Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Backward Mule

Clane settled down into the luxury of a deep-cushioned chair, reached out mechanically and found that Yat T’oy had placed a humidor with his favorite mixture of tobacco and a pipe rack at his hand. Clane tamped moist tobacco into the pipe, lit a match and puffed contentedly. Yat T’oy watched him solicitously. “Have eaten already?”

“Have eaten,” Clane said.

“Brandy?”

“Good brandy, Yat T’oy?”

“Number one.”

Clane nodded. Yat T’oy brought him a snifter glass and Clane spun the golden liquid about, watching the oily streaks which clung to the sides of the polished glass.

“Where did you ever find brandy like this, Yat T’oy?”

“China boy work in liquor store,” Yat T’oy said. “Alle same my cousin.”

Clane let the aroma of the brandy seep to his nostrils, settled back in the chair, his eyes lazy-lidded with contentment, his muscles relaxed.

“Edward Harold escaped from the police officers, Yat T’oy.”

“I read in newspapers.”

“Cynthia Renton disappeared the same night that Edward Harold disappeared. She has not been in touch even with her sister.”

Yat T’oy’s eyes rested briefly on Clane’s face, then slithered away. He blinked attentively, turned his eyes away once more. He said nothing.

“She will try to get in touch with me. She knows that I am due to arrive at about this time and the newspaper will report that my boat has docked. Do we have a telephone, Yat T’oy?”

“Have telephone.”

“Be careful in case anyone should call to leave a message. Be sure that you get the message exactly right. It is possible the police will listen in on the wire.”

“Janitor who is alle same my cousin very smart,” Yat T’oy said. “Police no listen in.”

Clane said, “The police are very smart too.”

“China boy more smart.”

Clane smiled. “Perhaps,” he said, “the message will be in newspapers. Do you have the newspapers?”

“Today’s newspapers already here. Also newspapers about escape from policemen of Edward Harold. Also newspapers about murder.”

“You mean you have back copies telling about the murder of Horace Farnsworth?”

“Have got.”

“How on earth did you get them?”

“China boy works in Red Cross where collect old papers,” Yat T’oy said.

“And I suppose he is alle same your cousin?”

“Alle same.”

“It must have taken much work to go through that mass of papers in order to find the ones you wanted,” Terry Clane said.

“My cousin help me, I help him. We work at night, not much work.”

Clane settled down to reading the newspapers.

Yat T’oy stood for a few moments in the doorway watching him. Then he said, “Bell by your chair. You want me you ring a bell.”

He noiselessly vanished, leaving Terry Clane to concentrate on what had been reported in the daily press of the murder of Horace Farnsworth, the subsequent trial of Edward Harold, the conviction, and then Harold’s dramatic escape.

According to the evidence as reported in the press, Edward Harold on the day of the murder had called on Horace Farnsworth. Harold, testifying in his own behalf, had insisted that had been at Farnsworth’s request and that when he had called on Farnsworth, he had found the latter very uneasy, even to the point of being despondent, perhaps frightened. Apparently Farnsworth had wanted to confide in Harold and, according to the defendant, had changed his mind between the time he had telephoned and the, time Harold had arrived.

After some conversation which Harold had described from the witness stand as “pointless”, Harold had brought up the subject of certain investments Farnsworth was making for a mutual friend, a Cynthia Renton — thinking that perhaps this had been the thing about which Farnsworth had wished to consult him.

Farnsworth, however, had stated that he invested in some securities and hadn’t liked them. He had arranged matters so Miss Renton could get her original capital out of the investment or, if she desired, hold it for a speculative profit.

But the place where Harold had trapped himself and the testimony which, when proven false, had brought about his conviction of murder in the first degree was his assertion that he had not, after that first visit, returned to Farnsworth’s house.

The first visit had concededly taken place about five o’clock in the afternoon. Apparently it had lasted until around five-twenty. It was the contention of the prosecution that about six o’clock Harold had returned. He swore that he had not done so; but a neighbor had seen him hurriedly emerge from the front door of Farnsworth’s house, almost run down the street, jump into a car and drive away. The identification was positive and absolute. Another person who had known Harold for years had seen him at a minute or two past six driving his car along the road within a block of Farnsworth’s house. Yet Harold had, at first, sworn positively he had not returned to Farnsworth’s house after that first visit. Then confronted with the statements of these other witnesses, Harold had lost his head, become angry and sullen. He had suddenly refused to answer further questions concerning that second visit on the ground that the answers might incriminate him. After that there had been nothing to it. The jury had retired and reached a verdict of first-degree murder with a deliberation of less than an hour.

The body of Farnsworth, discovered at six-twenty-five by one Sam Kenyon, Farnsworth’s house man, cook, chauffeur, valet, and man of all work, had been carefully examined by a police surgeon who had arrived before seven o’clock. He had sworn that the time of death was between five and five-thirty.

Sam Kenyon had spent some two hours during the afternoon with friends. He had purchased a pair of shoes and a necktie, walked home somewhat leisurely since Farnsworth required only a light supper in the evening. On entering the kitchen, Kenyon had been impressed by something which struck him as highly unusual. There was a kettle of furiously boiling water on the electric stove. The burner under the water had been turned on to its hottest adjustment and the water in the kettle had boiled down until only an inch or two remained.

Because this indicated Farnsworth had wanted hot water for something and had then forgotten he had put the kettle on the stove, Kenyon had gone at once to Farnsworth’s study. He had found him lifeless, sprawled on the floor, and the servant had immediately telephoned the police. The call had been relayed to a radio car and police had arrived within five minutes to find Farnsworth’s lifeless body — and the kettle still furiously boiling away in the kitchen.

At this point, police, making a further investigation, found the oven of the stove had been heated until its highest temperature had been reached on the built-in thermometer in the oven door. They opened this door, found Farnsworth s uncovered wristwatch in the oven, bearing traces of water in the mechanism and stopped at five-twenty-six.

Apparently Farnsworth had in some manner got his watch filled with water, had gone to the kitchen, put on a kettle of water, turned on the heat in both burner and oven, had removed the back from his wrist watch, put it in the oven to dry out, returned to the study, and almost immediately met his death.

How had he got his watch partially filled with water? Why had he wanted boiling water? The police considered these interesting but incidental questions.

Studying the reports of the case, Clane realized that the evidence linking Harold with the actual crime of murder was weak and circumstantial. It had been the man’s unfortunate attitude on the witness stand, his attempt to cover up that second trip, his deliberate perjury, which had convicted him.