Erle Gardner - The Case of the Runaway

“Man or woman?”

“Who?”

“In the conference.”

“A man. We don’t know too much about it. We talked casually with Mrs. Welchburg but not enough to alarm her. We were afraid she might go to the police if we asked too many questions, and you might not like that.”

“I wouldn’t,” Mason said.

“Okay,” Drake told him. “You’re up there. It’s all yours.

Here’s another one, Perry. Your friend Sara Ansel has been haunting the office. Gertie, at the switchboard, told her she might leave any message with me, that I might be in touch with you.”

“What does she want?” Mason asked.

“She’s now very contrite. She’s had a complete change of heart. She says she acted on impulse when she lost faith in Myrna Davenport. She was tired and her suspicious nature got the better of her. She now says she wishes she could cut her tongue out.”

“But before she had this change of heart she told everything she knew to the police?” Mason asked.

“Oh definitely. She blabbed everything. Then the police got a little rough with her and made her mad. So she got to thinking things over and decided she had condemned Myrna Davenport on circumstantial evidence without a hearing. Now she’s tearful and repentant. She wants you to know that you can depend on her and she wants to get word to Myrna through you.”

“How nice,” Mason said.

“Isn’t it? She blabs everything she knows and then comes running back for forgiveness—or perhaps to get another ear fill to peddle.”

“You think the police sent her?” Mason asked.

“Could be,” Drake said, “but it’s a good act if it’s an act. Those are genuine tears she’s shedding all right. She wants you to call her just as soon as I get in touch with you. She left a number. Do you want it?”

“Hell, no,” Mason said. “I’d call her long-distance from here and within five minutes she’d report to the police that I was in Fresno and I’d have every officer in the country on my trail.”

“That’s the way I figured it. What are you going to do now?”

“Go to the Welchburg Motel, get a room, and try and get some information out of Mrs. Welchburg.”

“Going to register under an assumed name?”

“No,” Mason said. “That would be flight. I’m going to register under my own name and I’ll probably have twenty minutes to half an hour before the officers pick me up. How long had that grave been dug, Paul?”

“Three days at least. The kids had been playing in it for three days before Davenport’s death.”

“That’s going to make it bad,” Mason said. “The D.A. will use that as evidence of premeditation.”

“He’s done that already in an interview given to the press. He calls it one of the most dastardly, cold-blooded, premeditated murders he has ever encountered.”

“Okay” Mason said. “I’ll be seeing you.”

Mason remained in the telephone booth until he felt certain he was not observed, then slipped out to call a taxicab and went at once to the Welchburg Motel.

The woman who sat behind the desk in the office was somewhere in her fifties, a rather matronly figure with a kind mouth but with sharp, peering eyes.

“Hello,” Mason said. “I’m here without any baggage. Didn’t expect to stay. All I have is money.”

“That’s all we want,” Mrs. Welchburg told him. “We have two units left. You can take your choice at five dollars.”

Mason handed her the five dollars and at the same time gave her one of his cards. “I’m a lawyer,” he said. “I’m trying to find out something about a case up here.”

“Indeed.”

“I wanted to find out about a Frank L. Stanton,” Mason said. “He was here a couple of nights ago.”

“Oh yes. Why, you’re the second person who’s been asking about him.”

Mason smiled affably and said, “Mr. Stanton has quite a few interests.”

“What’s the matter? Did he do something? Did he—?”

“Not as far as I know,” Mason said. “It’s simply a question of serving some papers on him.”

“Oh!” she said sharply, and then after a moment, her eyes suspicious, asked, “Divorce?”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not free to go into the details but it has to do with an option on a piece of mining property. The option time will be up within a couple of days, and in the event the purchaser should want to take up the option well, you can see it would be rather embarrassing if Mr. Stanton couldn’t be found.”

“Oh yes, I see. Well, he was only here for one night. He left his address in Los Angeles.”

“I have his address,” Mason said, “but he isn’t home and—well, there are still a couple of days to run, but it would be very embarrassing if he should try to conceal himself. Do you remember much about him?”

“Not very much,” she said. “He was in the mining business, I know that. He carried two suitcases with him, rather heavy suitcases, and he said something about having some samples in them.”

“Of ore?”

“I guess so. He had a new handbag he’d bought.”

“New? “Mason asked.

“That’s right. It was wrapped up, that is, covered with paper except for the handle, and I know from the way he picked it up it was empty, but the suitcases certainly were full.”

“Two of them?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I wonder if anyone was with him or whether he was alone?”

“No, he was alone. That’s the only thing that I definitely remember. He had some visitors. About eleven-thirty a call came in from a man who had the adjoining unit. He said that he didn’t like to complain but the people in the place I’d rented to Mr. Stanton were talking and it was keeping him awake. He asked if I’d mind giving that unit a ring and asking them to be more quiet.”

“Loud talk? An argument?” Mason asked.

“Apparently not. Apparently it was just the opposite. They were talking in low voices but they were talking and it was rather late. You know how those things are when you’re trying to sleep and some little monotonous noise, the drip of a water faucet, or something like that, will magnify itself until you’re terribly nervous.”

“I understand,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t know anything about what time Mr. Stanton left here in the morning?”

“No, I don’t. I am up sometimes until one or two or sometimes three o’clock in the morning, and I usually sleep late. The maids take care of the units.”

“You certainly have a nice place here.”

“Thank you.”

“How many units do you have?”

“Fifty-two.”

“Quite a place,” Mason said. “Running it must be quite a job.”

“It certainly is.”

“I presume you have your problems.”

“We certainly do.”

“What did Mr. Stanton say when you rang his room and told him he was disturbing someone?”

“He said he was in a conference and that they were just finishing up. I guess that was true, too. I looked out of the door and saw there was a car parked in front of his unit. It was driven away just a few minutes later.”

“You don’t know what kind of a car?”

“No, it was just an average car. Just one of the popular makes. I wouldn’t know which. I’m not much on spotting cars. My husband can take a look at a car and tell the year, the make and the model as far as he can see it. I’m not much good at it.”

“Stanton didn’t put in any long-distance telephone calls, did he?” Mason asked.

“As to that I couldn’t say. You see, we can’t very well bill things like that on the rooms. When people want to put through calls we prefer that they go to the pay stations in the lobby. We have two telephone booths there with pay telephones. Of course we can put through a long-distance call and have the person talk in his room. Sometimes we do that when we know the party, but with strangers we don’t encourage it.”