Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lonely Heiress

“No whispering!” the officer growled.

“I was merely giving some instructions to my secretary.”

“Keep your voice up when you do! I’m supposed to listen in.”

“I don’t think anyone has any right to tell me what tone of voice I should talk in, or what instructions I should give to my secretary.”

The officer merely held open the door on the left side of the car, got out, opened the door at the back, climbed in and pushed Mason over to one side of the car and said, “Get over, Buddy. I’ll sit between you. The ‘Loot’ said you weren’t to do any whispering, and when Tragg says you’re not to do any whispering, as far as I’m concerned, you’re not to whisper!”

Mason said, “Tragg has no right to order anything of that sort.”

“Okay. Have it your way. I don’t aim to stop you from doing anything that’s legal, so go right ahead and whisper. You can whisper across me. Whisper all you want.”

They sat in silence for several seconds. Then Mason said, “The verbal IQ of our esteemed contemporary of the governmental enforcement staff seems to be limited to the vernacular.”

“And so?” Della Street asked.

Mason, watching the officer’s expressionless countenance, said, “We might try polysyllabic circumlocution. The elimination of one of the subscribers to a clause of formal attestation enhances the importance of the remaining member of the trio who were present at the time of testamentary execution.”

“Now, what the hell!” the officer protested.

“Necessitating any remedial measures on our part?” Della Street inquired.

“Not necessarily remedial,” Mason said, “but precautionary.”

“In what way?”

“In view of the chirography transmitted yesterday, it might be well to ascertain specific details from the survivor of those present at the ceremonies incident to legalizing the cause of the testamentary controversy; and in the event I should be unavoidably detained, you might be able to expedite matters in that direction prior to interrogations by...”

“Say, bust it up. Bust it up!” the officer said. “What the hell’s the idea? Want me to get tough?”

“You certainly can’t put gags in our mouths, simply because Tragg wants us held for a while as material witnesses.”

“How the hell do I know what he wants you held as?” the officer asked. “I can sure as hell clap the bracelets on you, Mr. Mason, and handcuff you right around the pillar on that porch. And if you’re thinking of getting away from here any time soon, it’s going to make it a lot easier if I told the ‘Loot’ you weren’t trying to slip anything over. If I tell him you tried to foul me up with dictionary chatter, you’ll be here a long time.”

“Yes,” Della Street said, “I suppose that has its points, and, anyhow, on that one matter I see no need for additional clarification.”

“Who are you talking to? Me?” the officer asked.

Della Street nodded.

“Well, when you want to sing to me, make it a straight solo. Don’t warble, just sing.”

Della Street laughed. “Pardon me, I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“Nothing.”

Della Street turned to Mason. “Possibly a matter of emergency might result in a portion of the clerical force incident to the transaction of your business being liberated for the purpose of...”

“Oh, nuts!” the officer said. “You folks keep asking for it! Now, shut up. Another word out of either one of you and I’ll separate you so you won’t have a chance to talk.”

He climbed back into the front of the car, pressed the button which brought in the car police radio and said, “Car ninety-one car ninety-one. Ring Lieutenant Tragg. Tell him the two birds I’m holding at his orders insist on singing funny tunes. What does he want to do about it?”

“Car ninety-one,” a voice asked, “relaying a message to Lieutenant Tragg?”

“That’s right. You know where he is. There’s a phone there. Get him.”

Mason said, “After all, our conversation was merely a...”

“Shut up!”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, of course, if that’s the way you...”

“I said shut up, and meant it!”

Mason winked at Della Street, lapsed into silence.

The officer swung around in the seat, his beady, deep-set eyes regarding them in sullen appraisal.

A few moments later the door of the flat where Rose Keeling had been murdered opened and Lieutenant Tragg hurried across the porch and down to the car. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.

The officer gestured with his thumb. “These two birds keep on singing,” he said. “I broke up the whispering, and then they started a lot of dictionary stuff, back and forth, stuff that was over my head.”

“All right, Mason,” Tragg said. “I thought you could take a hint. I see you can’t. Get out!”

“But, Lieutenant, I was merely...”

“Get out!”

The officer opened the door, reached in and grabbed the lapels of Mason’s coat and said, “When the ‘Loot’ says out, he means out. You coming?”

“I’m coming,” Mason said.

“Come with me,” Tragg ordered.

Mason followed him up to the porch. Tragg turned abruptly, said, “Wait a minute, I have some instructions to give the officer.”

Mason sat on the rail of the porch while Tragg moved part way down the cement walk which led to the sidewalk.

Tragg and the officer conversed in low tones for a moment or two, then the officer started back toward the car. Tragg returned to Mason. “What were you two trying to put over, Mason?”

Mason said, “I feel I’ve been inconvenienced about enough. After all, Lieutenant, I’ve told you all I know, and I have work to do.”

Tragg nodded.

“Moreover,” Mason said, “there’s a lot of stuff at the office that Miss Street has to take care of.”

Tragg pursed his lips, started to say something, checked himself.

“One of us has to get back,” Mason insisted.

Tragg apparently changed his mind. He called out suddenly to the officer in the police car, “Take Miss Street up to Mr. Mason’s office, leave her there and then follow instructions.”

“Okay,” the big officer said, and almost immediately little puffs of smoke began to come from the exhaust of the big police car.

“You can come back upstairs with me,” Tragg said to Mason. “I want to talk with you a little further.”

“Only too glad to oblige,” Mason said.

The big police car rocketed into motion.

“I’d like to get her there in one piece,” Mason said.

“Oh, sure, sure,” Tragg assured him casually. “That officer will handle her as though she were a crate of eggs. He’s one of the best drivers in the business.”

“He seemed unduly suspicious.”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘unduly,’ ” Tragg said. “He said you were trying to whisper.”

“I wanted to give Della Street some instructions about a business matter.”

“You can trust our discretion.”

Mason said, “I don’t have to trust anyone’s discretion. I have a right to run my business, and I certainly don’t have to broadcast instructions to my secretary over a police network...”

“Okay, okay,” Tragg interrupted, “no hard feelings, Mason. I merely wanted to make sure I had a straight story out of you. Now, let’s take a few minutes here, and then I see no reason why you can’t be on your way. Show me just how this door was standing partially open when you came here.”

Mason said, “Now, I’m not certain about that, Tragg. I thought I heard a buzzer somewhere, and — you know how these electric buzzers release a door catch.”

Tragg, watching Mason narrowly, nodded his head. “Go on,” he said curtly.