Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Crooked Candle

“The note was meant for Fred?”

“Yes.”

“You have that note with you?”

“Really, Mr. Mason, this inquiry is drifting rather far afield, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“That note, Mr. Mason, affects the happiness of...”

“That note,” Mason interrupted, “is evidence. At least of an angle of the case that I’m investigating. If you’re at all interested in avoiding publicity, I think you will find the best way to do it is to give me the information I’m after.”

Van Nuys hesitated for a moment, glanced questioningly at Della Street, and Della, nodding at him, said, “It’s the best way. You should be able to see that.”

“Oh, all right,” Van Nuys surrendered. “Perhaps after all it is best to have the true facts in your possession, Mr. Mason.”

He opened a brief case, took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Mason.

It had, Mason observed, been pinned to some cloth. And the double pin hole in the top and the somewhat rumpled appearance of the paper were the natural result of such pinning.

The note was written in pen and ink in a smooth, even handwriting:

Dear Fred:

I know you’ll think I’m no good, particularly in view of everything that has gone in the past, but I can’t help it. As I’ve told you a dozen times, I can’t control my heart. I can only try to control my emotions. But I simply can’t control that peculiar deep-seated something which is perhaps akin to emotion and alive with emotion, yet is far beyond mere emotionalism.

I have debated this step for a long time. I think you will do me the justice to realize that. I think, perhaps, that you have recognized my symptoms, but were afraid to diagnose them, just as I was at first. In short, Fred, I am in love with Doug, and that’s all there is to it. It isn’t anything you have done, or anything you have failed to do. Nor is there anything either of us can do now. You have been wonderful to me, and I shall always admire and respect you. I will admit that I got lonely during the last four or five weeks when it seemed every minute of your time, day and night, was taken up with this oil deal. But I know how those things are, and realize that you’re doing a splendid job and are in a position to make a lot of money. My congratulations to you. Needless to say, Fred, I won’t want a cent. You can go ahead with divorce proceedings and make out a waiver, or property settlement, or whatever it is you have to make out under such circumstances. Your lawyer will tell you. I hope we can always be friends. Good-by, Dear.

Yours,

“A nice note,” Mason said.

“She meant it — meant every word of it,” Van Nuys said.

“I dare say she did. Who’s Doug?”

“The man she was going to meet in San Francisco.”

“How delightfully definite! What’s the rest of his name?”

Van Nuys smiled and shook his head, “Really, Mr. Mason, there is a limit, you know.”

“Limit to what?”

“Limit to how far we can go in dragging others into this thing.”

“Oh bosh! You’re in a murder case now. Who’s Doug?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give you that information.” Van Nuys was formal and dignified now.

Mason abruptly pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “All right, Van Nuys, thanks for what you’ve given me.”

“Can I trust you to keep it confidential?”

“Not in the least.”

“I understood you were going to.”

“Then you misunderstood me.”

“I thought you said that the alternative was that you’d give the information to the police.”

“That’s absolutely correct.”

“You’re not going to give it to them?”

“Certainly I’m going to give it to them. The only thing that would prevent me from doing so would be a very definite feeling that there was some reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I tell you all of this has absolutely nothing to do with Fred’s death. That’s a matter between him and — well, between him and someone else.”

“You say this man’s in San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Has he ever written her?”

Van Nuys avoided Mason’s eyes.

Mason said, “Phooey! The police will smoke all this out. There’s no mystery about it. They’ll ask her to account for all her motions Friday afternoon. If she lies, she’ll put herself in an awful mess.”

“There are no letters the police will ever find,” Van Nuys said.

“You mean they’ve been destroyed?”

“I mean the police will never find them.”

Abruptly Mason reached over and took possession of the brief case that Van Nuys had placed by the side of his chair. “You mean,” he said, “that you have them?”

“Mr. Mason, please! That’s my brief case.”

Mason said to Della Street, “Call Lieutenant Tragg.”

There was a moment of tense silence. Della got up and moved toward the telephone.

Van Nuys waited until she had picked up the receiver, then he said suddenly, “Hang up the phone, Miss Street. The letters are in the right-hand compartment of the brief case, Mr. Mason.”

Della hung up the telephone. Mason opened the brief case, took out the letters, glanced at them, thrust them in his pocket.

“What are you going to do with those?” Van Nuys asked in alarm.

“I’m going to study them,” Mason said, “and if your contention seems to be correct and they aren’t connected with the case, I’m going to give them back to you.”

“Otherwise?” Van Nuys asked.

“Otherwise,” Mason said, “I’m going to keep them.”

Mason started for the door, paused, said, “So when you found this note you rushed to the airport.”

“Yes.”

“Without keeping your appointment with Milfield?”

“No. I took him the papers he wanted, and then rushed to the airport.”

“Where did you meet him?”

“Out in front of this hotel. He was in a hurry to leave for the yacht club. He was half an hour late. He was in something of an emotional state.”

“Over what?”

“Some business problem. He said someone had been lying about him.”

“Lies that had been told to Burbank?”

“So I understood. However, I had too much on my own mind to ask for particulars just then. Fred was in a hurry because he was late and was afraid he was going to miss meeting Burbank. — That’s a point on which you seem to be in error, Mr. Mason. Burbank and Milfield had a five o‘clock appointment at the yacht club. Burbank was going to bring his dinghy with the outboard motor in to the mooring float at exactly five o’clock.”

“I see. So you had to wait here at the hotel for half an hour before Milfield showed up?”

“That’s right — thirty-five minutes to be exact. I stood out in front, waiting.”

“What made him late?”

“I don’t know. He was terribly worked up.”

“And Mrs. Milfield was still at the airport when you got there?”

“Fortunately yes. She hadn’t been able to secure a ticket. She’d waited on a stand-by arrangement whereby they’d assign her the first vacant seat in case of a last minute cancellation.”

“So you drove her back?”

“Yes.”

“Showed her the note you’d found?”

“Yes, of course.”

Mason said, “I’ll want to think this over a bit.”

Van Nuys said with dignity, “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, that you can’t seem to see Mrs. Milfield as I see her.”

Mason said, “I’m going to do a little thinking about her.”

“And I don’t think you’ve really tried to,” Van Nuys said.

“Perhaps I haven’t,” Mason admitted. “I don’t want to see people as other people see them, I want to see them as I see them. Good night.”