Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Reluctant Model

“Don’t do it,” Olney said. “I don’t want him over here. I’m going over there. I’m going to talk with him before I say anything to anybody.”

“That Feteet was the prize of your collection?” Mason asked.

“It certainly was.”

“And how did it happen that you didn’t miss it for the week it was gone from the yacht, during which Goring Gilbert was copying It down in his studio?”

“Who said it was missing from the yacht?”

“It had to be,” Mason said.

Tragg said, “I’m interested in knowing how much of the money that Durant had on him came from you, and with all due deference to your position, Mr. Olney, I intend to find out before you leave this office.”

“Well, I don’t have to tell you anything before I leave this office.”

“No, you don’t,” Tragg said, “but if you don’t, it’s rather a suspicious circumstance.”

“What’s suspicious about it?”

“Why should you give him ten thousand dollars?” Tragg asked. “Was he blackmailing you?”

“What do you mean?” Olney asked.

Mason said, “Tragg, you might ask him if it isn’t true that he commissioned Gilbert to make a copy of the Phellipe Feteet painting.”

“Why should I want anyone to make a copy of my painting?” Olney asked.

“Probably,” Mason said, “because you were in domestic difficulties, knew that your wife was planning to file suit for divorce, and you intended to make certain she didn’t get your most cherished painting.”

Olney said, “Do you realize what you’re saying? Do you realize that you have accused me of—”

“Exactly,” Mason said, “and if you don’t tell the complete story you’re apt to find yourself accused of murder. Lieutenant Tragg wasn’t born yesterday. And I served a subpoena on your wife a short time ago.”

Olney’s face turned white. “You subpoenaed my wife in this case?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, my God!” Olney exclaimed. “Now the fat will be in the fire!”

Mason glanced at Tragg, said, “On the day of his murder, Collin Durant didn’t have any funds at all at about six o’clock in the evening. By the time of his death, probably around eight o’clock in the evening, he had ten thousand dollars in hundred-dollar bills, Banks weren’t open at that time. Now, you just tell us whether you gave him those one-hundred hundred-dollar bills.”

“Yes,” Lt. Tragg said, “I think that will be a very good starting point.”

Olney got to his feet, stood for a moment, then said, “I am going to see my attorney.”

“I beg your pardon,” Tragg said, “ you’re not going anywhere. You’re going to police headquarters with me if you aren’t going to answer that question. I’m making it official now. I’m asking you if Durant got that money from you.”

“Yes,” Olney said at length. “He got it from me.”

“Now, that’s better,” Tragg said. “When did he get it?”

“He got it about seven-forty-five.”

“And why did he get it?”

“He told me if he had the money he could... well, he could get Maxine Lindsay to disappear.”

“And why did you want her to disappear?”

“Because I couldn’t afford to go ahead with the lawsuit I’d filed over that damned phoney painting and I couldn’t afford to back up on it.”

“Now then,” Tragg said, “you’re beginning to make a little sense. So you saw Durant at seven-forty-five?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In front of the apartment house where Maxine Lindsay lived.”

“Then,” Mason said, smiling at Lt. Tragg, “so far as is known, Olney, you were the last person to see Durant alive, because Maxine Lindsay has a perfect alibi from seven-forty-five. She was at the bus terminal at eight o’clock.”

“You don’t know what she did after that,” Olney said defiantly. “The medical testimony is that Durant could have been killed any time up to eight-twenty.”

“I think you’d better tell us about what you did,” Lt. Tragg said. “It might be a lot better that way, Mr. Olney.”

“All right,” Olney said. “I knew that I was coming to a showdown with my wife. She had all the evidence for a divorce. I didn’t have any. I knew that she was going to strip me of my property — as much as she could.

“For some years I had been setting aside a cash reserve fund. I had nearly a quarter of a million dollars in safety deposit boxes that no one knew anything about. This money was in the form of hundred-dollar bills.

“Mason is correct. I wanted to keep my Phellipe Feteet.

“I guess I better put my cards right on the table with you gentlemen. It’s my only chance now.

“I was in love. I’ve been in love for some time. My wife knew what was going on. She wouldn’t give me a divorce. On the other hand, she used the power that the law gave her to hold a sword over my head. She wanted an absolutely impossible settlement. She wanted this settlement not to take care of herself, but to cause me the most suffering possible.

“She was threatening to file suit for separate maintenance, but not to file suit for divorce, not to give me my freedom. She was going to hold me in an impossible situation.

“I made up my mind that I’d try and buy her off, if I could. I was willing to pay through the nose. Now, damn it, this is all highly confidential. Only my attorneys know anything about these negotiations.”

“Go ahead,” Tragg said. “You’re mixed up in a murder case now. You’d better come clean.”

“Well, I made up my mind that my wife was not going to get that particular painting, so I inquired around and found that there was a young man who was an expert at copying paintings. He could make forgeries that couldn’t be told from the work of famous painters. He could copy every style of painting, and he could copy an original painting so that it was virtually impossible to tell the original and the copy apart.”

“That man was Goring Gilbert?” Tragg asked.

“I don’t know who he was,” Olney said, “but I assume it was. I hired a go-between because I couldn’t afford to be identified with what was happening. This person made arrangements to have the painting copied. I paid two thousand dollars cash in hundred-dollar bills.”

“To Gilbert?” Mason asked.

“No, to the go-between.”

“That was Durant?” Tragg asked.

“It very definitely was not Durant. I wouldn’t have touched Durant with a ten-foot pole. He was a slimy double-crosser. I wouldn’t have put myself in his power for a minute.”

“Then how did it happen you gave Durant money?” Tragg asked.

“Because I walked into a trap. The first thing I knew, Durant had made this statement that my painting was a phoney. I got mad and made up my mind I’d teach him a lesson. Also, this was my chance to have my painting adjudged genuine. Then I could substitute the copy after I had established the authenticity of the original. So I just broke right into print and branded Durant a liar.

“Evidently that was exactly what he’d been waiting for. He showed up on the thirteenth and told me that he was going to subpoena Goring Gilbert, that he was going to claim I had commissioned Gilbert to make a copy of the painting, and that the copy was the one that was hanging in my yacht on the afternoon that he’d made the statement the painting was a forgery.

“Good heavens, I couldn’t have that! My wife would have found out what was going on and the fat would have been in the fire. All right, I paid off. I paid through the nose. I gave that slimy, blackmailing upstart eleven thousand dollars.”

“Why eleven thousand dollars?” Mason asked.

“That was the price he demanded.”