Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Lonely Heiress

Mason said dubiously, “You don’t think it could be just a coincidence? It...”

Della Street said, “If you think it’s a coincidence, just try it. Try to take a garment and fold it so that it is exact in the dimensions of its fold. You can’t do it, unless you have something to hold it, something that keeps it in size. You need a box or a suitcase, or...”

“Let’s get out of here,” Mason said abruptly. “We’ll get a court order demanding that the property be undisturbed. We’ll get photographers. The thing now is to get official access to these premises before the police have mixed everything up.”

Della Street said, “But even if they do, we could testify. I could say that...”

Mason’s laugh was harsh. “A fat chance!” he said. “You’d get on the stand and testify to what you had seen and the District Attorney would take you on cross-examination and say sarcastically, ‘What sort of visibility did you have, Miss Street? What kind of light were you using?’ And you’d say, ‘A flashlight,’ and then the District Attorney would ask you what time of night it was, and you would say, ‘About one-thirty in the morning,’ and..."

“Well, what difference does it make what time it was?” Della Street demanded. “Facts are facts.”

“Sure they’re facts,” Mason said, “but the District Attorney would make it appear that you and I had entered the building so that we could refold those garments so they would just fit into the suitcase and...”

“But we didn’t do it.”

“You’d say we didn’t do it, Della, but when you come right down to it, what did we come in here for? Suppose we’d had to do it?”

Della Street thought that over for a moment, then said, “All right, let’s get out of here.”

“The irony of it is,” Mason went on, “that the evidence was actually here all the time. If I’d only used my eyes when I was in here. If I’d pointed it out to Tragg then... Oh, what’s the use? Let’s go.”

They tiptoed down the passageway, through the living room to the head of the stairs, then cautiously descended, once more keeping over to the side of the treads so as to avoid creaking boards.

They reached the lower landing.

“All ready?” Mason asked.

“All ready,” Della Street said.

Mason opened the door.

After the stuffy interior of the flat where the windows had been closed, the freshness of the cool night air fanned them with a sudden chill.

At that moment a light swinging around the corner of the building flooded the porch with blood-red brilliance.

Della Street said, “Good heavens, it’s...”

“A police car,” Mason said.

“Do we run back or...”

“Out!” Mason said, and pushed her out to the porch. He followed her and pulled the door shut behind him. He took the handkerchief from his pocket, held it in front of him and made rapid motions.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Polishing fingerprints off that key. Raise the front door mat with your foot. Hurry.”

She moved the front door mat with her foot. Mason dropped the key to the cement porch where it gave forth a metallic tinkle.

“All right,” Mason said. “Hold the rug up.”

Della Street’s foot held the rug and Mason kicked the key under the rug.

Mason, standing at the door, started ringing the bell. The blood-red spotlight on the police car now held them pinned in its pitiless red beam. The police car slid to a stop. A door opened and closed.

Mason turned and said casually, “We want to get in here. What’s wrong with the police guard? Is he drunk? We’ve been ringing for ten minutes.”

A radio officer, followed by a man who hung back in the shadows, came up the walk.

“What the hell’s coming off here?”

Mason said, “We want to get into this place.”

“You’ve been in it.”

“Been in it?” Mason said. “Of course I’ve been in it. That’s why I want to get back in.”

“How did you get in?”

“I was here with Lieutenant Tragg,” Mason said.

“I don’t mean then. I mean you were in just now.”

Mason said, “I want to get in. I’m ringing the bell. There must be some officer sleeping upstairs.”

“You’ve been in. You opened that door and went in.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Here’s a witness who saw you,” the officer said.

Robert Caddo stepped forward, said apologetically, “Hello, Mason.”

“Why, hello, Caddo,” Mason said. “What are you doing here?”

Caddo was awkwardly silent.

Mason said to the prowl car officer, “I certainly hope you’re not paying any attention to the word of this man.”

“What’s wrong with his word?”

“As far as I’m concerned, he’s a suspect in this murder case. He’s already told one bunch of lies to the police.”

Caddo said, “You can’t talk like that, Mason.”

“The hell I can’t!” Mason told him belligerently, stepping toward Caddo. “You heard your wife tell me she’d been to see Rose Keeling, and you tried to...”

“She didn’t tell you any such thing! She...”

The radio officer put a big hand on Mason’s chest, pushed him back from Caddo. “Keep your shirt on, buddy,” he said. “We’ll save all this stuff. What I want to know is what you were doing in that house.”

Mason said, “I want to get the evidence perpetuated. This man with you is trying his damndest to get into this flat by some hook or crook, so he can remove some evidence which will implicate his wife.”

“That’s not true,” Caddo said.

Mason laughed sneeringly, “You’d give your right hand to get in there. You’ve worked up some cock-and-bull story to spring on this officer so he’ll let you in.”

“I tell you that’s not true!” Caddo said. “I was watching this place because I felt certain someone would try to plant some evidence that would incriminate Dolores.”

“So,” Mason said sneeringly, “you came out here, parked a car and stayed all night so you could...”

“So I could watch the place,” Caddo interrupted. “I saw you driving around and around the block and then I saw you park your car, and you and your secretary went in that flat.”

“So you dashed out to find a cop. Is that right?”

“I went to the nearest telephone and put in a call to police headquarters. They contacted the radio car,” Caddo said.

“I see,” Mason said sarcastically. “And how long after you think we went in did you wait before you went for the radio car? Why did you sit there waiting?...”

“I didn’t wait. The minute I saw you at that door, I knew it was going to happen, and I made a dash to the telephone.”

“I thought so,” Mason said.

“What’s wrong with that?” Caddo asked.

“The minute you saw us coming up here to this door,” Mason said, his foot touching Della Street’s toe, “you went dashing off to the nearest telephone.”

“I’ve already told you that,” Caddo said.

“You certainly have,” Mason said. “I want you to get the significance of that, officer. The minute he saw us come up here on the porch, he dashed to the telephone.”

“Because I knew what you were trying to do. I knew you were going to get in here and plant some evidence on my wife. I’d had a suspicion all along that you’d do something like that. You... Hey, officer, that woman is taking this stuff down in shorthand.”

“Sure she is,” Mason said.

The officer turned. Della Street, standing back in the corner, had taken a shorthand notebook and fountain pen from her pocket and her hand was flying over the page, making dashes and pothooks.

“What’s the idea?” the officer asked.