Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Crooked Candle

“What’s the third clock?” Drake asked.

“The time during which the wound would bleed, probably not more than half an hour. That is, bleeding to the extent that it would leave blood spots the size found in the carpet. Now then, there’s only one way you can synchronize all three of those clocks so that they all point to one time as the time of murder, and the minute you do that, that bloody footprint becomes absolutely out of place.”

“Then,” Drake said, “the footprint was faked. This business of pulling her gloves out of her purse and letting the parcel checking ticket drop to the floor — that’s it, Perry, that’s bound to be it. The whole thing is some sort of a frame-up.”

“On whom?” Mason asked.

“On... Gosh, I don’t know, Perry. It seems to be on ourselves more than anyone else.”

Mason nodded somewhat glumly. “I’ve covered all of that in my mind, Paul. The footprint is the one thing that doesn’t fit in. It’s the thing that’s out of alignment with everything. Therefore, we must consider the possibility that the footprint was fabricated deliberately, and as you point out, that business of checking the package containing the shoes and subsequently letting the check flutter to the floor, may have been just what it seems. But on the other hand it is more apt to have been part of a deliberately planned campaign to get those shoes into the hands of the police under such circumstances that the evidence of the bloodstained shoe would seem to be even more sinister.”

Mason took a tide schedule from his pocket and said, “Well, Paul, tonight we’re going to make an experiment.”

“Just what are your plans?” Drake asked.

“Tonight,” Mason said, “high tide is at nine-forty-two p.m. Low tide will be at two-fifty-four a.m. tomorrow morning. According to the schedule we worked out, the boat should be aground about eleven o‘clock tonight. It should start tilting at twelve o’clock. It should have tilted away over by one-thirty. Somewhere around half an hour after midnight is the period I want to study, from then until one-forty-five.”

“Where’s the boat now?” Drake asked.

“As the representative of the owners of the boat,” Mason said, “I’ve been able to get it released from police custody, and it’s in my care. I’ve instructed Cameron at the yacht club to see that the boat is towed out to exactly the position it occupied the night of the murder, and anchored there. Shortly before midnight, we’re going down there and study the action of the tide.”

Drake’s face showed dismay.

“What’s the matter?” Mason asked.

Drake said, “You would have to pick the night when I’m nursing a sore throat, and having aches and pains in every joint.”

“You’re getting the flu?” Mason asked.

“I think I’m headed that way,” Drake admitted, “but I haven’t any fever. I’m just feeling uncomfortable. I wanted to go to a Turkish bath, but if you...”

“Forget it,” Mason interrupted. “There’s not a darn thing you can do. I’m just going to study what happens on that boat, and be in a position to advance a theory to the Court tomorrow morning.”

“The judge is certainly interested in that candle business,” Drake said.

Mason nodded, “If I can work out a theory that will hold water, I can blow that case out of court tomorrow morning. And if I can’t, I’m licked.”

Della Street said quietly, “I’m going with you. Chief.”

“Nonsense,” Mason interrupted. “I just want to go down there and see what happens, and...”

“And I’m going with you,” she interrupted.

“All right,” Mason said with a grin. “Come along.”

A low, thin mist hung over the midnight waters. Above the mist the stars were pale pin-points.

Mason helped Della Street from the car. Their feet echoed along the boards of the float which led to the caretaker’s cabin of the yacht club. The silhouettes of the small pleasure yachts tied to the float seemed ghostly and unreal in the damp chill of the night.

A light glowed in the little cabin at the end of the pier, and as the man who was sitting in the warm interior of the office heard the pound of Mason’s heels and the quick staccato tap tap tap of Della Street’s feet, he opened the door and grinned a greeting.

“Hello, Cameron,” Mason said.

“Evenin’,” Cameron greeted them.

“Is everything all ready?”

Cameron’s eyes twinkled in quiet humor. A short, stubby pipe was gripped in his teeth firmly. He removed this pipe, said, “Better come in for a few minutes and get warm. It’s going to be mighty cold out there on the water. There’s a stove in the cabin of the yacht, but you’ll be plenty cold getting out there. I’ve got a kettle of hot water on the stove and some rum. If you folks would like a hot buttered rum, I...”

Mason didn’t even wait for him to finish. “What is holding you back?” he demanded.

Cameron smiled and, glancing at. Della Street, asked Mason somewhat diffidently, “Two glasses or three?”

It was Della who answered the question. “Three,” she announced.

“And you can make ‘em just as strong as you like,” Mason said.

Cameron put a generous portion of butter into three cups, adding boiling water, sugar, spices, and then poured in the rum. “Got a brother in the dairy business,” he said. “Manage to keep myself supplied with enough butter to take the edge off my rum toddies. You folks want to take your coats off?”

“No,” Mason said. “We’ll get started as soon as we’ve finished our rum, and it won’t do us any harm to get good and warm before we start.”

Della and Mason silently toasted each other over the rims of the thick porcelain cups, then sipped the hot beverage.

“That,” Mason announced, “is a lifesaver.”

“Uh huh. Kind of crisp tonight. It gets chilly along about midnight down on the water eight or nine months out of the year. I have to get out and make the rounds ever so often. I’m telling you, it certainly feels good to come back to my cozy little cabin.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” Della asked.

Cameron puffed contentedly on his pipe. “Nope,” he said, “I’ve got books and — well, I don’t know. You get lonely in a big house, but in a little cabin like this with everything ship-shape, you don’t get lonesome. You get so after a while you can get along with yourself better than with anybody else.”

“How long will it take us to get out to the yacht?” Mason asked.

“Oh, not over ten minutes. Now as I get it, you want to have me take you out there with my outboard motor, and leave you there. Then I’m to come back for you around two o’clock. That right?”

“That’s right.”

“Okay,” Cameron said, “I’ll be there. Just wanted to get the time straight in my mind because I hate to leave this place alone. I really ain’t supposed to, but I guess a short trip like this won’t hurt anything. But I’d like to time things so you’ll be ready to start back soon’s I get there. You found some clue?”

Mason laughed. “Not a clue. We’re just looking around.”

“Humph!”

“Of course we might find something.”

“That’s right. How’d I do on the witness stand today? Didn’t hurt your case any, did I?”

“Not a bit.”

“That’s good. I hope you get both of them off. They’re fine people. Mr. Burbank is a good friend of mine. And that daughter of his. Say, there’s a live wire for you! A regular little thoroughbred, that girl! Well, anytime you’re ready to start.”

Mason and Della Street placed their empty cups on the drain board of the little sink. “Let’s go,” Mason said.