Erle Gardner - The Case of the Horrified Heirs

«All right, Perry,» he said, «what is it this time? Here's your cat's-paw. Where's the chestnut you want pulled out of the fire?»

Mason said, «Room five.»

«How hot is the chestnut?»

«I don't know,» Mason said, «but once we get in and shake him down, I think we'll find the solution of the Lauretta Trent murder case.»

«You don't think we have it already?»

«I know you don't have it already,» Mason said.

Tragg sighed. «I could have saved myself a trip if I'd only been properly skeptical,» he said. «What's more, the office takes a dim view of our running around on the hunches of defense attorneys trying to undermine cases the district attorney is prosecuting in court.

«Played up in newspapers, it wouldn't make a very nice story, now, would it?»

«Have I ever left you in the middle of a story in the newspapers that didn't look good?» Mason asked.

«Not yet,» Tragg said. «I don't want you to start.»

«All right,» Mason told him, «you've come this far, come on down to room five.»

Tragg sighed, said to the officer, «Okay, we'll take a look. That's all we're doing, taking a look.»

Mason led the way down to where Paul Drake and Della Street were waiting.

«Well, well,» Tragg said, «we seem to have a quorum.»

Mason banged on the door again.

«Go away,» the voice inside said.

Mason said, «Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide and an officer.»

«You got a warrant?»

«We don't need a warrant,» Mason said. «We-«

«Now, just a minute,» Tragg interrupted, «I'll do my own talking. What's this all about?»

Mason said, «This man registered under the name of Canton Jasper at the Saint's Rest Motel. He's also the stoolie who gave the police the bum steer on the dope in Virginia Baxter's suitcase. He's waiting for police funds to get out of town.

«He's been a professional informer for the dope squad and-You want me to stay here and yell the whole business out in the corridors, Fisk?»

There was a sound of a bolt on the door; then a chair being moved. The door opened to the limit of a safety chain. Obsidian black eyes peered out anxiously, came to rest on the police officer's uniform, then looked at Tragg.

«Let me see your credentials,» he demanded.

Tragg slipped a leather container from his pocket, held it where the man could see it.

The man said, «Look up and down the corridor. Anybody there?»

«Not now,» Mason said, «but a couple of torpedoes came up a few minutes ago. They started down to your room and then turned back when they saw I was a witness.»

Shaking hands fumbled with the chain on the catch on the door.

The door opened.

«Come in, come in,» Fisk said.

The little group walked into the room-a bedraggled place with a cheap, sagging bed, a paper-thin carpet in which holes had been worn in front of the cheap, pine dresser, its wavy mirror distorting reflections.

There was one cushioned chair, one cane-bottomed, straight-backed chair.

Fisk said, «What is it? You fellows have got to give me protection.»

Mason said, «What was the idea of framing Virginia Baxter on that dope, and why did you go to the Saint's Rest and take her car?»

«Who are you?» Fisk asked.

«I'm her lawyer.»

«Well, I don't need your type of mouthpiece.»

«I'm not a mouthpiece,» Mason told him. «I'm a lawyer. And here, my friend, is a subpoena for you to appear in court tomorrow and testify as a witness in the case of Peopie versus Baxter.»

«Say, what kind of a dodge are you pulling on me?» Tnagg asked. «Getting me down here just so you could serve a subpoena.»

«That's all,» Mason told him cheerfully, «unless you want to use your head. If you do, you can cover yourself with glory.»

«You can't serve me with any subpoena,» Fisk said. «I only opened the door for the law.»

«How come your fingerprints are all over Virginia Baxter's car?» Mason asked.

«Phooey, you won't find a fingerprint on the thing.»

«And,» Mason said, «when the officers went to Virginia Baxter's apartment to search it on the strength of your representation that there was dope hidden there, you managed to fix the door so you could get back in with the person who did the typewriting on Virginia's typewriter.»

«Words, words, words,» Fisk said. «I get so tired of having people try to frame things on me. Listen, lawyer, I've been worked over by experts. You amateurs don't stand a chance.»

«You wore gloves in handling Virginia Baxter's car,» Mason said, «but you didn't have gloves on in the Saint's Rest Motel. Your fingerprints are all over the room.»

«So what? Sure, I admit I was at the Saint's Rest Motel.»

«And registered under an assumed name.»

«Lots of people do that.»

«And gave a phony license number.»

«I wrote it down according to the best way I could remember it.»

Mason, looking at the man, said suddenly, «Good heavens, no wonder! There's a family resemblance. What's your relationship to George Eagan?»

For a moment the black eyes looked at Mason with cold defiance.

«That,» Mason said, «is something we can check.»

Fisk seemed to grow smaller inside of his coat, «All right,» he said. «I'm his half-brother. I'm the black sheep of the family.»

«And,» Mason said, «you switched license numbers with Eagan's automobile and of course Eagan didn't notice-that was just in case anyone tried to identify you through the license number.»

«Got any proof?» Fisk asked.

«I don't need it,» Mason said. «By the time I put you on the witness stand tomorrow and the newspapers publish your picture and the history of your activities as a stool pigeon and double-crosser, the underworld will take care of you a lot better than I can. Come on, folks, let's go.»

Mason turned and started to the door.

For a long moment Fisk stood there, then he grabbed Mason's coat sleeve. «No, no! Now, look, look, we can square this thing.»

He turned from Mason to Lieutenant Tragg. «I've given you folks the breaks,» he said. «You folks can help me out. Get this mouthpiece off my neck. Get me out of town.»

Tragg, studying the man intently, said, «You tell us the whole story and we'll see what we can do. But we're not buying anything blindfolded.»

Fisk said, «Look, I've been in trouble, lots of trouble, lots of times in trouble. George had to get me out of it once when I was in bad trouble.»

«Who's George?» Tragg asked.

«George Eagan, Lauretta Trent's chauffeur.»

Mason and Tragg exchanged glances, then Tragg turned to Fisk and said, «All right, come on, what happened?»

«Well, I lost out with the police and lost all my connections and I was up against it. That was when this woman came to me who had helped out before.»

«What woman?»

«The nurse, Anna Fritch. I'd dated her once or twice and I'd furnished her with dope over a period of years.»

«Go on,» Tragg said.

«She was teamed up with Kelvin. Kelvin thought he was going to get the bulk of the Trent estate-he and his brother-in-law, and their wives, of course. So he got this nurse to hurry the old gal over the divide.

«They made three passes with arsenic. They didn't dare to kill her with arsenic, but she had a bad pump and the idea was that all the upchucking from a small dose would make the pump give out.

«Then while the old dame was being sick the last time, Kelvin found the will. He damn near dropped dead from the shock.

«So he had to change the will. They tracked down the lawyer's typewriter. The nurse was a good typist. If she had plenty of time she swore she could make a forgery they'd never detect, but she needed the lawyer's typewriter and stationery.