Erle Gardner - The Case of the Borrowed Brunette

“And learned that 326 was in the name of Helen Reedley?”

“Yes.”

“And she was this mysterious person that Hines had been telephoning to?”

“Well, I thought there was some connection — yes.”

“What happened when Hines went out? Were you supposed to transmit telephone messages to Helen?”

“No, he always left me a telephone number where I could get in touch with him at any time, and if I couldn’t reach him he’d call me back every half-hour. He was very particular about that.”

“And you didn’t know any of the details of his business?”

“No.”

“When did you find out about this key?”

“Day before yesterday.”

“And what did you do?”

“Looked up the apartment and found it was in the name of Helen Reedley.”

“And then asked him about it?”

“No. What good does it do to ask a man about the woman he’s two-timing you with? Don’t be silly!”

“What did you do?”

“Followed him when he went out yesterday afternoon. I listened to see if he rang for the elevator. He didn’t. He went down the stairs to the third floor.”

“And you trailed him?”

“Yes.”

“What did he do?”

“Went into that woman’s apartment.”

“Did he knock?”

“Yes, he knocked and waited for a while. That gave me a chance to catch up with him. I could peek down the hall through the crack when I’d opened the stairway door an inch or two.”

“He got no answer?”

“No — but he went in. He took that key from his pocket, opened the door, and went in.”

“What did you do then?”

She looked at him, her expression suddenly hostile. “Say,” she demanded, “what business is all this of yours, anyway?”

Mason came back at her promptly. “You want to get tough, do you?”

“No— I just wondered... ” Just as suddenly, she seemed deflated.

“Well, what did you do? Please answer my question!”

“Oh— I waited a while, and then I went along and knocked on the apartment door.”

“And then what?”

“There was no answer.”

“Did you say anything?”

“No. I just knocked three or four times. Then when no one came to the door, I knew the answer: he was in there with that woman.”

“What did you do?”

“I came back down to this apartment and started to pack. I wish now I’d made a scene, instead — I might have saved his life!”

“What time was it that he went to that apartment?”

“Just a little before two o’clock — perhaps five minutes of two.”

“And then what did you do?”

“There was no reason for me to stay here. I have a friend in Denver who is very fond of me, and he has been asking me to come to Denver. I suppose we would have gotten married. I like him a lot — but I liked Bob too.”

“And when did you hear of the murder?”

“Not until late last night. I heard some people talking about it in the lobby downstairs.”

“And you didn’t buy a paper?”

“Yes, but it wasn’t in the evening papers.”

“You haven’t been out to get one this morning?”

“No.”

“You’ve had breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“About an hour.”

“But didn’t go out to buy a paper?”

“No.”

“Your friend,” Mason said, “was murdered in this very apartment house, yet you didn’t even go out and get a paper so as to find out any details? You didn’t try to learn who murdered him?”

“Helen Reedley killed him! The police know that.”

“Have you ever seen Helen Reedley?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“I met them the other day in the elevator, rode down with them. I got on here at the fourth floor, and just as I was closing the door someone tried to take the elevator away from me. It was those people on the third floor, Helen Reedley and the older woman — her aunt or something.”

“And by that time you knew that Helen Reedley had beaten your time with Bob Hines?”

“Well... yes.”

“You didn’t say anything to her?”

“No.”

“Looked her over pretty carefully?”

“Naturally I would.”

Mason sat thoughtfully silent for a moment, studying the woman’s face. Then he said quietly, “Helen Reedley didn’t mean a thing to Bob Hines except in a financial way.”

“What are you saying? He had the key to her apartment. He—”

“Sure he did, but it wasn’t Helen Reedley who was in the apartment. She hired Bob Hines to get her a ringer.”

“What’s a ringer?”

“A double — someone who could take her place in the apartment and pretend to be Helen Reedley. Bob put an ad in a trade journal that’s read by actresses — an ad asking for a brunette of a certain type.”

Her eyes were wide and round now. “Are you... Is that the truth?”

Taking his wallet out, Mason showed her the advertisement.

She read it, and handed it back. Her lips twitched; she blinked back tears for a moment; then she suddenly pillowed her head on her arms and gave herself over to hysterical sobbing.

Mason waited until she had cried for a minute or two. Then he said gently, “So you see, Carlotta, your suspicions were entirely unfounded. When you killed him in a jealous rage you had no reason, no cause. Now suppose you tell us what actually happened.”

“I’ve told you,” she said, raising a tear-stained face.

“No, you haven’t. You went to that apartment and knocked. He wouldn’t open the door, so you called out that you knew he was in there. He opened the door. You dashed in. He went into the bedroom, backing away from your anger, trying to explain. You saw the gun lying there on the sideboard. You were hysterical with anger. You grabbed it up and shot him!”

“Say, what are you trying to do? Frame a murder on me?”

“I want you to tell the truth. If that isn’t what happened, what did happen?”

“Say, why should I tell you everything? Why the hell should I tell you anything? Who are you anyway? Are you the police?”

“Just a minute. Let’s get some of this straight, anyway. After you found he was in that apartment, you didn’t do anything about it?”

“I came down and packed.”

“Who’s this friend of yours in Denver?”

“I’d rather not mention his name.”

“But I want to know who he is. I must know whether you communicated with him.”

“Well... I... I talked with him by long-distance last night.”

“From this apartment?”

“No, I went out and called him from a pay station.”

“What’s his name?”

“You can’t make me tell you.”

“But you did talk with him?”

“Yes.”

“And asked him if it was all right for you to come?”

“Yes.”

“What time was this?”

“I’m not going to tell you that.”

“As a matter of fact, didn’t you call him in the afternoon rather than the evening?”

“No.”

“What booth did you call him from?”

“I’m not going to answer any more questions. I don’t think you... Say, are you the police?”

Mason said quickly, “Look here, Carlotta, we’re investigating this crime. We want to find out everything we can about it. You want the murderer of Bob Hines to be brought to justice, don’t you?”

“Are you the police?”

“No. I’m a lawyer, and these two men are detectives.”

“ Police detectives?”

“What difference does that make?” Mason asked. “Are you trying to conceal information?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to tell everything I know to anybody who just walks in here and asks me. I thought you were the police.”

His eye on Della Street’s pencil flying over the shorthand notebook, Mason said, “I don’t know what gave you that impression. We didn’t say a word about being the police. I simply dropped in to ask you some questions. I told you my name was Mason. I’m Perry Mason, a lawyer.”