Erle Gardner - The Case of the Borrowed Brunette

“I think it was a .32,” Mason said. “What did you do with it?”

“I threw it away.”

“Where?”

“Where it will never be found.”

“Why?”

“For obvious reasons. A man was killed in my apartment. There was every possibility I would be questioned by the police. Surely, Mr. Mason, for a man of your intelligence I don’t need to fill in the details.”

Mason pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “Thanks,” he said, “for telling me what you did. I’m sorry I can’t give you something in return. However, I might offer you a tip.”

“What?”

“Ever been in your husband’s apartment?”

“No.”

“You know where it is?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “It’s furnished in excellent taste. Only a person with very great artistic sense or a trained interior decorator could have done the job.”

“Well?”

“The windows have Venetian blinds. When Paul Drake and I called on your husband we gave him a rather difficult few minutes. He wanted, perhaps, some suggestions from a friend. I noticed he walked over to one of the windows that opened on the court, and under the pretense of looking out he adjusted the blinds so that it would be possible for anyone in an apartment on the other side of the court to see in. A few minutes later the telephone rang, and your husband had an enigmatical conversation.”

Her eyes were alert with interest now.

“I mentioned at the time to Paul Drake that your husband had a turbulent temperament — was constantly at war with himself. It would be strange if the decorations he had chosen for an apartment created the effect they did — of harmony, of colors perfectly combined.”

“Well?” she asked.

Mason made a little gesture with his shoulders. “As you yourself must know, a gambler doesn’t have to do much to give you a tip — sometimes merely the flicker of an eyelash.”

Mason nodded to Paul Drake, started for the door.

She rose and walked across the room to give him her hand. “Mr. Mason,” she said impulsively, “you are a very clever man and, I am afraid, a very dangerous adversary.”

“Why look on me as an adversary?”

She started to say something but caught herself in time and merely smiled as she said, “I don’t intend to. I was merely commenting on your potentialities. Thank you for calling, Mr. Mason. Good morning. And your friend Mr.—”

“Drake,” Paul said.

“Oh yes, thank you very much, Mr. Drake, for your cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” Drake asked.

She smiled. “You didn’t interrupt! Good morning.”

Mason entered his private office, scaled his hat at the hat rack, and said to Della Street, “Get Harry Gulling on the line as soon as you can. Then tell me what else is new.”

She spun the telephone dial. “The mail came in. There are quite a few letters — two or three on top you should do something about at once.”

Mason picked up the top letters and glanced at them. “Okay, I’ll send a wire.”

She motioned toward the telephone.

Mason picked up the instrument and said, “Hello.”

Harry Gulling’s voice contained no more warmth than the sound of ice cubes clinking in a frosted glass. “Good morning, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I’m sorry you didn’t see fit to comply with my ultimatum.”

Mason jerked his watch out of his pocket. “What the devil are you talking about?” he said. “It’s still three minutes till noon.”

“Well?” Gulling asked.

“And my client has surrendered herself at the county jail.”

“Not surrendered herself,” Gulling corrected acidly. “She has been apprehended.”

“What are you talking about?”

“There is, of course, rather an ingenious story,” Gulling said, “which quite apparently was carefully worked out to cover the situation in case she couldn’t get away. However, Mr. Mason, if you are going to gamble, you have to face the fact that gamblers often lose.”

“I’m still in the dark.”

“The chance you took.”

“I didn’t take any chance.”

“Perhaps you think you didn’t, but you’ve lost. And when a man stakes his future on a chance and loses, I’d say he was gambling. However, have it your own way.”

Mason said, “I think if you’ll investigate you’ll find that well before twelve o’clock Eva Martell appeared at police headquarters in a taxi she herself had paid for, and surrendered herself into custody.”

“She appeared at police headquarters all right, but she wasn’t in a taxi. She was in the custody of a radio officer who picked her up as she was riding along the street near the apartment she shared with Cora Felton, and she was headed in the direction of the airport.”

“All right — the taxicab was on its way to police headquarters.”

“Sure,” Gulling said. “That’s what she told the officer, but the taxi driver doesn’t say so. The cab was headed in the opposite direction.”

“What does the driver say?”

“He picked her up and was instructed to drive down certain streets. She didn’t tell him what her destination would be. Of course, that’s an old dodge, telling a taxi where to turn and then — in case you’re picked up — be very wide-eyed and innocent and say that you’re headed for police headquarters. As far as this office is concerned, Mason, it was up to you to deliver your client before twelve o’clock. There have been too many legal flimflams in cases where you’ve been the attorney on the other side. We are not disposed to give you any breaks now. You had until twelve o’clock to get that girl down here. From our point of view, you didn’t do it. For all we know, she may have been going to the airport.”

“But that is utterly unfair!”

“It’s keeping within the letter of our agreement, Mr. Mason.”

“All right,” Mason said angrily, “now I’ll tell you something. Go ahead and do whatever you damn please. I’m going to represent Eva Martell and I’m going to represent Adelle Winters, and I’ll give you folks the biggest surprise you ever had.”

“You mean you’re going to represent Adelle Winters?” Gulling asked, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice.

“Of course I am,” Mason said. “The only way I can get Eva Martell off is to be certain that the defense of Adelle Winters isn’t bungled.”

“She hasn’t any defense.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Well, Mr. Mason,” Gulling said, and now his voice was purring with satisfaction, “you have an interesting record so far in murder acquittals. I don’t think anything would suit this office better than to have you represent Adelle Winters. I’ll be very glad to arrange things so that you can see your client any time. And as far as your case is concerned, I’ll explain to the Grand Jury that you had an understanding with this office which you failed to keep. Incidentally, there’s a woman named Mae Bagley to whom you’d better give some legal advice.”

“Why?”

“She’s running a rooming house at the address where the taxi driver says he picked Eva Martell up. She says she never saw Eva Martell before in her life, and never rented her a room. We’re going to subpoena her before the Grand Jury. You might tell her something about the law in regard to perjury.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “Get her to come to my office to ask for legal advice. If I decide I want her as a client, I’ll advise her what the law really is.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“My conception may differ from yours.”

“Before you get done with this case,” Gulling promised him grimly, “you’ll have revised your ideas of the law as it relates to harboring a fugitive from justice.”