Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Careless Kitten

For as long as a second, Tragg’s face was changing expression as his mind digested the import of that information; then he snapped a command to the driver. “Step on it, Floyd. Give it everything it’s got. Get up there — fast!”

Mason settled back in the seat, took a cigarette case from his pocket, and offered one to Tragg. “I thought you’d like to get up there, Lieutenant. Have a smoke.”

Tragg said, “Put that damn thing back in your pocket and hang on. You don’t know Floyd.”

Mason reached for a cigarette, was all but thrown from his seat as the car lurched around a turn and dodged another automobile coming through an intersection.

“Get that siren going,” Tragg ordered. “And get some speed.”

The siren started its eerie screaming. The big, powerful car kept picking up momentum as it climbed. Mason, bracing himself, managed to get a cigarette from his case and up to his lips. He returned the case to his pocket, then was forced to hang on with both hands, having no opportunity to strike a match.

The car climbed rapidly, the screaming siren alternately roaring back in echoes from precipitous banks, then being swallowed up in the vastness of deep mountain canyons to return in muffled echoes from distant hillsides. The driver skillfully set the two red-beamed spotlights at such angles that no matter which way the winding road twisted up the mountain, a spot of illumination was thrown on the road.

At length the headlights on the police car illuminated the two parked automobiles, showed Della Street, Helen Kendal, and Gerald Shore standing closely together, their faces white ovals as they watched the approaching car.

Mason said, “Swing your headlights so they illuminate that first car, Lieutenant.”

“That the one that has Leech’s body?” Tragg asked.

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “I don’t know Leech when I see him.”

Tragg looked at him sharply. “You mean this body isn’t that of Leech?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who does?”

Mason said, “I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know whether anyone in my party can make an identification.”

The police car lurched to a full stop.

Tragg said, “All right, let’s look around, boys. Mason, go over and see if anyone in your party can identify the body.”

If Lieutenant Tragg’s request had been intended to keep Mason from observing the police inspection of the car, it failed, for Mason merely raised his voice and called, “Come on over here — the three of you.”

“I didn’t say that,” Tragg said irritably.

Mason said, “I thought you wanted to know whether they could identify the body.”

“I do, but they don’t need to come over here and get in the way.”

“They won’t get in the way. How are they going to identify a body if they don’t see it?”

“They’ve taken a good look at him by this time,” Tragg said. “Trust you for that.”

“On the contrary,” Mason assured him, “two of these people haven’t been near the car.”

“How do you know they haven’t?”

“Because I left instructions for them not to do so.”

“How do you know they followed instructions?”

“Because Della Street was here.”

Tragg frowned at him and said, “The elaborate precautions you’re taking in this case make it look as though you had already stuck your toe in the water and found it mighty hot.”

Mason looked hurt. “You’ve got a nasty, suspicious mind, Tragg.” Then he grinned. “I’ll admit, though, that I try to remember the story of the guy who wanted to go swimming at night and dove into the pool without checking on whether it was filled.”

By that time, spotlights were blazing on the interior of the car. A photographer had setup his camera on a tripod and was inserting a bulb in the synchronized flash gun.

“Move over to this side,” Tragg said. “You can see his face from there. Any of you know him?”

Solemnly they moved around to the side of the car to examine the features.

“I have never seen this man before,” Shore said solemnly.

“Nor I,” Helen Kendal supplemented.

“You?” Tragg asked Della Street.

She shook her head.

Tragg said, “None of you know Leech?”

There were two “No’s” and a shake of the head.

The photographer said, “Okay, Lieutenant, get ’em out of the way.”

An officer pushed the group back, and the instantaneous brilliance of the flashlight bulb cut the night apart with a quick stab of light.

“Hold it,” the photographer said. “I’ll get another shot from this angle, then one from the other side. Then you can have him.”

As the little group moved away from the car, Mason managed to get Della Street and Helen Kendal off to one side.

“When Lieutenant Tragg questions you,” he said, “answer his questions frankly but it might be a good plan not to volunteer any information — particularly unimportant information.”

“Such as what?” Della Street asked.

“Oh,” Mason said, with an elaborately casual manner, “any of the family gossip or anything of that sort. Tragg will ask you what he wants to know. Don’t take up his time with a lot of unimportant incidentals, such as the fact that Gerald Shore didn’t come into the hotel when we went in to call on Leech — things like that. Of course, if he asks you specifically, that’s different, but there’s no necessity to waste time telling him things in which he isn’t interested. He’ll ask you about everything he wants to know.”

Helen Kendal nodded innocently enough, but Della Street maneuvered Mason off toward the rear of the car.

“Why the secrecy about Gerald Shore not going into the hotel?” she asked. “And what’s significant about it?”

Mason’s manner was deeply thoughtful. “Hanged if I know, Della. For some reason, I don’t think he wanted to go into the hotel.”

“You think he really knows Henry Leech?”

“He may — or he might have been in there earlier tonight and didn’t want the clerk to recognize him.”

Della Street puckered her lips to give a low whistle.

“Mind you, that’s just a guess,” Mason warned. “There’s probably nothing to it, but I...”

“What are you two talking about?” Tragg demanded, coming around from the other side of the car.

Mason said, “Wondering whether he was shot from the left side by someone hidden by the side of the road or from the right side by someone sitting in the car.”

Tragg snorted, “Pardon me! From the secret huddle you’re in, I thought you might be discussing something confidential — like who won the last World’s Series. Just to satisfy your curiosity, he was shot from the left side by someone who was outside the car. The bullet entered the left side of the head, and the murderer stood far enough away so the weapon left no powder burns. Probably it was a .38 revolver, and it may have been an automatic. We’re going to look for the empty cartridge case. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“Quite a lot,” Mason said. “In fact, virtually all of the details.”

“Got a nickel?” Tragg asked casually.

Mason pushed his hand down in his pocket. “Yes. Why? Did you want to telephone?”

“No,” Tragg said, grinning. “Keep your nickel. You can buy a newspaper with it tomorrow and get all the details. Right now, I’m only going to tell you what I want you to know.”

Tragg walked past them to the side of the car. By this time, the deputy coroner had completed his examination and the men began searching the body.

A few moments later, Tragg walked over to the police car and said, “I’d like to have you four come over here. Mason, I’m going to ask you to let me do the talking for a moment, and not say anything unless I ask you some specific question.”