Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Backward Mule

“That’s it. I’m always getting these business names mixed up. My memory isn’t as good as it once was. But aren’t those the men who are partners in that company?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“And you wanted to see them?”

“Yes.”

“You had an appointment with them?”

“Yes.”

“And you saw this man Gloster and Nevis?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“At the office of Stacey Nevis.”

“And you talked with these men?”

“Yes.”

“For about how long?”

“Oh, ten or fifteen minutes.”

“Well, now, isn’t that interesting? And then the next rattle out of the box Mr. Gloster telephoned you at some unusual hour of the night. What time would you say it was?”

“Oh, about eleven — perhaps ten minutes past.”

“And Gloster asked you to come down here?”

“Yes.”

“And you came right away?”

“Not right away,” Clane said, sensing the trap. “I told him that I would be down shortly, and I dressed. I was lounging around in a dressing gown and pajamas.”

“I see, I see. You told him you’d be down. You didn’t tell him just how soon?”

“No.”

“You told him perhaps right away?”

“I may have given him that impression,” Clane said, aware of the fact that it was quite possible the police had had his line tapped and knew all about that conversation.

“But you didn’t get here right away?”

“No.”

“You say you got here around twelve?”

“Yes.”

“And you found a cruising taxicab very shortly after you’d left your place?”

“Yes.”

“And came here right away in it?”

“Yes.”

Inspector Malloy abruptly pushed out his hand, grabbed Clane’s hand once more in a bone-crushing grip and pumped his arm up and down. “Thank you ever so much, Mr. Clane. Thank you very much indeed. You’ve been a real help, you really have. You have no idea how much help you’ve given me. I don’t think you fully appreciate how much you’ve helped me out. And I won’t detain you any longer. I know you’re sleepy, I know you’ve had a hard day. Freddy, will you take Mr. Clane home? Drive him right to his apartment. He’ll give you the address and you drive him there by the shortest route. Get him home just as soon as you can. And good night, Mr. Clane. That is, good morning. I hope you sleep tight.”

“Thank you,” Clane said.

Inspector Malloy started back for the warehouse. Freddy took Clane’s arm, and with official thoroughness piloted him over toward the police car.

At the door of the warehouse Inspector Malloy called out as though it had been only an afterthought, “By the way, Freddy, take a look at the trip mileage, will you? Find out just exactly how far it is from here to Mr. Clane’s apartment down to a tenth of a mile, and drive slowly, don’t use the siren, keep within the legal limits. Drive just about the way you would if you were a taxi driver, and make a note of just how far it is and just how long it takes you to drive it. Good night, Mr. Clane — that is, good morning, and thank you very, very much.”

Terry Clane, trying the bathroom door the next morning, found it locked. And then, to his surprise, a feminine voice called out cheerfully, “Just a moment.”

Before Clane had entirely recovered from the effect of that shock, he heard the bolt turn on the inside and Cynthia Renton, wearing a pair of his pajamas and carrying a toothbrush in her hand, smiled cheerfully at him, said, “Good morning,” and walked on past as casually as though she had been sharing his apartment for untold years.

“Hey!” Clane called. “What’s the big idea?”

She paused, looked back over her shoulder with surprise. She said, “I’m indebted to you for one toothbrush. Lucky for me that you were just moving in and Yat T’oy had bought all new supplies. He found a toothbrush for me without any trouble.”

“How long have you been here?” Clane asked.

Her eyes widened. “Why, ever since last night.”

“What time last night?”

“I came here when you were waiting for the police at the warehouse.”

“I don’t get it,” Clane said.

She said, “Well, go in and take your shower and we’ll discuss it over breakfast,” and she went slipslopping away down the corridor in a pair of Terry Clane’s slippers which were several sizes too large.

Irritated, Clane summoned Yat T’oy.

Yat T’oy’s explanation was ready and his face was as bland as the surface of a lake on a calm evening. “Missy say she come spend night. I think you send.”

Clane said angrily. “When it comes to certain people, you seem to take a great deal for granted.”

“No savvy,” Yat T’oy said, his face not changing expression by so much as a flicker of a muscle, but his eyes twinkling with hidden amusement.

Clane pushed his way into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

Cynthia was bubbling with good humor at breakfast. “Dear, dear, Owl, don’t tell me that you had a woman spending the night with you and didn’t know it! And for heaven’s sake, don’t try to tell that to the police.”

“The police,” Clane said, “will probably tell it to me. Suppose you answer a few questions.”

Her innocence was wide-eyed, her manner demure. “Why, certainly, Terry. Anything you ask.”

“Just how did you get in here?”

“Why, I walked in.”

“I know. But just what caused you to honor me?”

“Well,” she said. “I was out there in the warehouse when you discovered the body and called to me, and I had previously put my purse down on the edge of a packing case. I left it there when I joined you in the doorway of the office and... well, what I saw in there just completely took my mind off it until after I had got in my car and driven away. And then I didn’t dare to go back. I knew that you’d called the police. I felt there was a good chance you might find my purse and hide it.”

Clane said, “I didn’t even see it. I went outside and waited for the police.”

“Well,” she said, “there I was. I had a five-dollar bill in the top of my stocking for mad money and that was all. Everything else was in the purse.”

“Including a big wad of money?” Clane asked.

“Oh sure. You know how it is. I thought I might be sort of on the dodge for a while. Or how do they say it in the underworld, Owl? I guess it’s on the lam — that’s what I mean. If I’m going to be a fugitive from justice, I must brush up on my underworld slang.”

“So you’d drawn all this money out of the bank?”

“Some out of the bank, some out of an emergency fund that I keep in my safe for things I might need in a hurry.”

“So what did you do?”

“I came to see you, Owl. I wanted to borrow some money. I was in a spot. Well, I left the car I was driving in the private garage where I’d been keeping it. You may have noticed that it’s not my car. It belongs to a friend who loaned it to me.

“I took a cab and came here. Yat T’oy let me in. I waited for you, but while I was waiting, Yat T’oy scouted around to see that the coast was clear. Well, Owl, it wasn’t.

“After I arrived and before you came home, a whole flock of plainclothes men came driving up. I guess the only word for it is ‘debouched.’ Anyhow, they scattered all around the neighborhood so they could keep a watch on this flat. And there I was.

“Yat T’oy reported to me and we decided we’d better sleep on it.”

“They’ll search this place then.”

“They have already. As soon as Yat T’oy told me about them I felt certain they’d make some excuse, so I went out to the back service porch and hid in the broom closet. Sure enough, a man came up with the janitor to inspect a leak in the gas pipes. They prowled all around and then left. Yat T’oy came and got me — and here I am.”