Erle Gardner - The Case of the Substitute Face

“Yes. I had a chance to nurse Mr. Cartman. He was injured in an automobile accident and wanted to go to the Mainland. They needed a trained nurse who could be with him. It was a good chance for me to come back, so I did.”

“And you didn’t let anyone know you were coming back?”

“No.”

“Not only that, but you took particular pains to see that your sister thought you were still over there. You left letters to be mailed on the Clipper so that—”

“How did you know about that?” she interrupted.

“We’ve talked with your sister,” Mason said. “In fact, we’ve made rather a complete investigation, Mrs. Eves.”

She started to say something, checked herself, bit her lip, looked at the floor and said, “I’d rather you’d wait until my husband comes before I tell you anything.”

“Oh, then, your husband is due to return?” Mason asked.

“Well... that is... I...”

She broke off and was silent. Drake and Mason exchanged glances. Mason said, “I think you understand why I’m asking you these questions, Mrs. Eves. I’m representing Mrs. Moar.

She nodded.

“Aside from the fact that I’m Mrs. Moar’s attorney, I have no interest in the matter whatsoever. I’m not concerned in the least in any of your private affairs. I’ll respect your confidence.”

She blinked her eyes thoughtfully, then suddenly reached a decision and said, “All right, Mr. Mason, I’ll tell you the truth. I was married once before. That marriage didn’t jell. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. It left me rather suspicious of men. Since then I’ve known a few married men. What I’ve seen of them hasn’t made me care to play the role of wife who sits at home while her husband’s playing around. After I got over to Honolulu I kept thinking about the way Morgan had put me aboard the ship while he suddenly went back, and I thought perhaps... well, I thought perhaps there was another woman. I wanted to come back and find out, but I didn’t have the money, for one thing, and I didn’t have any legitimate excuse for another. Then, Mr. Cartman, who had been hurt in an automobile wreck, and who had to wear a steel brace for months, wanted to come home. I had been in touch with some of the nurses in the hospital. They knew how I felt. They told me this would be a fine chance for me to make a surprise trip to the Mainland. I could get enough out of it to pay my round trip passage, and, in addition to make a little pocket money. So I decided to go. But, naturally, I didn’t want Morgan to know I was coming, so I wrote letters to him and left them to be mailed on the Clipper after I’d sailed. And because I thought perhaps Morgan might get in touch with Marian, I did the same with her. Now then, that’s all there is to it.”

“And what did you do when you came here?” Mason asked.

“I got in touch with Morgan, naturally. I went right to his flat. I thought perhaps he’d have some other woman there. Well...”

She broke off as the sound of a speeding automobile motor became audible. They listened while the machine roared into a turn at the foot of a hill, heard the driver shift gears, and then the tires slid over the gravel as the machine was braked to an abrupt stop. A moment later, there was a pound of steps on the porch, and a man flung open the door of the cabin. Mason recognized him at once, from the photograph he had seen, as Morgan Eves.

“All right,” the man said, standing in the doorway, his hand hovering near the left lapel of his coat, “what is this, a pinch?”

Mason said, “Take it easy, Eves. I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

“That’s what you say,” Eves said.

“He is, Morgan,” Evelyn Whiting assured him. “He was on the boat with me coming over. Remember, I told you.”

Eves nodded without shifting his position. “All right,” he said, “so what?”

“We’re asking questions,” Mason said.

“Well, you’re not going to get any answers. And you,” he said, shifting his eyes toward Drake’s operative, “be careful what you do with that right hand. If you pull that rod, you’re going to have to smoke your way out.”

In the moment of tense silence which followed, Perry Mason extracted his cigarette case, leisurely selected a cigarette, tapped the end on the side of the cigarette case, and said, “Let’s talk sense, Eves.”

“All right,” Eves said, “you do the talking.”

Mason snapped a match into flame, lit his cigarette and said, “Thanks,” when Evelyn Whiting handed him an ash tray. He settled back comfortably in the chair and said, “I’m a lawyer, Eves. I’m representing Mrs. Moar. The D.A. is trying to frame a first-degree on her. Your wife was on the ship coming over, nursing a chap with a broken neck. She knew Moar before he was married. Moar was on the ship under the name of Newberry. I had a hunch she might know something which would help me, so I came out and asked her.”

“All right,” Eves said, in a flat monotone. “You asked her. What did she say?”

Mason glanced inquiringly at the nurse. She nodded imperceptibly. Mason said, “Before I came out here I looked her up. I knew you’d been married and had sailed for Honolulu on your honeymoon. She told me you were called off the ship and she went over by herself. She got lonesome, so when she had a chance to come over and join you, and make a little money on the side, she did it.”

Eves laughed bitterly and said, “Lonesome, hell! She came over to check up on me. She thought I was two-timing her.”

“That’s all right with me,” Mason told him. “You can straighten out your domestic affairs without my help. I’m interested in protecting my client.”

“What else did you tell him, Evelyn?” Eves asked.

“Nothing else,” she said. “That’s all there is to tell, isn’t it?”

Eves thought for a minute. Then he walked forward to sit down in a chair. He lit a cigarette, studied Mason thoughtfully and said, “Okay, Mason, I’m for a good mouthpiece myself. I’ll give you a break. We can do a hell of a good turn for you any time you say the word.”

“I’m saying the word,” Mason told him.

“With what? Money, marbles or chalk?”

Mason said, “I don’t buy testimony, Eves.”

“Well, why the hell should we come into court and get panned by the newspapers just in order to help you?”

“Probably,” Mason said, “because it’s the right thing to do. I understand you’ve been up on a murder rap yourself. You know what it feels like.”

“Who was telling you ?” Eves asked savagely.

“A little bird,” Mason said.

Eves smoked in thoughtful silence for several seconds, then said, “Okay, Mason, I’ll shoot square with you. I’d told Evelyn to keep out of it, but I’ll give you a break. Here’s the dope. Evelyn knew Moar before he was married. She spotted him on the ship. Moar gave her the office to keep quiet until he could see her. He waited for her on deck Sunday. He told her he was dough-heavy, but the money was hot and that the bulls were going to pinch him on an embezzlement charge he hadn’t committed, but before he got done beating that rap they’d find out something he had done which was just as bad. He said he was crazy about Belle and he was going to give the dough to his wife and take a powder.”

“Did he say what he was going to do?”

“He was despondent,” Eves said, “so low he could walk under a snake’s belly on stilts. He said he was going to give himself the works if he had to.”

Mason strove to keep excitement from his voice. “You know,” he said, “that’ll rip the murder case wide open. Eves.”

“I’m not so certain,” Eves said. “That’s what Moar intended to do. His wife didn’t know he intended to do it. She wanted him out of the way. He went up on deck to do a Brodie, and she came along and gave him the works first.”