’s known Sis,” Marian went on passionately, “he’s been a bad influence in her life. I was certainly hoping she wouldn’t marry him.”

“What’s he do?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know. That’s the mysterious part of it. He has plenty of money and a prejudiced, warped, cynical outlook on life. I think he’s in some sort of a racket. I don’t trust him.”

“I take it your sister won’t be living with you when she gets back.”

“Yes, she’s going to — for at least a couple of months. They can’t publicly announce the marriage yet. It’s something about an interlocutory decree that isn’t final, or something. Sis has been rather mysterious about it all. He’s made such a change in her. My heavens! I’d have sworn she’d never get married again. She liked men and she liked to have a good time, but we, both of us, decided it was a lot better these days for a girl to have her independence and keep house by herself than to have some man ordering her around, making her work, and spending her money. Sis had one experience with marriage, and it was enough... Now you promise me you won’t say anything to the newspapers.”

“About your sister’s marriage?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t have told you that.”

Mason said, “Well, I’ll make a bargain with you. If you’ll let me have a picture of your sister, we’ll call it square.”

“Is there any particular one you’d like?” she asked.

“How about the one where she’s getting into the automobile?” Mason asked. “The one where she has her hand on the door. That’s a particularly good picture.”

“Yes, I think I have an extra print of that.”

She once more entered the bedroom. “That the girl all right?” Drake asked.

“That’s the girl,” Mason said.

Drake said, “The chap she married is a crook. He’s been in two or three scrapes. They had a murder charge against him in Los Angeles two or three months ago. Had a dead open-and-shut case, but he squirmed loose. I’d recognize that face anywhere. I saw him—”

Marian Whiting came back with the photograph. “I found it. It’s an extra print,” she said. “It really belongs to Sis, but I can have another one made for her.”

Mason said, “I’ll be glad to pay—”

“No, no,” Marian Whiting said hastily. “That wasn’t what I was getting at.”

Mason gestured toward the ten-dollar bill. “Well, it’s your money,” he said. “You won the bet.”

“Oh, I couldn’t take the money, Mr. Mason.”

“Why not?”

“The odds were too great. My heavens! It was interesting seeing you try to describe Sis, and I’m all wrapped up in mental telepathy and character reading. I’ll bet you’re a Leo, Mr. Mason. You have—”

“If I’d won the bet,” Mason said sternly, “I’d have taken your dime. Now then, young lady, under those circumstances, you take that ten dollars.”

She picked up the ten-dollar bill, slowly folded it. “I don’t feel right about this,” she protested. Mason laughed, shook hands and said, “Thanks a lot for your cooperation.”

“And you’ll keep it under cover about Sis?”

“Yes,” Mason promised. “I won’t say anything about what you’ve told me. If, of course, I should get the information from some other source, I couldn’t guarantee...”

“Oh, that’s all right. As far as that’s concerned I don’t think it makes any great difference, except that I don’t want Sis to think I gave her away. Gee, Mr. Mason, I still don’t feel right about this ten dollars!

Mason laughed, took Drake’s arm and moved toward the elevator. Marian Whiting slowly closed the door of the apartment.

Mason said in a low voice, “This photograph shows the license number on the automobile, Paul. It’s a recent photograph, and the car’s a late model. Let’s run around to your San Francisco branch office and chase it down.”

“Good idea,” Drake said, “they may have something on Evelyn Whiting by this time.

In the taxicab Drake said, “How about the chap she married, Perry? Was he on the boat coming over?”

“No,” Mason said, “he wasn’t. And I can’t get this stall over the Honolulu end. She must have written letters ahead and left them to be mailed to her sister.”

“What’s the idea?” Drake asked.

“Damned if I know,” Mason said, “unless she’s trying to build up an alibi of some kind.”

“That might be an idea. Perry. Two or three months from now the sister would swear up one side and down the other that Evelyn was over in Honolulu, and could produce her letters to prove it.”

“The only trouble with that is that she sailed back under her own name,” Mason said. “She’s on the passenger list as Evelyn Whiting. How do you account for that?”

“She may have had a round trip ticket,” Drake said, “or... oh, shucks, Perry. I don’t know. We haven’t enough to go on yet. What do you suppose happened to the husband?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

“And,” Drake went on, “who was this chap with the broken neck?”

“Wait a minute,” Mason said, “that chap with the broken neck was probably her husband.”

“What name was he going under?”

“Roger P. Cartman. Give me a description of this chap, as nearly as you can remember him, Paul.”

“Well,” Drake said, “his real name is James Whitly, and he’s gone under the name of James Clerke. He’s a small fellow, weighing not over a hundred and thirty-five pounds, with thin features and small bones, and he’s deadly as a rattlesnake. He’s been mixed up in two or three rackets, has served time in San Quentin, and Folsom. Then he wormed his way out of that open-and-shut murder charge. The judge bawled hell out of the jury when they brought in the not-guilty verdict, but that didn’t keep the verdict from standing. He has dark eyes, set rather close together, a thin mouth, high cheekbones and—”