Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Buried Clock

“How about Mrs. Payson?” Harley asked.

“We can’t both hide very well,” Adele said, “and — yet it wouldn’t look right for her to be here with you... What time is it, Harley?”

“Around ten thirty.”

“Good Heavens!” Adele said.

Myrna Payson drew in a deep drag of smoke, exhaled slowly. Her words came lazily through the cigarette smoke, “It’s all right, Adele. I haven’t any reputation left, anyway. Go on and duck. Here they come.”

They heard steps on the porch. Rodney Beaton’s voice called, “Hello, the cabin! Are you still up?”

Adele slipped silently through the hallway into the bedroom.

Harley said reassuringly to Myrna Payson, “I won’t have to invite him in—”

“Nonsense,” she said. “I’ve come over for a visit. We’re just talking, that’s all. Invite him in as far as I’m concerned.”

Harley went to the front door, threw it open, said, “Come on in, Beaton, and—”

He broke off as he saw that Rodney Beaton was not alone. Lola Strague was with him. Harley regained his verbal composure, said affably, “Why hello, Miss Strague. Come on in. Mrs. Payson and I were getting acquainted. I’ve been away so long that I hardly know the country any more.”

Myrna Payson said easily, “Hello, Lola. Hello, Rod. I’ve been trying to get Harley to tell me about the war. He won’t talk.”

Harley noticed the tension between the two women, saw Lola Strague barricade herself behind a wall of watchful hostility. Myrna Payson, on the other hand, seemed thoroughly at ease, completely relaxed, but nevertheless gave the impression of being on her guard. Rodney Beaton was embarrassed, but Harley couldn’t tell whether it was because he had found Myrna Payson visiting the cabin at such an hour, or because he didn’t care to have Myrna know he had been out with Lola Strague.

“Is... anything wrong?” Harley asked somewhat awkwardly.

Rodney Beaton recovered his self-possession, laughed, “Heavens no! I forgot you don’t realize my nocturnal habits. We’ve been out tending cameras.”

“Any luck?” Harley asked.

Lola Strague accepted the chair Harley held for her, but sat stiffly erect. Beaton sprawled comfortably and informally. Myrna Payson continued to sit with her legs, incased in whipcords, extended in front of her. She was lounging easily in the chair, thoroughly enjoying herself so far as appearances were concerned.

Beaton said, “I’ve got three negatives to develop.”

“Know what animals you’ve got?” Harley asked.

“No, I don’t. I used to look for tracks, but now I’ve found it’s a lot more fun just to develop the negatives.”

“You have more than one camera?”

“Oh yes. I’ve got half a dozen scattered around.”

“Don’t you frighten the game away when you make the rounds?”

“No more,” Beaton said. “I have a new system now. I go around and set the cameras after it gets dark. Then I climb up on a point where I have good observation, settle down, and wait. When one of those flashbulbs goes off it makes quite a flare, illuminates quite a bit of territory. I can tell, of course, what camera it is. I make a note of the location of the camera and the time the flashbulb was discharged. After I’ve waited two or three hours, I go around and pick out the plates, reset the cameras, go to my cabin, and develop them.”

“And leave the cameras set?”

“Yes, I leave them until morning.”

“I don’t see why you watch them in the evening then.” “

So I can pick up the first batch of plates and reload the cameras that have been set off before midnight... Usually the best time is about four o’clock in the morning, but on the other hand I’ve had some very nice pictures around ten or eleven o’clock... We were driving by on our way home and thought we’d drop in just to see — well, to see if you wanted anything, or — well, if you were all right.”

Myrna Payson said with her slow drawl, “I reckon we all felt the same way. It would give me the creeps staying alone in a cabin where a murder had been committed. Harley says it doesn’t bother him any.”

Harley realized that his visitor had twice referred to him by his first name, so he laughed and said, “After all, if I were afraid, I’d hardly admit it to Myrna.”

Lola Strague said somewhat stiffly, “Well, I think we’d better be going. It’s really rather late for visiting, you know. I—”

Steps pounded up on the porch. Knuckles beat impatiently against the front door.

Myrna Payson said, “Well, it looks to me as though you’re going to have a convention. I thought we were all here.”

Harley started for the door. Before he had taken two steps Burt Strague’s impatient voice called out, “Hey, Raymand! Is my sister in there?”

“Oh, oh — he’s got the shotgun,” Myrna Payson said.

Harley flung open the door.

Burt Strague, his voice sharp with anger, said to his sister, “Oh, there you are.”

“Why, Burt! What’s the matter?”

“Matter! Where on earth have you been?”

“Why, out with Rodney.”

Burt repeated after her scornfully, “Oh yes, out with Rodney! ”

Rodney Beaton moved forward. “Any objections?” he asked.

Lola managed to get between her brother and Rodney Beaton. “Burt!” she said, “don’t be like that! What on earth is the matter with you? I left a note telling you where I was going.”

“Think again. You mean you intended to leave a note, but forgot to do it.”

“Why Burt! I left it on the mantel, in the usual place.”

Burt said irritably, “It wasn’t there when I got there. I’ve been worried to death about you... I’m sorry, Rod, if I seem to be a little brusque, but I’ve been worried.”

“Burt, I’ve told you a dozen times that you’re not to worry about me,” Lola Strague said tartly. “I’m able to take care of myself.”

“Oh, yes. A murderer’s hanging around the country and I’m not supposed to worry... Well, skip it. I’ve certainly been combing these hills for you, prowling the trails, looking all over. Incidentally, Rod, I walked through one of your camera traps down there by the fallen log where you got the picture of the squirrel.”

“Tonight?” Rodney Beaton asked.

“Uh huh. Set off the flashlight. You probably got a good picture of me. As worried and annoyed as I was, I couldn’t help but laugh when that flashlight burst into illumination, thinking about how you’d feel when you made the rounds of your camera traps, got what you thought was a swell deer picture, started to develop it and saw me plodding along the trail.”

Beaton looked at his notebook. “That flashbulb exploded at nine-five,” he said. “Do you mean to say you’ve been wandering around all the time since then?”

“I’ve been all over these mountain trails, I tell you. I even went up to the old mining tunnel.”

Lola Strague became indignant. “What did you think I’d be doing in that old mining tunnel?”

“I didn’t know,” he said. “I got to the point where I was just a little bit crazy. I couldn’t find you anywhere... Just as a point of curiosity, where were you?”

“Out on that point where Rodney painted the picture of the sunset,” Lola said. “From there we can look down on the valley and tell whenever a flashlight goes off.”

Rodney Beaton said, “It’s my new system. Beats blundering around over the trails, and scaring the game to death.”

“And you mean to say you were up there all the evening?” Burt Strague asked, suspicion once more apparent in his voice. Rodney Beaton flushed.

“And you didn’t hear me whistle? Why, I walked past that trail whistling that whistle I always use to call Lola!”