Erle Gardner - The Case of the Postponed Murder

Mae Farr stood stock still, staring incredulously. “No,” she said, “it isn’t.”

“You mean we’ve passed it?” Mason asked.

“We couldn’t have — but I think we’ve come too far.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “let’s go back. Keep your mind on what you’re doing. Watch for the yacht carefully.”

They walked slowly back along the landing until they could once more see the parking lot. Mae Farr said, in a half whisper, “It isn’t here.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Let’s find out where it was. Can you remember what boats were next to it?”

“No,” she said, “I don’t think I can. When I came down, I just walked along here until I saw it.”

“Then it wasn’t near any of the large yachts?” Mason asked.

“No. I remember it was between two rather small yachts. Oh, wait a minute. I think one of them was the Atina .”

Mason said, “Okay, let’s look for the Atina .”

They walked slowly back toward the end of the float, and Mason said, “There’s the Atina just ahead. There’s a vacant space next to it.”

Mae Farr stood staring, then turned to Mason. “I remember now,” she said, “that it was here. I remember that water barrel near the end of the slip there. She’s gone.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a watchman here?” he asked.

“Yes, he lives in that houseboat. I don’t know what they have him for except to answer the telephone and take out messages. I think they lock the place up around midnight. You know, that gate that we drove through. The club members have keys.”

Heavy raindrops began to spatter down on the landing and in the water.

Mason said, “All right. That thundershower is going to catch up with us. Get back to your car. I’ll drive into town. You drive right behind me. Now, how about this place where Anders tossed the gun? Do you think you can find that place?”

“Yes, I think so. I know about where it was.”

“All right,” Mason said. “When we come to that place, blink your headlights on and off. We’ll stop. I have a flashlight. We’ll get out and pick up that gun.”

“But what could have happened to the Pennwent ?” she asked.

“Only one thing,” Mason said. “It was moved and probably under its own power.”

“Then that means — that someone — would have had to be aboard.”

“Exactly,” Mason said.

“Who could it have been?”

Mason stared at her with narrowed eyes. “How about this boyfriend of yours?” he asked. “Does he know anything about engines or yachts?”

“He... Yes, I think he does.”

“What makes you think so?”

“When he was going through college, he worked one summer up in Alaska on some fishing boats, and I think he’s been on at least one cruise from San Francisco to Turtle Bay.”

Mason said, “All right. Let’s get out of here. We’ll talk that over later.”

He piloted Mae Farr over to her car, said, “You’d better drive out first and keep the lead until we hit the main boulevard back to town. If anyone stops you, I’ll do the talking. After we hit the main boulevard, I’ll take the lead. If anything’s going to break, it will happen before then. Remember to blink your lights when we come to the place where Anders threw the gun.”

“I will,” she promised.

“Feel all right? Think you can drive the car?”

“Yes, of course.”

“All right. Get going.”

The rain was falling more rapidly now, the flashes of lightning were more brilliant, and, at intervals, thunder crashed.

Mason and Della Street climbed back into Mason’s car. The lawyer started the motor, switched on the lights, and followed Mae Farr out of the parking place, the windshield wiper swishing back and forth monotonously.

“Think she’s lying?” Della asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “She’s a woman. You should know more about it than I do. What do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Della admitted, “but it seems that she’s keeping something back.”

Mason nodded absently, watching the red glow of the tail light on the machine ahead. “The more I think of it,” he said slowly, “the more I’m relieved that I didn’t get aboard that yacht.”

Della said, “I suppose there’s no use pointing out to you that you were taking an awful chance.”

“No use whatever,” Mason said with a grin. “I have to take chances. When I take on a case, my duty and loyalty are one hundred percent to my client. I do everything in my power to get at the facts, and sometimes I have to cut corners.”

“I know,” Della said quietly.

Mason glanced at her. “That’s no sign that you have to stick your neck out,” he said.

Apparently Della considered the statement called for no comment.

They drove along in silence for five or six minutes until they reached the boulevard. Then Mason swept on past Mae Farr’s car. Della Street asked, “Want me to keep an eye on her headlights?”

“No, I can watch them in the rear view mirror,” Mason said.

The rain was lashing down in torrents. Bolts of lightning zigzagging across the sky illuminated the landscape with weird greenish flashes followed almost instantly by deafening crashes of thunder.

After some fifteen minutes the lights behind Mason blinked on and off. The lawyer pulled his car over to the side of the road and stopped. Mason turned up the collar of his coat against the rain and sloshed back to where Mae Farr’s car was standing with idling motor, the windshield wiper clacking back and forth. The headlights showed the falling raindrops, turned them into golden globules.

Mae Farr rolled down the window as Mason came abreast of the car. “I think it was right along in here,” she said.

“How positive are you?”

“Pretty positive. I remember that hot dog stand across the road behind us. I think we’d passed it just about fifty yards.”

Mason looked back at the white building. “It’s dark now,” he said. “Was there a light in it then?”

“Yes.”

“What did he do?” Mason asked. “Stand here and toss the gun, or did he throw it, or did he just open the door of the car and drop it out?”

“No. He got out, stood by the car, held the muzzle of the gun in his hand, and threw it as far as he could throw it.”

“Over that fence?”

“Yes.”

Mason stared for a moment at the ditch which had already commenced to collect drainage water, and said, “All right. Wait here,” walked back to his car, took a flashlight from the glove compartment, climbed over the barbed wire fence, and started searching through the wet grass, playing the beam of his flashlight around in circles. Whenever other cars approached, he switched out the flashlight and remained motionless until they had passed.

At the end of fifteen minutes, with the batteries in his flashlight running down, Mason climbed back over the fence, fought his way up the slippery embankment at the side of the road, and said to Mae Farr, “It’s no use. I can’t find it. I’m afraid to hunt any longer.”

“I’m quite certain it was right near here.”

“Well, we’ll know more in the morning.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Where have you been staying?”

“At the address I gave you, the Palmcrest Rooms.”

“And we have your telephone number?”

“Yes. I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Mason, that I tried to deceive you. You know, about telling you that I was Sylvia and...”

“You’ll have a lot of time to make those apologies,” Mason said, “when I’m not standing out in the rain listening to them. I feel a lot more forgiving when cold rainwater isn’t dribbling down the back of my neck and when my feet are dry.”