Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Mason said, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

“The heck it doesn’t,” Della Street said. “A man of that type becomes arrogant. He...”

Knuckles sounded on the exit door of Mason’s private office, one rap then a pause, three raps then a pause, then two raps.

“That’s Paul Drake’s code knock,” Mason said. “Let him in.” Della Street opened the door.

Paul Drake entered the office, grinned a greeting, said to Mason, “What are you doing, wearing holes in the carpet again?”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “I’m trying to get the thing straightened out.”

“Well,” Drake told him, “I have some news for you.”

“What?”

“Police have located a man down in Oceanside by the name of Irving, Mortimer C. Irving... Now, get the time element on this thing, Perry, because it’s important.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Irving had been down visiting some friends at La Jolla. He was driving back to Oceanside and was a little worried about the time. As a matter of fact he’d evidently been in a poker game down in La Jolla and he didn’t want his wife to find out about it. He had lost some money and was feeling pretty glum about it. He made a point of noticing the time because he was getting a story ready for his better half.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“When he got to within about two miles of Oceanside he saw a car parked off to the side of the road. The lights were on. What’s more they were on the bright beam so that even coming up the road the way he was, the glare bothered him.”

“What time?” Mason asked.

“Well,” Drake said, “the guy got home at exactly twelve-fifty. He looked at his watch and his wife also verifies that. Ten minutes to one in the morning.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“Now the important point,” Drake said, “is that this thing ties in with the testimony of a rancher who remembers that a car was parked for a while so that the lights shone into his bedroom. He didn’t pay too much attention to it but he remembered that there was a car there somewhere around the middle of the night, lie didn’t look at his watch or a clock and therefore his testimony doesn’t amount to much for practical purposes, but in any event we know that a car was parked there.”

Mason nodded.

“Now this man Irving enters the picture and he could be a damned dangerous witness. He says that he wondered why a car was parked there with the lights on the bright beam and thought perhaps someone might be in trouble.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “What did he do?”

“Well, he brought his car to a stop but kept in the road. He has a spotlight on his machine and he swung that spotlight around and looked the car over. He said it was a big light or tan-colored convertible and that no one was in it. It was standing there with the lights on — and he looked it over pretty carefully. He couldn’t see any sign of anyone anywhere around the automobile, just the car standing there. He didn’t take the license number but he did give it a pretty good once-over. Now, then, get this Perry, the description of the car is one that could match Garvin’s automobile.”

“Or any other convertible, for that matter,” Mason said. “All the guy knows is that he saw a big convertible.”

“Tan colored.”

“Lots of them are that color,” Mason said. “Mine is a light brown, Garvin’s is a light shade of bluish gray that would probably look tan in the light of a spotlight. You see all sorts of convertibles in the light colors.”

“I know it,” Drake said. “I’m just telling you what the police have. Now by the time they get done with this witness he could be damned dangerous. You know what they’ll do. They’ll start coaching him and telling him what he saw until finally he’ll become convinced that he actually saw Garvin’s car. He’ll even recognize any dents in the fenders. He might get to thinking he remembers the license number.”

Mason nodded moodily and said, “It’s a crime the way witnesses hypnotize themselves — sometimes with the aid of the police. I...”

The door from the outer office opened and Gertie, the telephone operator and receptionist, came bouncing into the room only to stop short at sight of Paul Drake.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, “I thought you and Della were alone.”

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “What is it?”

“Mrs. Garvin is on the telephone, Mr. Mason. She’s calling from San Diego, and she’s all excited. She says she simply has to talk with you right away and — well, I thought perhaps you’d like to have me plug in both lines so Della could listen and perhaps take notes. She’s...”

“Go ahead, do that, Gertie,” Mason said, “and then put her on the line.”

As Gertie turned and ran back to the outer office, Mason nodded to Della Street and said, “Take a notebook, Della. Make notes on what she says.”

Della Street nodded, opened her notebook, waited until the jingle on the bell showed that Gertie had put the call on both lines, then she nodded to Perry Mason. They picked up the receivers on the two telephones simultaneously.

“Hello,” Mason said.

Lorraine Garvin said hysterically, “Oh, Mr. Mason, I’m so glad I got you. I...”

“Take it easy,” Mason said. “Tell me what’s happened.”

“They tricked us.”

“Who did?”

“The police.”

“What happened?”

“Well, the Mexican immigration authorities came to us and wanted to know how long we were remaining in Mexico and Edward told them he didn’t know, that we might go down to Ensenada and that we might be there for two or three weeks, we might even be there longer.

“Well, they were very nice about it, but told us we’d have to get tourist cards. They said those tourist cards were good for six months, that they were issued at the immigration station at the border and that we wouldn’t have to go across the border to the U. S. side to get them but could just have them issued on the Mexican side.”

“All right, then what happened?”

“So we got in Edward’s car and started for the border, but when we got there, the officers kept pushing us over into a line of traffic that was off to the right. Ed tried to explain to them that he wanted to get tourist cards but they didn’t talk English.”

“All right, what happened?”

“Well, the first tiling we knew we were in a line of traffic that was headed for the United States side and we couldn’t get out of it. So Ed thought it would be best to just drive the car across and then swing right around and come back on the Mexican side. The cars were going right on through one right after the other, the officers at the border just looking to make sure there was no contraband and then motioning them on.”

“You should have known better,” Mason told her, frowning.

“We know better now,” she told him. “Well, it was just a trap. We tried to pull out and a couple of U. S. traffic officers blew whistles and yelled at us to get back into line and Ed told them we just wanted to get tourist cards and they said we’d have to go across and come around now, that we couldn’t get out of line. So we crossed over the border and the minute we did a car shot out from the United States side and drew alongside and that man Tragg grinned at us and said to Edward, ‘I told you we’d do it the hard way if you didn’t come the easy way,’ and they took Edward to San Diego and put him in jail.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the U. S. Grant Hotel in San Diego.”

“They didn’t arrest you?”

“No, they were very nice to me. They told me how very sorry they were to inconvenience me and that I could go back to Mexico in the car and get our bags. And then they called again and asked me if I had any objection to letting them look the car over.”