Erle Gardner: The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink

Della Street nodded.

“He is, moreover, sitting within ten feet of the trio. He’s in a position to hear what’s being said if he wants to listen, and yet he’s just sitting there eating. Notice the way his jaws move. Notice the way he keeps an even tempo of eating. He doesn’t want to seem to be in a hurry, and he doesn’t dare walk out and leave food on his plate, but he certainly wants to get out.”

“He certainly is shoveling in the grub,” Della Street agreed.

They watched the man for several seconds.

“Does he mean something?” Della Street asked.

“Yes.”

“What?”

Mason said, “Nine chances out of ten the police have the cart before the horse.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Look at it this way,” Mason said. “The waitress ran away just after she had filled three glasses with ice water, just after she had picked up three butter dishes with squares of butter on them, and proceeded as far as the serving table near the door to the kitchen.”

Della Street nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “it is quite obvious that she had left the kitchen knowing she had to serve three people at a table.”

“Naturally.” Della Street laughed. “Three water glasses and three butter dishes mean three at a table.”

“And what happened?” Mason asked.

“I don’t see anything wrong with the police theory,”

Della Street told him, frowning. “As she got a better look at the three people seated at the table, she saw that she knew one or all of those people, and there was something in the association that filled her with panic, so she decided she was going to clear out fast.”

“How did she know there were three people at the table to be waited on?”

“She must have seen them when she went after the water glasses.”

“From what point did she see them?”

“Why, I don’t know. She must have — She must have seen them walk in.”

“Exactly. She couldn’t have seen them from the kitchen.”

“But she could have seen them when she emerged from the kitchen carrying an order to some other table.”

“Her tables were all grouped together,” Mason pointed out. “There they are, the four tables, in that cluster. Now if she had first seen the three people while she was waiting on one of the other tables, she’d have been near the one where the three are sitting.”

“Oh, I see,” Della said, “then you don’t feel that she left hurriedly because she got a closer look at the three people when she emerged from the kitchen.”

“That’s what the police think,” Mason said, “but the facts don’t bear out that theory.”

Della Street nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “why not assume that the three people meant absolutely nothing to her; that she saw them come in when she was delivering an order of food to another table; that when she returned to the kitchen she picked up a tray, put three glasses of water and three squares of butter on that tray, and started for the table. It was then, for the first time, she noticed someone who had just entered the restaurant, someone who did mean something to her.”

“You mean the man eating the steak?”

“It could very well be the man eating steak,” Mason said. “In a situation of this kind, where a girl is completely terrified over something, and dashes out the back of the restaurant into the alley, the assumption would be that she was more likely to have been terrified by one man who was looking her over, than by a social party that was wrapped up in its own problems and its own entertainment.

“Now then,” Mason went on, “if that is the case, any individual who suddenly pushed back his plate, with food still on it, would arouse the suspicions of the police.”

Della Street nodded.

“On the other hand, if a man bolted his food hurriedly, the police might also become suspicious.”

Again she nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “if the individual who was responsible for the flight of Dixie Dayton saw police in the restaurant asking questions, he would be inclined to try to get out as quickly as he could without doing anything to arouse suspicion.

“Therefore, Della, we should notice this man who is eating with such studied rapidity. Let’s watch to see if he orders dessert, or has a second cup of coffee. If he glances at his watch, acts as though he had an appointment, casually calls the waitress, gives her bills and doesn’t wait for his change...”

“Good heavens, Chief, he’s doing all those things now,” Della Street exclaimed, as the heavy-set man pushed his plate back, glanced at his wrist watch, tilted up the coffee cup, draining the last dregs of the coffee, and held up his finger to get the attention of the waitress.

The voice in which he said, “I have an appointment. Please get me a check. I won’t care for dessert, thank you,” was distinctly audible.

“Do you,” Mason asked Della Street, “suppose you could play detective? Slip out there, Della, and see what happens to that man when he gets outside. Perhaps you can get the license number of his automobile. Follow him if you have a chance — but don’t run any risks. There may be some element of danger if he thinks you’re on his trail. He’ll perhaps suspect a man, but a good-looking woman might get away with it. I’d like to know a little more about that fellow... It would be better if we both went, but the police will want to check up with me before they leave. They’re a little suspicious. My presence was too opportune.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Della Street said, and then added, “You think there’s a lot more to this than what Morris told us, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mason said, giving her the keys to his car.

“What about the mink coat?”

Mason hesitated.

“If the police are asking questions,” Della went on, “they’ll find out about the fur coat and then they’ll want it.”

“Well, let them have it,” Mason said. “After all, they’re trying to clear the case up to the best of their ability.”

“I was just wondering about Morris Alburg. He’s looking to us, and he certainly didn’t want the police to know about that coat.”

Mason said abruptly, “Okay, Della. Go ahead and wear it.”

Della slipped into the coat, stood poised near the entrance to the booth.

“You don’t think he’s spotted you, do you, Della?”

“I doubt it. It’s hard to tell about him. He doesn’t seem to look around, doesn’t seem the least bit curious about what’s going on, and yet he gives you the impression of being completely, thoroughly aware of every move that’s made.”

Mason said, “He’s getting ready to go now. Don’t take any chances, Della. Just sail on out as though you were a working girl who had just treated yourself to a good meal and were on your way home.”

“A working girl in this coat?”

“A working girl wore it before you did,” Mason reminded.

“Darned if she didn’t,” Della Street admitted. “And look where she is now. Well, here I go, Chief.”

“Now, remember,” Mason said, “don’t try to push your luck too far. Just get the license number of the automobile. Don’t try to play tag. You might get hurt. We don’t know what this is all about yet.”

Della Street snuggled her neck back against the luxury of the fur collar, then, with chin up, eyes fixed straight ahead, marched demurely out of the restaurant.

Mason, standing back by the corner of the booth, watched the police conference at the table draw to an end, saw the chunky man pause briefly at the checking concession, exchange a ticket for a heavy overcoat and a dark felt hat, then push his way out into the night.