Эрл Гарднер: The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

Mason, on his feet, said with sudden graciousness, “All right, we’ll consent to a continuance. Go ahead. If you think you can find any evidence proving that this defendant was in the immediate vicinity of the crime at the time it was committed, we’re willing to help you. We’ll consent to an adjournment.”

And Mason sat down.

“I’ve proved it already!” Covington shouted. “What more do you want? I’ve proved he was...”

“Gentlemen, that will do!” Judge Minden said, pounding his gavel. “In view of the fact that counsel for the defense has consented to a continuance, Court will at this time take a recess until tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, during which time the jury will remember the admonition of the Court. They will not converse about the case; they will not read the newspapers; they will not form or express any opinion, nor will they permit any person to discuss the case in their presence. Court is adjourned.”

Mason arose, stretched, walked over to where Paul Drake and Della Street were standing, and whispered, “Gosh, was that a break! I certainly wanted that adjournment, but I was afraid to admit it. The district attorney threw it right in my lap.”

“Better watch that boy,” Drake said. “He’s dangerous. He’s looking for something.”

“He’s worried,” Mason said, and then added, “but he isn’t half as worried as I am. However,” he added, “there’s one thing we’re going to do, right now.”

“What?” Drake asked.

“That witness, Irving,” Mason said. “I tricked him into making an identification of my car.”

“That sure was a smart trick,” Drake said.

“It may have been just a little too smart.”

“What do you mean, Perry?”

Mason said, “Let’s go look over my car. That man Irving is an honest witness.”

Mason led the way down to where his car was parked, opened the door and started looking it over carefully.

“Take a look at the rubber footmat in front here, Paul,” he said.

“What the devil are you getting at?” Drake asked. “Do you mean that...”

Mason suddenly gave an exclamation, bent over the car, then started tugging at the rubber mat.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

Mason pointed to a brownish stain.

“Paul,” he said excitedly, “we’re rushing this to the best crime laboratory available. We’re going to find out if that’s human blood.”

“Human blood!” Della Street exclaimed.

“Exactly,” Mason said.

“What the devil are you getting at?” Drake asked.

Mason said, excitedly, “I’m getting at the facts of the case. Mortimer Irving was telling the truth. My car was the one he saw parked there.”

“Your car?”

“Sure,” Mason said. “Remember that Garvin got in his car and drove away. My car was parked there right beside his. The keys to the ignition were in the drawer in the office of the hotel.”

Drake gave a low whistle.

Della Street said, “Then you mean...”

“I mean,” Mason said, “that there was absolutely nothing on earth to have prevented Lorraine Garvin from getting up, dressing, borrowing my automobile, driving up the coast road, killing Ethel Garvin, and then driving my car back to Tijuana. In other words, that gun really was in the glove compartment all the time. When Lorraine opened the glove compartment to look for Garvin’s sunglasses she found the gun. She didn’t say a word. She handed Garvin the sunglasses, and at the first available opportunity took that gun out and put it in her purse.”

Drake looked at Mason in open-mouthed amazement. “I’ll be damned!” he said.

“And now,” Mason told him, “the only thing we’re going to have to do is find some way of proving all of that and doing it within the next few hours. Come on, Paul, you’re going to get busy.”

Up in Perry Mason’s suite in the U. S. Grant Hotel in San Diego, Lorraine Garvin looked across the table at Perry Mason. Her eyes were desperate, angry, and defiant.

In the chair at Mason’s right sat Paul Drake, watching her with shrewd eyes while Della Street was taking down in her shorthand notebook every word that was said.

“I tell you I didn’t leave that hotel,” Lorraine said desperately.

Mason’s eyes were cold and hard. “You had to leave that hotel,” he said. “Of all the people who were there, there were just two persons who were interested in Ethel Garvin. You and your husband.

“Now then, thanks to the testimony which has been dug up by the district attorney we can prove that your husband got up, took his car and drove away. It would not have been possible for him to have changed automobiles. He was seen in his own car at Oceanside. He was seen there at a time that indicates unmistakably he must have been driving his own car from the time he was seen to leave the Hotel Vista de la Mesa in Tijuana. Now then, here’s what happened. You knew what he was going to do. He’d been discussing it with you. When he left you knew that he was going up to see his ex-wife. You knew that you were in the position of being a bigamous wife until you could get her out of the way and have a legal ceremony.”

Her lips clamped in a firm line. “I’m not going to sit here and talk with you any longer,” she said. “I’m going to see my attorney.”

“I think you’d better,” Mason said. “You know what happened. You got up, dressed hurriedly, went out to the office, got the keys to my car, jumped in, crossed the border, and drove like a bat out of hell. You passed your husband before lie had gone halfway to Oceanside. You made contact with Ethel, murdered her...”

“I tell you I didn’t!”

“And I say you must have. You didn’t care too much whether you merely got her out of the way so your husband would be free to remarry you, or whether you caused him to be suspected of the murder and had him disposed of via the gas chamber, which is what you are trying to do now with your fake alibi.”

She pushed back her chair, got to her feet, and said, “No one can force me to stay here and listen to these insults. My husband asked me to lie to give him an alibi. I did. Now I’m going to consult an attorney who will represent me.”

In silence they watched her sweep across the room and go out and slam the door behind her.

Mason said, “Well at last we know what happened, but we have no way of proving it. That blood could have been placed there at any time. All the district attorney needs to do is to adopt the position that we planted the bloodstain by cutting a finger and getting a few drops of human blood on the rubber mat.”

“Then what would happen?” Della Street asked.

“Then,” Mason said, “our whole case against Lorraine Garvin would blow up and we’d be licked.”

Mason got to his feet, started pacing the floor, frowning.

The others watched in silence.

Then suddenly, Mason paused, whirled, looked at Paul Drake.

“What’s the matter?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “There’s another possibility we haven’t explored, Paul.”

“What is it?”

Mason said, “This thing has developed so darned fast, Paul, that we haven’t had time to think it out to a logical conclusion, but when you come right down to it, how did Lorraine Garvin make contact with Ethel?”

“Well, it’s a cinch she did it somehow,” Drake said.

Grabbing his hat, Mason said, “Come on. We’re going to drive to Tijuana. Bring a shorthand notebook, Della.”

The others followed Mason down to the garage where Mason jumped in his car and made time to Tijuana. They found Señora Inocente Miguerinio surrounded by newspapers, ensconced behind the desk in the hotel, her face beaming with pleasure over the realization that the trial of the millionaire miner had given her hotel a great deal of free advertising.