Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Buried Clock

“I know all that,” Mason said. “Tell me about Mrs. Hardisty.”

“As soon as she came to me I realized there was some deep-seated worry, some lack of mental harmony. I suspected her domestic relations.”

“And asked questions?”

“Not at once. I first went about getting her confidence.”

“Then what?”

“Then I questioned her.”

“What did you find out?”

“That, Mr. Mason, is confidential. I can’t betray facts learned from a patient in making a diagnosis.”

“Then why mention them?”

“Because I want you to realize that my knowledge of Milicent Hardisty is much more complete than yours could possibly be.”

Mason settled down comfortably in a chair, lit a cigarette. “Because you investigated her mental condition in connection with your diagnosis?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Mason said. “A lawyer does just as much probing into minds as a doctor does. What’s more, a lawyer is better equipped and better trained to do it. You probably won’t admit that. It doesn’t make any difference whether you do or whether you don’t, particularly since I haven’t as yet had an opportunity to talk with Milicent Hardisty.

“Now you want to stall around for time, lay a foundation for impressing me, and put yourself in the position where you can tell me what you want to tell me, and hold out what you don’t want me to know. If you think you can get away with it, go right ahead. It’s going to take a little more time, but when we get done we’ll understand each other that much better. You go right on with your prepared speech, and when you get finished, I’ll do a little probing.”

Dr. Macon smiled. “I’m afraid, Counselor, that you underestimate the facilities at the command of a trained physician. I know Milicent Hardisty much better than you could ever hope to know her by what you lawyers call cross-examination.”

Mason gave himself to the enjoyment of his cigarette, made no comment.

Dr. Macon’s professional bearing gradually reasserted itself. With the manner of a physician telling the patient just what the patient should know for his own good, and withholding everything that was not necessary for the patient to understand, Mr. Macon said, “Milicent Hardisty became a patient of mine. She had implicit trust in me. She confided in me. I came to know her innermost secrets. I was able to do her some good. I can tell you this much without betraying any confidence. She had devoted too much attention to her career, to the serious things in life. That overemphasis on work left her with a secret hunger to be the center of attraction with some particular person — not a platonic attraction, but a sex attraction. For that reason she didn’t question, even in her own mind, the motives of Jack Hardisty when he began rushing her off her feet in a whirlwind, impetuous courtship. Even if she had questioned his motives, I doubt if a realization of his duplicity would have stopped her. She was too thrilled with the novelty of having some man woo her, making of his courting not an intellectual pastime but a violent emotional activity.

“Jack Hardisty was shrewd enough to realize all that. Milicent has a good mind. She had in the past tried to appeal to persons upon an intellectual plane. Jack Hardisty decided the way to impress her was to sweep her off her feet, to bring ardor and passion to his wooing. It succeeded admirably.”

Mason dropped ashes from the end of his cigarette into Dr. Macon’s ash tray, said nothing.

“I’ll tell you this — that after Vincent Blane established Jack Hardisty in business, Hardisty repaid his benefactor by embezzling money.” Dr. Macon paused, dramatically.

Mason merely nodded.

Dr. Macon was obviously disappointed that his information came as no surprise. He frowned for a moment, then said, “Oh yes, the father retained you. Naturally, he told you about that.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

Dr. Macon thought for a minute, then began talking again, this time with more swift certainty. “I knew that Mrs. Hardisty was approaching a very definite crisis in her life. I knew that she had been unhappy for a long time. She had kept on, merely to preserve a semblance of happiness, and because she hesitated to make public confession that Jack Hardisty’s interest in her had been financial. I think you will appreciate the feeling.”

Mason made no comment.

“Late yesterday afternoon, when she failed to appear at my office to keep an appointment for a treatment, I took steps to ascertain that she was all right. As a result of those steps, I found that her husband had gone to Kenvale, and from there up to a mountain cabin owned by Mr. Blane. I learned that Mrs. Hardisty had followed him. I feared that, under some emotional unbalance, Mrs. Hardisty might suffer a nervous shock which would permanently impair her nervous and emotional stability.”

“What did you do?” Mason asked.

“I started out to find Mrs. Hardisty.”

“What time?”

“I would prefer to tell this in my own way, Mr. Mason. Your questions can come later. I believe you mentioned you wanted to probe my mind,” and Dr. Macon’s smile was icy.

“Go right ahead,” Mason said, “pardon me. Simply because time is short I thought I could expedite matters. But if you want to rehearse your story as you make it up, so as to be certain it’s bomb-proof, go right ahead.”

Dr. Macon said, “I am not making up this story. Whatever slight hesitancy you may notice is because I don’t know exactly how much I can safely tell you without betraying confidential communications, and—”

“Never mind all that,” Mason interrupted. “Go on with the story. What happened?”

“I drove toward the cabin in search of Mrs. Hardisty, that’s all.”

“Find her?”

“Yes.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “Tell it your way.”

“I didn’t find Mrs. Hardisty at the cabin. I found her in Kenvale. She was, I believe, following her unmarried sister, who was driving in a car ahead.”

Dr. Macon paused for an appreciable interval. His face showed satisfaction; his eyes were triumphant. “I believe that about covers it... I found Mrs. Hardisty in a serious nervous and emotional state. I kept her with me until approximately ten o’clock in the evening, until her nerves had responded to treatment. Then I drove her back to Kenvale, administered a hypodermic just before she entered the house, and told her to go to bed at once and to sleep late.”

“That all of it?” Mason asked.

“That’s enough, isn’t it? I know that she was with me until after ten o’clock. I personally administered a hypodermic and know that immediately after taking that she would go to sleep and remain asleep for almost twelve hours.”

“Finished?” Mason asked.

“Yes, sir. I have finished.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Now we’ll start probing.”

“Go right ahead.”

“I believe you said you decided to go up to the cabin in order to rescue Milicent from an experience which would disorganize her nerves and emotions.”

“Substantially that. As usual with laymen, you have garbled the medical exactitude of expression; but we’ll let it stand.”

“And you found Milicent at Kenvale?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“Well... let me see... I should say that it was about — a man doesn’t consult his watch under such circumstances, you know, even though attorneys are very fond of asking for exact time.”

“Approximately what time?”

“Oh, it was sometime after six — perhaps around half past six.”

“As late as seven?”

“I don’t think so, yet it might have been.”

“And not before six o’clock.”