Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowning Duck

“I notice that police picked up Marvin Adams when he got off the train this morning.”

“Well?”

“I also am advised that you had a highly confidential talk with Marvin Adams before the train pulled in at the depot. He handed you a letter.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I’m wondering if you told the police about that talk and about the letter.”

Mason said, “I have lots of talks about which I don’t tell the police. My talk with you, for instance. I haven’t told them about that — yet.”

Allgood said, “How would you like it if this Hollywood paper published a little quip to the effect that the police might do well to check up on the distinguished lawyer with whom a certain young man was talking just before the train from El Templo pulled into Los Angeles; that it might be well to ask this young man what the lawyer told him not to mention to the police — and what was in the letter he gave the lawyer. You see, Counselor, when it comes to being nasty, two people can play at that game very nicely.”

Mason motioned to Della Street. “Get Paul Drake on the phone,” he said.

Once more there was a silence while Della Street got the detective on the wire. This time, however, Allgood’s eyes were not shifting around the office. Hard and glittering, they stared defiantly at Perry Mason.

“Here’s Drake,” Della Street said.

Mason said, “Hello, Paul. I’m countermanding that order about having you look up Allgood’s connection with that scandal sheet.”

A triumphant smile twisted Allgood’s face. “I thought you’d see the light, Counselor. After all, we may as well be reasonable. We’re both businessmen.”

Mason waited until Allgood had finished, then said into the telephone, to Paul Drake. “The reason I’m telling you that is because there’s no use wasting time on that angle. Allgood didn’t tip off the man who writes that column... He writes it himself. He owns the damn paper. He’s just given himself away.”

Once more Mason dropped the receiver into place.

Allgood looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach.

Mason said, “You’re not dealing with a tyro now, Allgood. I know my way around. You gave yourself away with that last threat. It’s rather a neat racket. You publish these little innuendoes and hint at scandal. The persons who are affected come running to the office of the publication to find out what can be done about it, and wind up in the hands of the Allgood Detective Agency. In the meantime, some of the big Hollywood moguls are considering buying the paper out so as to put a muzzle on it, and your price is one that will give you about ninety-nine per cent clear profit.”

“You can’t prove one word of that,” Allgood said.

Mason indicated Della Street. “I’m making the statement in the presence of a witness,” he said. “Go ahead and sue me for slander, and give me a chance to prove it ! I dare you.”

Allgood paused for a moment uncertainly, then turned and stormed out of the room.

Mason looked at Della Street, smiled. “Well,” he said, “that clears up one angle.”

“What?”

“Where that tip-off came from in the paper. Allgood thought he was going to put the squeeze on Witherspoon. He thought he’d pull the wool completely over my eyes.”

“But you were onto him?”

“Not entirely. I did notice that he’d left the lever depressed on that interoffice communicating system, so the girl in the outer office could hear everything we said. That’s why I told Drake to shadow her. Come on. Let’s beat it for El Templo.”

Della grabbed up her shorthand notebook. “Well,” she said, “our suitcases are still in the car. We might well be commuting. Don’t forget to stop in and see Paul Drake.”

“I won’t. Did you get the gist of that telephone conversation?”

“There’s been another murder?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Who?”

“Roland Burr.”

“Have the police made an arrest?”

“Yes.”

“Adams?”

“No. Our esteemed contemporary, John L. Witherspoon. Think that one over.”

They stopped in at Drake’s office. Mason talked, while he kept his eye on the minute hand of his wrist watch. “Get this straight, Paul, and get it fast. There’s been another murder. Roland Burr. The police have arrested John L. Witherspoon. Looks as though they have something of a case.”

“Know what the evidence is?” Drake asked.

“Not yet. Here’s the angle that interests me. Diana Burr, Roland Burr’s wife, originally came from Winterburg City. She was eighteen or nineteen years old at the time of the murder. Latwell and Horace Legg Adams had a fist fight the day Latwell was murdered. Latwell went home, got a gun, and disappeared. That was the last his wife ever saw of him. Looks as though it may have been self-defense.”

“Fight over a woman?” Drake asked.

“Mrs. Dangerfield gave me the information. She wouldn’t say. She’s going to play her cards close to her chest, won’t let me use that statement except privately. But it’s something to work on.”

“Only that we can’t prove it except through her.”

Mason nodded impatiently, said, “All this is preliminary to the point I’m making.”

“What’s that?”

“Diana Burr was a local product. She kept going away and getting married and coming back in between marriages. Roland Burr was her third venture, perhaps her fourth. Now then, if she’d been playing around, there’s just a chance she might have come back to one of her first lovers for her final marriage. Just on the off-chance, Paul, look up Roland Burr. See if he doesn’t have a Winterburg City background.”

“What would it mean if he does?”

“Then see if he knew Corine Hassen,” Mason said.

“Isn’t that all pretty much of a coincidence?” Drake asked.

“Coincidence, hell! If it’s what I think it is, it was careful, deliberate planning. Witherspoon was wide open. Anyone could have laid the foundation to play him for a sucker. His pride in the things he owns, his desire to show them, his enthusiasm for fly-fishing and color photography. Hell’s bells, Paul, it all checks.”

“Checks with what?” Drake asked.

“A design for deliberate, premeditated murder.”

Drake said, “I don’t get you.”

“I haven’t time to explain,” Mason said, starting for the door. “You’ll get it as you dig out the facts.”

“What were you doing with Allgood?”

Mason grinned. “Putting a little pressure on him. The guy gave himself away. Bet you a hundred to one, he’s running that Hollywood scandal sheet. It feeds him business, gives him a chance to utilize the information he gets in his business, and is laying the foundation for a big chunk of money when he gets ready to let go.”

“Then this blonde was acting under his instructions?”

“Darned if I know. They all may have been working on an individual double-cross, but you can bet one thing. He’s the one who published that dope in the scandal sheet. I called on him and gave him something to think about, so he handed it right back to me by cutting out the portion of the column relating to Witherspoon and sending it on to me. If it hadn’t been for my call, he’d probably have sent it on to Witherspoon direct. Witherspoon would have called Allgood to find out about it, and Allgood would have sold him on another investigation at some fabulous price.”

Drake said, “I’ve heard talk about Allgood playing both ends against the middle, but you went pretty far with him, didn’t you, Perry? You can’t prove any of that stuff and...”

“The hell I can’t,” Mason said. “Let him sue me. I’ll start taking depositions, looking at books, and I’ll prove it fast enough.”