Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

“Then I jumped in my own plane and flew to Denver. At Denver I put my plane in storage, took a passenger plane for Los Angeles and picked up a new automobile which had been ready for delivery to my order, and came here to this place.

“I was very careful not to let Ethel Garvin know where I was. The information that she is or was in California comes as a distinct shock to me, something in the nature of an unpleasant surprise. I had an idea she would think I was in Florida. I rather expected she would go there.

“Needless to say, she did not come here last night or any other time to have the gasoline tank of her automobile filled, and I haven’t seen her since I left Nevada.

“The news that she was murdered early this morning is more than a shock. It fills me with a sense of anger. She was a very lovable woman...The only comment that I could make is one that I hardly care to make under the circumstances. I will state that I happen to know that, during her lifetime, Ethel Garvin had a deep-seated fear of her husband. She was planning something. I don’t know exactly what it was but I do know that she was very much afraid of what her husband would do when she started to put her plan into execution.

“There are some things which I do not care to say here in the presence of witnesses but which I would tell the police if I were required to do so, things that would not put your client, Mr. Mason, in the most favorable light.

“And now I think that concludes any statement I care to make and terminates the necessity of prolonging the interview.”

“Very interesting,” Mason said. “You will appreciate the importance of telling us the absolute truth?”

“I am not accustomed to deviating from the truth.”

“You are absolutely certain that Ethel Garvin did not come here at an early hour this morning, that perhaps she didn’t fill the gasoline tank without your knowing she was on the premises?”

“Absurd, gentlemen. In the first place, the gasoline pump is locked up. In the second place, she had absolutely no idea that I was in California. I took elaborate precautions to see that she didn’t know where I was.”

“Had you,” Drake asked, “made any attempt to find out when she left Nevada?”

“What makes you ask that question, Mr. Drake?”

“You were attached to your Nevada ranch. It is hardly conceivable that you intended simply to walk away and leave it. One would gather that when the embarrassment caused by the presence of Mrs. Garvin had passed you would return.”

Hackley acknowledged the point with a slight bow. “I see that you have a certain ability, Mr. Drake. I am quite certain that Mr. Mason finds you a valuable assistant. The question is well taken.”

“And the answer?”

“The answer,” Hackley said, “is that I couldn’t have secured the information without having someone on the ground who would give it to me. That someone must necessarily have known where I was in order to communicate the information. I didn’t care to let anyone know where I was. Therefore, while I would have liked very much to have had some source of information such as you have suggested, Mr. Drake, I did not. I came here, and no one, absolutely no one, knew where I was.”

“How did you keep your ranch running?”

“My foreman and manager is a very close-mouthed individual. I appreciate both his loyalty and his integrity. I also appreciate the shrewd business acumen with which he safeguards my interests. He has a checking account in an amount sufficiently ample to enable the ranch to be run during periods of my absence.

“And now if you will excuse me, Miss Street, and you, gentlemen, I have other matters to attend to. I have given you all of the information which is available and I do not care to discuss the matter further.”

“You were here last night?” Mason asked.

“I said that I didn’t care to discuss the matter further,” Hackley said firmly. “I’ve given you all of the information and now I am going to wish you a good night.”

He strode past them, walked with calm deliberation through the door of the living room out into the hall, and opened the outside door.

Della Street caught Mason’s eye and nodded. “Go ahead, chief,” she said.

Della Street walked along the edge of the room inspecting the books in the bookcases, waited for Mason and Drake to leave the room first. Then she followed after a moment.

“Good night,” Hackley said with some formality.

“Good night,” Mason said.

Drake said nothing.

Della Street, looking very demure, caught Hackley’s eye, gave him a very personal smile, and said, “Good night, Mr. Hackley, and thank you so much.”

“It was a pleasure,” he told her.

“Rex,” Hackley said, “stay there. These people are leaving.”

The dog, now much more obedient and less hostile, promptly settled down on his haunches, and looked to Hackley for instructions.

Mason led the way to the automobile, climbed in the driver’s seat. Drake held the door open for Della Street, and she jumped into the car. Drake followed her with an apprehensive glance over his shoulder in the direction of the dog. He slammed the door shut with a quick motion of his arm.

Della laughed, “Still thinking about the dog, Paul?” she asked.

“You’re damned right I am,” Drake said.

Mason started the car. Hackley, standing motionless in the doorway, watched the car glide into motion.

Della Street caught his eye, waved her hand almost surreptitiously.

Hackley’s grim mouth softened into a smile. The car swept along the graveled driveway.

“Well,” Drake said, “I told you he was tough.”

“He’s tough,” Mason said, “but we still have a few clues to run down which arc going to be very interesting.”

“Such as what?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “You can see that dog is very well trained. He certainly didn’t get the dog with the place, and he didn’t pick up the dog in California. The dog was one that he must have had on his Nevada ranch and of which he must be very fond, otherwise he wouldn’t have taken the animal with him while he was trying to make a getaway.”

“All right, what does that add up to?” Drake asked.

“Hackley is afraid of something. He leaves the dog outside guarding the place. The dog is trained so that no one can come to the place at night.”

“Well, what about that?”

Mason said, “We are now going to stop at the home of Rolando C. Lomax and find out if he heard the dog staging a particularly violent demonstration of barking at approximately one o’clock this morning.”

Drake chuckled, “I’ll hand it to you for that one, Perry. It’s an idea.”

Mason drove down the graveled driveway to the pavement, then turned the car to the right, stopped in front of the house of Rolando Lomax.

Lomax, answering their ring of the bell, seemed cordial enough.

He was a husky man nearing sixty, his heavy shoulders stooped from hard work, his skin tanned and wrinkled by exposure. His hair was turning gray, matted on his forehead and still bearing evidences of perspiration resulting from physical effort. The sleeves of his woolen shirt were rolled up disclosing hairy arms and huge powerful hands.

Mason said, “We’re investigators checking up on something that happened in the neighborhood. Perhaps you’ve heard about it.”

“You mean the woman who was killed down the highway?”

Mason nodded.

“What did you want to know?”

“You were here last night?”

“Yes.”

“Did you,” Mason asked, “hear anything unusual taking place up at the house back there?”

“You mean the one that’s been bought by that tall dude?”