Erle Gardner - The Case of the Runaway

“Well, that isn’t what I meant,” Mabel Norge said. “I meant that he’d given it to me to give to the officers at the time of his death.”

“Did he say give it to the officers?” Mason asked.

“It was to be opened in the event of his death.”

“He didn’t say give it to the officers?”

“Well—I don’t remember exactly what he did say.”

“There you are,” Mason said.

“She’s taking notes,” Mabel Norge said, pointing to Della Street. “She’s taking down everything we say.”

“Any objection?” Mason asked.

“Well, I don’t think that’s fair.”

“Why? Did you want to change some of the things you’re saying now after you’ve had a chance to think them over?”

“I think you’re horrid.”

“Lots of people think so,” Mason said.

The officer said doggedly, “That isn’t getting past this question of evidence. Now I don’t know what’s going on here but this young woman who works here says that there’s an envelope to be opened in the event of his death, and that there’s information in it that may lead to … to—”

“To apprehending the person guilty of his murder,” Mabel Norge said firmly.

“Are you now stating he was murdered?” Mason asked.

“He may have been.”

“But you don’t know that he was.”

“I know that he expected he might be.”

“You also knew that he was under treatment from a physician, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes.”

“And that he had been advised that with his blood pressure and the condition of his arteries he might pop off at any time?”

“He didn’t confide in me in all of his personal matters.”

“He confided in you about his wife.”

“Well—not exactly.”

“Then you don’t know what’s in that letter except by inference?”

“Well, I know what I thought was in it. We can soon enough find out.”

Boom said, “Where is the letter?”

“In my desk, in a lockbox.”

“Get it,” Boom said.

“Now wait a minute,” Mason said. “This procedure is highly irregular and highly illegal.”

“I’m taking a chance on it,” the officer said. “I’m going to see that this young woman doesn’t take anything out of the desk except that letter, but if there’s a letter there I want to make mighty certain that nothing happens to it. I don’t know who you are but apparently you’re representing the widow. You got on the job mighty fast.”

“And probably a good thing I did,” Mason said, smiling affably. “I’m trying to conserve the estate.”

“What do you mean by that?”

Mason nodded toward Mabel Norge, who was unlocking the right side of the desk. “What was she doing here at this time of night?”

“She works here.”

“At night?” Mason asked.

The officer frowned. “Say,” he said, “what were you doing here?”

“I—I was driving by and I saw lights,” she said.

“Where were you driving to?” Mason asked.

“Just by.”

“This is a dead-end road,” Mason pointed out.

“Well, I—all right, I drove by. I—”

“Were you coming in?” Mason asked.

“That’s none of your business,” she blazed.

“There you are,” Mason said. “She was here. She had no business being here. She doesn’t have any work to do at this hour. What was she doing?”

“Now look,” the officer said, “this thing is all mixed up. I don’t want to get in bad.”

“You’re getting in bad right now. The minute you use your authority to touch any article in this room you’re in bad.”

The officer moved over to stand by Mabel Norge. “I don’t want you to touch anything except that one letter,” he said. “Now where is it?”

“In a lockbox in this drawer.”

“All right. Now I’ll take the letter out.”

“The box is locked,” she said, opening the drawer.

Boom picked up the box, said, “It isn’t locked.”

“Well—I thought it was. It should have been.”

Boom opened the box, looked at the envelope.

“I advise you not to touch that envelope,” Mason said.

Boom regarded the envelope in the box, then slowly closed the lid.

“What do you think should be done with it?”

“Turn it in to court as part of the estate.”

“Suppose something should happen to it?”

“See that it doesn’t.”

“You mean I’m to—?”

“Exactly,” Mason interposed. “Lock it up. Take it to court. Have the judge of the probate court open it in the presence of inheritance tax appraisers.”

Mabel Norge stamped her foot. Tears of exasperation were in her eyes. “Open it, you fool!”

Mason held the officer’s eyes with his. “Suppose it’s filled with money, perhaps thousand-dollar bills that he wanted to give to his secretary in the event of his death? Do you want to be responsible for tearing open the envelope, asking a probate court and an inheritance tax appraiser to take your word for the amount of money there? Suppose they claim you took out a couple of thousand-dollar bills?

“You know what the law is on a safe-deposit box. You wouldn’t dare to open that. Neither would the bank dare to open it. It has to be sealed until it’s opened in the presence of an inheritance tax appraiser.”

“That’s right,” Boom said, turning to Mabel Norge.

“You fool!” she blazed.

Boom’s face turned red.

“I tell you,” Mabel Norge charged, “that his wife was planning to kill him. He knew it. There’s evidence in there that will connect her with one other murder.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “It’s your responsibility, Officer. I take it you’re under bond.”

The officer hesitated.

“Go ahead and open it,” Mabel Norge said. “Can’t you see he’s just talking, trying to keep you from getting the very evidence Mr. Davenport wanted you to have.”

The officer picked up the envelope.

“Wait a minute,” Mason said. “Don’t take your legal advice from me. Don’t take it from that girl. You have a district attorney here. Call him up. Ask him what to do.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Boom said

He moved over to the telephone.

Mason said, “It is my suggestion that this envelope can be opened only when an inheritance tax appraiser is present. I also suggest that if there is any doubt on your part as to what may happen, that the contents of this evidence be impounded”

“What do you mean, impounded?”

“It’s in a lockbox,” Mason said. “Take it and put it in a safe-deposit box. But you want to be very, very careful to see that no one tampers with the contents of that envelope.”

“Don’t let him talk you out of doing your duty,” Mabel Norge said. “Open it. Get the evidence.”

Mason yawned. “Really this is rather tiresome. I don’t like to wrangle. As far as I’m concerned I ‘m perfectly willing to let you take the envelope in to the district attorney, provided proper precautions are taken to see that the envelope isn’t opened by any unauthorized person.”

“Well, let me talk with the district attorney,” Boom said.

He picked up the telephone, placed the call, then said to the district attorney, “This is Officer Boom. I’m out at Paradise. I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night, but I’m up against a question. I’m dealing with a lawyer here who says he’s representing an estate—Ed Davenport died. There’s a letter in his office that’s to be opened in the event of his death. This lawyer who is representing the widow says no one has authority to open it except in the presence of an inheritance tax appraiser…. No, it isn’t addressed to the officers. It simply says on the envelope, ‘To be opened in the event of my death and contents delivered to the authorities.”