Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Duplicate Daughter

“Did you have breakfast this morning?”

“Yes.”

“Has anyone tried to blackmail you during the past three months?”

“No.”

“Of your own knowledge, do you know who killed Vera M. Martel?”

“No.”

“Are you interested in photography?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know a person named Steven A. Barlow?”

“Yes.”

“Would you object if I should ask you an embarrassing personal question while the polygraph tested the truth of your answer?”

There was a moment of silence, then she said, “Yes.”

Cartman Jasper said, “Very well, Mrs. Gilman, we’ll rest for a few moments and then I am going to repeat the same questions again in exactly the same order.”

Mason, who had been looking at the mirror which showed the graph made by the three needles on the chart, said in a puzzled voice, “She’s telling the truth.”

“Unless she doesn’t react,” Della Street said.

“Of course she reacts,” Mason said. “Look at the reaction that took place when Jasper asked her that last test question. She’s a good reactor but...”

“What is it?” Della Street asked.

“When they asked her about her daughter, Glamis,” Mason said, “there was a distinct reaction. Of course, it may be just a matter of adjustment or something that caused an isolated reaction. However, you’ve got it in her pulse, her blood pressure, her respiration and her skin resistance. She’s a very good reactor and something happened there... Let’s see what happens again.”

Once more Jasper went through the questions. Once more there was a very definite reaction when he questioned her about Glamis.

Mason turned to Della Street, said, “He’ll run her through once more. We’d probably better go back to the office. She may want to come and see us when she’s finished, and it wouldn’t be advisable to have her know we were watching.”

Paul Drake followed them to the door. “Do you want to try to break her down, Perry? I think you’re wasting time. I think she’s telling the truth.”

“There’s something about Glamis that bothers her,” Mason said thoughtfully.

“Why shouldn’t there be? Glamis is an illegitimate child and I suppose that beneath Nancy Gilman’s somewhat casual exterior she keenly appreciates the position her indiscretion has put Glamis in.”

Mason nodded. “That probably accounts for it,” he said, “but there certainly was a very definite reaction there. We’ll see what Cartman Jasper says. Tell him to come down to my office after he’s finished, and unless Nancy Gilman wants to see me about something, let her go home. She was, I believe, in something of a hurry.”

Mason and Della Street went back to their office. Twenty minutes later Cartman Jasper came in with the graphs of the examination folded in his hand.

“What do you think?” Mason asked.

Jasper said, “She’s telling the truth all the way through, Mason, as far as the case is concerned. She never knew Vera Martel, she hasn’t been blackmailed, but she’s lying about Glamis Barlow.”

“You mean Glamis Barlow isn’t her daughter?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” Jasper said. “I’d have to make up a set of test questions about Glamis and ask her those in order to find out the truth. But there’s something in connection with Glamis that causes her to have an emotional reaction.”

“You knew that Glamis was illegitimate?” Mason asked.

“Paul Drake told me that, but I don’t think that accounts for it, Mason. I think there’s something else. There’s some emotional disturbance there in connection with the statement that she had a daughter named Glamis Barlow.”

Mason frowned thoughtfully. “Now, suppose Glamis isn’t her daughter,” he said.

“That could very well be,” Jasper admitted.

“Gosh, what an opportunity for a blackmailer that would be!” Mason said.

Mason, pacing his office, said to Paul Drake, “Hang it, Paul, there’s something wrong with this whole case. Somebody drew ten thousand dollars out of a bank and got an even amount — ten thousand dollars. It was to be used to pay blackmail. Don’t tell me anyone could do that without leaving a trace.”

“They did it,” Drake said, “and they didn’t leave a trace. I’ve exhausted every lead I can think of.”

Mason said, “I’m sitting on top of a volcano with ten thousand dollars in my safe. That ten thousand dollars is probably evidence. I’m going to have to do something about it. I don’t want to betray a client, but I can’t conceal evidence. I’m going to have to get in touch with the police and tell them that I found this money. If the police should find out I have the money before I reported it I would be in quite a fix. Every hour that I have that money, every minute that I have it without reporting it, I’m skating on thin ice.”

“Well, why don’t you report it, then?”

Mason shook his head. “I’m not going to sell a client down the river, Paul. I’m going to find out where that money came from before I make a move. Now, you’ve followed instructions and had your men working on Vera Martel’s activities for the week preceding her death?”

Drake nodded, said, “I’m spending a lot of money having men try to uncover every bit of information they can about her. No one knows much. She was working on several cases. She was away from her office for two days, but that was nearly ten days before she was murdered.”

“Where did she go?” Mason asked.

“Search me,” Drake said. “We haven’t been able to find out.”

“Find out,” Mason said. “There was an air travel card and a couple of gasoline credit cards in her purse. Get busy. Find out where the gasoline credit card was used. Start right now and see what you can find out about that air travel card.”

“That was ten days before the thirteenth,” Drake protested.

“I don’t give a damn when it was,” Mason said. “There’s something missing in this case and I want to find it before the police do. You can imagine the spot I’ll be in if the police find out about—”

The telephone rang.

Della Street picked it up, said, “Hello,” then said, “Muriell on the phone, Mr. Mason. She’s been crying, is pretty much upset.”

Mason nodded, said, “Listen in, Della,” and picked up the receiver.

Muriell’s voice came over the wire. She was so emotionally upset that it was hard to understand her.

“Mr. Mason,” she said, choking back sobs, “I’ve... I’ve been disloyal... I’ve... I’ve sold you down the river.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “Try and be as brief as possible, Muriell. There may not be much time. What did you do?”

“The police gave me — I guess it was a third degree. They got me in the district attorney’s office and they really dragged me over the coals and they threatened me and... well, I told them about everything.”

“The money?” Mason asked.

“The money,” she said.

“What did you tell them about it?”

“Everything.”

“What else?”

“I told them everything I knew.”

“About your father disappearing?”

“Yes.”

“About the fact that you telephoned me?”

“Everything, Mr. Mason... Oh, I don’t know what made me do it! It just seemed as though pressures were building up inside of me and they kept hammering away: hammering, hammering, hammering all the time.”

“When did this happen?” Mason asked.

“Right after court adjourned. I was picked up and hurried into this district attorney’s office.”

“Why didn’t you refuse to go?”

“I didn’t have an opportunity. A policewoman just took me on one side and an officer on the other and they said, ‘Right this way. The D. A. wants to talk with you,’ and there I was and... well, then they just seemed to know how to go about it, and I told them everything.”