Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowning Duck

“Why, yes, sir. If you’ll step this way.”

The boy led the way down a corridor, past an open bathroom door, then paused, tapped on the door of the bedroom, and opened it.

It was a typical boy’s room with ice skates, tennis rackets, a couple of pennants, some pictures on the walls, a rack of neckties, a bed covered with a dark woolen blanket and no spread, a pair of white tennis shoes by the side of the bed, and a couple of white sport socks lying on the floor by the tennis shoes.

Mason prowled superficially about the room. “It doesn’t seem to be here. He keeps this room?”

“Yes. Another boy and I have rooms here, and Marvin keeps this one. He may rent it later.”

“Well, the package doesn’t seem to be here. How about the car? Where is it?”

“Outside, at the curb.”

“Isn’t locked, is it?”

The boy grinned. “No. You couldn’t hire anyone to steal it.”

Mason said, “I’ll take a look on the way out. I have a flashlight.”

Mason thanked the boy, said good night, and when the door had closed, slipped a small flashlight from his overcoat pocket and gave the battered sedan at the curb the benefit of a quick appraisal. It was empty.

Mason walked thoughtfully toward the service station where he had left his car, his steps pounding along the cement sidewalk. The street was dark and all but deserted so far as traffic was concerned. Mason met no pedestrians. A chill had edged the desert night. Overhead, the stars were frosty, brilliant, and steady. The sidewalk was lined with smoke trees, those weird trees of the desert which branch out into lacy, leafless tendrils, looking from a distance so much like smoke that many a tenderfoot has been deceived into thinking he is seeing a welcome wisp of blue smoke silhouetted against the sky, when he is in reality looking only at a most unusual bit of desert vegetation.

The man at the service station said to Mason, “Your tire’s all ready.”

“So soon?” Mason asked.

The man grinned. “Uh huh. There wasn’t anything wrong with it except that the cap was gone and the valve stem had worked loose. That was letting the air leak out.”

“How could the valve stem have worked loose?” Mason asked.

“Well, it might have jiggled loose. The cap was gone... Perhaps someone was playing a prank — some kid, you know.”

Mason paid the man, jumped in the car, fed it gas, was going fifty miles an hour by the time he left the city limits, and was hitting eighty as he skimmed along the desert road through the silence of the star-studded night.

Lois Witherspoon came to the door of the big house as Mason rang the bell at the outer gate. The dogs, setting up an uproar at the sound of the bell, came running into the oblong shaft of brilliance which was thrown out from the hallway and against which the slim figure of the girl was silhouetted.

A moment later she turned on the switch which flooded the area in front of the iron gate with brilliance.

“Oh, it’s you, Mr. Mason. King — Prince — Be quiet! I haven’t a key. I don’t know where the watchman is... Oh, here he is. Pedro, open the gate for Mr. Mason.”

A somewhat sleepy-eyed Mexican servant fitted a key in the huge lock, and said, “Wait one moment, señor, until I fasten the dogs.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Mason said, opening the door.

The dogs rushed toward him, the circled as Mason walked calmly toward the house. The younger dog jumped up and placed his forepaws on Mason’s arm. The older dog trotted along quietly at the lawyer’s side. Both had upright wagging tails.

Lois Witherspoon said, “Eventually, they get acquainted with the guests, but you’re breaking all speed records.”

“They’re nice dogs,” Mason said. “Peculiar thing about canine psychology. They hurl a challenge at you, and you stand still and look at them, and, as we lawyers say, ‘the issue is joined.’ You keep right on going about your business, and show absolutely no fear, and almost any dog is inclined to give you the benefit of the doubt. Your father in?”

“Why, no. Didn’t you see him?”

“No.”

“I understood from the servants he left just a few minutes after you did. I believe he said there was something he wanted to see you about, and that he’d catch you before you got to town. I wasn’t here.”

Mason circled her slender waist, pulled her to one side, kicked the door shut. While she was still startled, he asked, “Do you know a Leslie L. Milter?”

“Why, no.”

“Anyone been trying to blackmail you?”

“Me? Good heavens, no!”

“You’ve been out. Where were you?”

“What business is it of yours?”

“Lots. Don’t stall. We haven’t time. Seconds are precious. Where were you?”

“I went into town — wanted to do an errand — and to see Marvin before he left.”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I caught him at the depot.”

“I didn’t see you there.”

“You wouldn’t. We were around by the express shed on the far side.”

“How long before the train came in?”

“I got there about ten minutes before train time. Marvin came about a minute or two after I got there.”

“You were in the dark there, saying good-by?”

“Yes.”

“And what else?”

“What do you mean?”

“What was the reason you said good-by to him here, and then went rushing into town?”

She met his eyes. He could feel her muscles stiffen under his arm. “I wanted him to drive me to Yuma — and marry me.”

“When?”

“Tonight — now — at once.”

“He wouldn’t do it?”

“No.”

Mason said, “That’s better. He had a little duck when he left here. Talk fast and keep your voice low.”

“Yes, he did.”

“What did he do with it?”

She said nervously, “Why, he... he picked the duck up and asked if he could borrow it for a day or two. He promised to return it. Said he wanted to perform that experiment for a friend.”

“Where did he get it?”

“From out in the compound. There’s a mother duck and a brood of young ones... I don’t know what he finally did with it. He didn’t have it with him at the train... I had forgotten about it.”

Mason said, “Now listen, get this straight. Get out into the compound with a flashlight. I don’t care what excuse you make. Pretend you’re looking for one of the servants, or that you saw someone prowling around the place. Take one of the dogs with you on a leash. Get another young duck out of that same batch.”

“I...” she broke off as the dogs started barking once more.

Mason glanced out through the diamond-shaped window in the door. “Another car,” he said.

“Father!” she exclaimed as Witherspoon called to the dogs and they ceased barking.

“Get out through the patio,” Mason said. “Get that duck. Get into town. You’ll find the car Marvin was driving parked at the curb in front of the house where he has his room. It’s unlocked. Slip the duck into the back of the car — under the footrail. Mind you now, not in the front. In the back, under the footrail — and get back here as soon as you can make it.”

She sucked in a quick breath. “Can you tell me what...”

“No,” Mason said. “There isn’t time, and don’t tell anyone, including your father, about that drowning business. Now, get busy.”

She turned wordlessly, running lightly as Witherspoon’s steps came pounding down the corridor.

Mason turned and said casually, “Hello. Understand you were out looking for me.”

Witherspoon said, “My God, Mason, did you hear what happened?”

“About Milter?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “I was there when the officers got in the place.”