Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Buried Clock

“No one’s stopping you from seeing fer,” Mason said.

The man turned to Blane. “What’s this song and dance you were giving Jameson about not being able to talk with her until you’d talked with Mason?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mason interposed. “Mr. Blane knows that his daughter has been very much upset over another matter which has nothing to do with—”

“Well, we think it has a lot to do with it.”

Jameson said hastily, “I’ve explained to these men what Mr. Blane told me. We’ll try to keep it out of the papers.”

“As I was endeavoring to explain,” Mason went on suavely, “because of this unusual situation, Mr. Blane—”

“What’s that got to do with where Mrs. Hardisty is now? Do you know where she is, Blane?”

Blane hesitated.

Mason said, “Go ahead, Blane. Tell them.”

“She’s at my house, asleep.”

The spokesman turned to Jameson. “You know where his place is?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Got your car here?” Mason asked Blane, as the others turned away.

“Yes.”

“All right, let’s get there first.”

Blane led the way to where his car was parked.

Mason settled down in the cushions, said nothing until Blane had parked the car in front of the house, then he said, as the officers drove up, “Remember to show surprise when they find no one in that bedroom.”

They escorted the officers into the house. Blane said, “I’ll go up and notify my daughter that—”

“No dice,” the man from the Los Angeles office interposed. “This is a business, not a social call. We want to talk with Mrs. Hardisty before anyone talks with her, before anyone gives her a tip on what’s happened. So suppose you just—”

“I insist,” Blane said with simple dignity, “that I’m going to be there when you interview my daughter.”

The Los Angeles deputy hesitated.

Mason said, “And, as attorney for Mrs. Hardisty, I am going to be on hand.”

“Okay, I’m not going to have an argument about that. I’m not going to bite her... But one thing’s definite: I’m going to do all the talking. If she answers my questions satisfactorily, all right. If she gets any coaching from you people, I’m going to take that into consideration in making my recommendations to the D.A. Now, show us the way to the bedroom.”

Mason nodded to Blane, and Blane led the little group up the stairs and down a corridor to a closed door.

“This it?” the deputy asked.

Blane said. “Yes, this is the back bedroom.”

The deputy reached toward the doorknob.

“Just a minute,” Blane said. “My daughter is entitled to some courtesies.”

Blane knocked on the door.

There was no sound from within the room.

The officer knocked, his knuckles beating a loud summons on the panels of the wood.

Mason was reaching for his cigarette case when he heard a key turn on the inside of the door, and a woman, who quite evidently had been in the process of dressing and had hurriedly thrown on a bathrobe, said, “What is it, please?”

“You’re Mrs. Jack Hardisty?” the deputy asked.

“Yes. What is it, Father?”

The Los Angeles deputy said to Blane, “Okay, I’ll handle it from here on.”

Mrs. Hardisty showed her consternation. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Hardisty?”

“I... Why, I... Isn’t he at Roxbury at the bank?”

“You know he isn’t.”

She was silent.

“Did you know he was short at the bank?”

Blane started to interrupt, but the officer pushed him into the background. “How about it, Mrs. Hardisty? Did you or didn’t you?”

She glanced toward her father.

“Let’s have a straight answer to the question, please. Never mind trying to get signals from anybody.”

“ I... Yes.”

“That’s better. When did you see him last?”

“Yesterday.”

“What time yesterday?”

“I guess it was about one o’clock or one-thirty.”

“Let’s see if we can’t do better than that, Mrs. Hardisty. You’re familiar with the mountain cabin your father owns?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“You were up there yesterday afternoon, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you go up there?”

“ I... I thought Jack might be up there.”

“You went up there, then, to see your husband, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And what time was that?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“And you did see him, didn’t you?”

“No.”

For a moment there was a break in the rapid-fire tempo of the questions as the officer digested his surprise; then he returned to the attack, this time a little more savage, a little more grim. “Mrs. Hardisty, I’m going to be frank with you. Your answers may be very important — important to you. Now I want a truthful answer. You saw your husband up there at the cabin, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even go all the way up to the cabin. I... I had hysterics. I stayed down on the highway... Well, I walked up our road a ways. I don’t know how far. I just went all to pieces — and then I came back to the main road and tried to quiet my nerves by walking, and I met Adele—”

“Who’s Adele?”

“My sister.”

“Why did you go to pieces? What was it you intended to do when you saw your husband?”

Mason interposed suavely, “I think that’s far enough along that line, officer.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“As it happens, you don’t have anything to say about it. I told you I was going to do the talking.”

Mason said, “So far as questions of fact are concerned, that’s quite all right. I have no objection to letting my client answer—”

“But who is this man?” Milicent asked in confusion. “What’s this talk about me being his client?”

Mason said to the officer, “I’m going to give you every advantage. I’m not going to answer that question. I’m going to let you break the news to her in your own way, but I’m—”

“I’m doing this,” the officer said angrily. “I don’t have to do it here. I can load her in a car right now and take her in to the D.A.’s office. I’ve got enough on her.”

“You haven’t got enough on her to move her out of that room,” Mason said.

“Don’t you think I haven’t. That gun—”

“What about the gun?” Mason asked.

The officer angrily turned back to Mrs. Hardisty, said, “Since the subject has come up, I’ll ask you the question direct. Why did you take a gun up there with you?”

She was quite apparently stalling to cover her confusion. “ I... take a gun... You mean—”

“I mean that you took a thirty-eight caliber revolver which your father had given you for a Christmas present up to the cabin with you when you went up to see your husband. Now why did you do it?”

Mason interposed meaningly, “The gun your father gave you for your protection, Mrs. Hardisty.”

“I took it up because — because I was afraid of Jack.”

The deputy said angrily to Mason, “Oh, no! You aren’t going to say anything! You’re going to give me every advantage to get at the truth. Then you go and push words in the mouth of your client. ‘The gun your father gave you for your protection .’— All right, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to take this woman to Los Angeles with me, and question her there.”

“Going to arrest her?” Mason asked.

“If you want to force my hand, yes.”

“All right,” Mason said, “I’ll force your hand.”