Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Crooked Candle

“You mean Fred Milfield?”

“Yes.”

“Why, is it connected with him?”

“Well, it’s a domestic problem.”

Mason said, “Look here. Van Nuys, I’m not going to beat around the bush. The police are investigating a murder. They’re not going to leave any stone unturned. I’m investigating that same murder, and I don’t propose to leave any stone unturned.”

“May I ask how you happened to know about what took place at the airport?” Van Nuys asked abruptly.

Mason said, “Because I’m investigating Milfield’s murder, and I think that canceled trip may have some bearing on it.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I’d prefer to be the judge of that.”

“You’re still not telling me how you knew about it.”

“All right. I’m not going to tell you how I knew about it, or how it happens I knew about your connection with it. I don’t have to.”

“I’m sorry, I disagree.”

Mason said, “Damn it, I try to tell you in a nice way, and you make me drive it home with a sledge hammer. What I’m trying to tell you is that if you don’t tell me what it’s all about, and give me a satisfactory explanation, then my only recourse is to go to the police and let them get the explanation.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m representing some people who are interested in having the mystery of Fred Milfield’s death cleaned up.”

“I’m interested in it myself. If this had any bearing on it, I’d tell you.”

“Tell me anyway,” Mason said. “I’ll decide whether it has any bearing.”

Van Nuys glanced at Della Street, uncrossed his knees, then after a moment crossed them again, took a hammered-silver cigarette case from his pocket. “Smoke?” he asked.

“Thanks,” Della said.

Mason also took one. They lit up and Mason said, “That business with the cigarette should have given you all the time you needed to think up an explanation.”

“It gave me the time,” Van Nuys admitted ruefully, “but it hasn’t shown me what to do.”

“Take your time,” Mason said, settling back in the chair.

“All right,” Van Nuys blurted. “Do you know anything about Daphne, about her background?”

“Not a thing in the world.”

“She’s peculiar. She’s emotionally unstable.”

“What does that mean?”

“She’s subject to certain emotional vagaries.”

“Are you trying to tell me in a nice way that she’s a tramp?” Mason asked.

“No, no — definitely not. She’s... she’s more of an emotional gypsy.”

“And just what is meant by being an emotional gypsy?”

“Well, she’s subject to devastating emotional storms. She usually recovers from them quickly. They’re short, severe and violent.”

“And she’s suffering from one at the present time?”

“She was .”

“An affair with you?”

“With me! ” Van Nuys laughed. “I’m just a friend of the family. I know her too well, and she knows me too well. I’m only the shoulder she cries on — and that’s all I want to be. No, this man was a chap in San Francisco. She had decided to burn her bridges. She had left Fred the usual note that the husband receives under such circumstances, and was about to leave for San Francisco, join her lover and let Fred get a divorce, or do anything else he damn pleased. That’s Daphne. She goes completely overboard when she falls. You have to hand it to her for that. She’s thorough.”

“You speak as though it were a habit.”

“Not a habit,” Van Nuys said. “It’s difficult to explain, Mr. Mason.”

“So it would seem.”

“Daphne is a woman who has to be violently, madly in love with someone every minute of the time.”

“She has a husband,” Mason suggested.

“Come, come, Mr. Mason, you’re a realist, or you should be. Marriage is a working relationship. It has its moments of genuine, downright boredom. That’s the trouble with Daphne. She can’t stand being bored. She has to be in love — madly in love, and it’s difficult to be madly in love with a husband three hundred and sixty-five days of the year.”

“You seem to stick up for her,” Mason said.

“I want you to understand her.”

“All right, I’ll take your word for it. She’s an emotional gypsy. She was starting for San Francisco. What did you do?”

“I stopped it.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew she’d be more unhappy if she went than if she didn’t.”

“You caught up with her at the airport and told her she had to come back?”

“That’s right.”

“So she came back to Los Angeles with you, and you did what?”

“I talked with her. I told her exactly how much of a fool she was about to make of herself.”

“And what did she do?”

“Cried at first, then finally agreed with me and told me I was the best friend she’d ever had.”

“What time was this?”

“Right after I left the airport.”

“You drove her home?”

“Yes.”

“How long did it take?”

“Twenty to twenty-five minutes.”

“How long were you there after you drove her home?”

“About half or three-quarters of an hour.”

“How did you know you’d find her at the airport?”

“That’s rather a peculiar coincidence.”

“Peculiar coincidences are my meat,” Mason told him.

“Fred and I have a — had a certain business association. We divided up the work.”

“You mean you were working with Milfield on this Skinner Hills Karakul Company?”

“In a way, yes. My connection was somewhat indirect.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well, I was... I was working on other interests than the... Oh well, let it go at that, Mr. Mason. There are certain business matters I can’t discuss.”

“You mean you were working on the oil angle and...”

“Now please, Mr. Mason, don’t put words in my mouth. All I can say is that I was associated with Fred. He asked me to go to his house and get a brief case containing certain papers. He told me exactly where I would find it. Just in case Daphne wasn’t home, he gave me his key to the place. He thought that Daphne might be out shopping or something.”

“What time was this?” Mason asked.

“Right around noon, a little after.”

“Why didn’t Milfield get the papers himself?”

“He had an important luncheon engagement.”

“And you were to meet him after lunch?”

“No. About four o’clock.”

“Do you know where he intended to go then? What he intended to do with the papers?”

“They were papers he wanted to show to Mr. Burbank. Mr. Burbank was expecting him — aboard his yacht.”

“But didn’t Burbank insist upon absolute privacy on his yacht — refuse to let anyone bother him with business matters?”

“As a rule, yes. This was a very exceptional case. Mr. Burbank wanted to see Fred. In fact, he’d told him to come to his yacht.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“Suppose it should develop that Roger Burbank wasn’t aboard the yacht Friday afternoon, and had no intention of being there?”

Van Nuys smiled and shook his head. Both the smile and the gesture were confident. “I think you’ll find such is not the case, Mr. Mason.”

Mason started to say something, then changed his mind. He gave Van Nuys’ answer thoughtful consideration for a few moments, then said, “All right, you went to get the papers. What happened?”

“This note was pinned to a pillow on the davenport.”

“What did you do with it — read it and then leave it there?”

“Certainly not. I was afraid Fred might come rushing in. I picked it up and pocketed it.”