Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Careless Kitten

“Can’t you give me any more information than that?”

“No.”

“I’m Mr. Mason. I’m calling on behalf of Gerald Shore and I want to know where this houseboy is now.”

“You’re calling for Mr. Shore?”

“That’s right.”

“If I tell you where Komo is now, you’ll see that — there won’t be any trouble?”

“No. I’ll take care of that.”

“He’s taken Mrs. Shore to the Exeter Hospital.”

“To the Exeter Hospital?” Mason repeated in surprise.

“Yes. She was taken very sick, all of a sudden like, looked as though she’d been...”

“As though she’d been what?” Mason asked.

“Nothing.”

“When did this happen?”

“About a quarter of nine, I think.”

“Looked as though she’d been what?” Mason insisted.

The woman at the other end of the line hesitated a moment, then said sharply, “Poisoned. But don’t tell anyone I said so,” and hung up the telephone.

The Homicide Squad car, screaming along Hollywood Boulevard, swerved and swayed through frozen traffic. Pedestrians stood staring at the speeding car, watching it swerve and twist until the red tail-light disappeared and the normal traffic once more came to life and motion.

Mason stepped out from in front of his parked car to stand in the beam of the headlights of the oncoming police machine. As the big car slid to a stop, a door swung open, and Lieutenant Tragg said tersely, “Get in.”

Mason climbed in, noticing that the rear seat beside Lieutenant Tragg had apparently been reserved for him.

“Where to?” Tragg asked.

Mason took the folded map from his pocket. “There’s the map which gave me my directions.”

“Where’d you get it?”

“It came in a letter.”

“Where’s the letter?”

Mason passed it over. Tragg took it, but held it, making no attempt as yet to read it.

The officer who was driving the car looked back at Tragg for instructions.

Tragg said, “Take it easy a minute, Floyd. The man up there in the automobile is dead. He isn’t going to make any moves that will confuse us. Mr. Mason is very much alive.”

“Meaning that I’m apt to make confusing moves?” Mason asked with a smile.

Tragg said, “Well, I always like to interview you as soon as possible after one of your nocturnal adventures makes my presence necessary. I find that sometimes simplifies matters.”

“I didn’t discover this body.”

“No? Who did?”

“A lawyer named Gerald Shore.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He doesn’t do much courtroom work and no criminal work. I think you’ll find he’s a very respectable member of the profession.”

There was a certain grudging admiration in Lieutenant Tragg’s eyes as he looked Mason over. Tragg was utterly unlike the popular conception of a police detective. Not quite as tall as Mason, he was slender, suave, sophisticated, and thoroughly imbued with a knowledge of his profession. When Lieutenant Tragg started following a trail, he was not easily detoured. He had imagination and daring.

“Now this letter,” Tragg said, balancing it in his hand as though trying physically to weigh the evidentiary importance of the document. “Where did you get this?”

“From the clerk of the Castle Gate Hotel.”

“Oh, yes. The Castle Gate Hotel, rather a second-rate, shoddy affair; and in case you’re interested, Mason, it’s down on our list as being somewhat friendly to persons who don’t have exactly the best reputations — or perhaps you hadn’t heard about that.”

“I hadn’t heard about it.”

“In any event, it’s hardly a hotel which you’d have picked as a stopping place.”

“That’s right,” Mason admitted. “I wasn’t registered there.”

“Therefore, it’s logical to ask you what you were doing there?... Drive ahead slowly, Floyd. We’re getting too much of an audience around here.”

One of the officers in the front seat said, “I can start ’em moving and keep ’em moving.”

“No, no,” Tragg ordered impatiently without taking his eyes from Mason. “Drive on. Dispersing crowds takes time. Mr. Mason wants to tell us his story while it’s still fresh in his mind, don’t you, Mason?”

The lawyer laughed.

Tragg pushed the map across to the front seat. “Here, Floyd. Take this map. Follow the road. Don’t give her the gun until I tell you to. Now, Mason, you were about to tell me why you went to the Castle Gate Hotel.”

“I went there to see a man. If you’d read that letter, you’d understand.”

“The man’s name?” Tragg asked, still holding the letter in his hand, but keeping his eyes on the lawyer.

“Henry Leech.”

“And what did you want to see him about?”

Mason made a little gesture with his hands as though tossing something away. “Now there, Lieutenant,” he said, “you have me. I went to see Mr. Leech at the suggestion of Mr. Leech. He wanted to tell me something.”

“The invitation came directly from Leech?”

“Indirectly.”

“Through a client?”

“Yes.”

“The client’s name?”

“Helen Kendal, and I presume she came to me through this attorney, Gerald Shore.”

“They knew what Leech wanted to see you about?”

“Mr. Leech was to take me to see someone else, as I understood it.”

“Oh, a case of a mysterious witness taking you to a mysterious witness?”

“Not exactly. The person I was to see was a man who had disappeared some time ago and...”

Tragg held up his hand, half closed his eyes, snapped his fingers twice, said, “Wait a minute — wait a minute! I’m getting it now. What was his name?”

“Franklin Shore,” Mason said.

“That’s right. The most baffling disappearance of 1932. I’ve placed your lawyer, Gerald Shore, now. Leech knew something about his disappearance?”

“Of course,” Mason said, “I’m only giving you hearsay. You can perhaps do better by communicating with the parties who really know the background.”

“Rather subtle that,” Tragg conceded. “But I think I’d prefer to have your story first, Mason.”

Mason said, “Leech was, I understand, going to take Miss Kendal to see Franklin Shore. Really, Lieutenant, I think you’d be wise to try and get up there as soon as possible. What happened there may well be a clue to something more important.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Tragg said. “You always have some very acceptable red herring which gets dragged tantalizingly across the trail just when I’m getting somewhere; but there’s a little more I want to find out first. Mason... Just keep driving slowly, Floyd... Now, Mason, how did it happen that Leech promised to take you to see Franklin Shore?”

Mason’s voice rasped with sudden impatience. “I don’t know, and I think you’re wasting valuable time. The message came to me through Miss Kendal.”

“But he did promise to take you?”

“Who?”

“Leech, of course,” Tragg said. “Quit sparring for time.”

“No,” Mason replied. “So far as I know, Leech didn’t talk with Miss Kendal. It was a telephone communication with another party that sent her to Leech.”

“Oh, I see,” Tragg said. “Someone else did the talking, and I take it you’re going to say you don’t know who this party was?”

“No,” Mason said. “I don’t know who he was.”

“I see. One of those anonymous conversations?”

“Not at all, Lieutenant. The man gave his name, and furthermore gave some rather interesting information to establish his identity.”

“And the name?” Tragg asked.

It was Mason’s turn to smile. “Franklin B. Shore.”