Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Backward Mule

“Take that diagram and, in connection with the position of the body, figure it out any way you want to,” Clane said. “The most logical solution is that none of the partners had been down to that warehouse for some little time, and Edward Harold had reason to believe they weren’t going to be coming down there. He established a hideout there in the warehouse. Then Gloster, in making an appointment with me and trying to get someplace that would be relatively isolated, selected the warehouse. When he unlocked the front door and switched on the lights, Harold knew he was trapped. He sprinted across the room and jumped out of the window. Gloster ran over to tire telephone to notify the police. Perhaps he’d recognized Harold. Perhaps he thought merely some burglar was in the place. While he was rushing to the telephone, someone who had entered the room with him stood at the door and shot him in the back, then deliberately turned out the lights and drove away.”

“Why do you say it was someone who had entered the room with him?” Hendrum asked.

“The evidence indicates it.”

“What evidence?”

“Gloster was evidently shot as he was moving over toward the telephone. He was shot by someone who was standing near the door on the north side. If my theory is correct, Gloster must have gone to the telephone just as soon as he entered the room, switched on the lights, and saw Edward Harold just going through the window. That would mean that the person who shot him had entered the room at about the same time Gloster did.”

“At exactly the same time?”

“Perhaps just a step or two behind him.”

“You mean then this person must have driven down there with Gloster?”

“Or he might have been someone whom Gloster was to meet there, some third party who was to furnish some information which Gloster wanted me to have. Or perhaps confront me with something which Gloster wanted to have me confronted with. He might have arrived there a few minutes before Gloster and then waited.”

“Well?” Hendrum asked.

“And,” Clane said, “if Edward Harold had sent you a postal card, letting you know where he was, and you had gone down to see him, there is a chance you might have noticed something which would be of some help.”

Hendrum stretched his feet out in front of him, pushed his hands down deep into his trousers pockets.

“So you see,” Clane said, “that I...”

“Shut up!” Hendrum said. “Let me think a minute.”

For some seconds the men sat there. Hendrum, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, its curved stem letting it rest on his coat lapel, puffed nervously, emitting little intermittent wisps of curled smoke. His feet were out in front of him and his eyes were looking at the toes of his shoes; his hands were thrust deep in his pockets.

Clane sat silent, doing nothing to distract the other’s attention.

At length Hendrum spoke with the care of one who is examining and testing each word before he puts it into circulation. “I can tell you one thing, and only one thing, which might help. Ricardo Taonon was driving his automobile in the vicinity of that warehouse about thirty minutes before the time the police think the murder was committed.”

“How do you know?” Clane asked as the other ceased speaking.

Hendrum shook his head.

“Could I say that you saw him?” Clane asked.

“You could not.”

Abruptly Hendrum took the pipe from his mouth, placed it on the pipe rack and got to his feet. “I’ve said all I care to say.”

He walked over to the door, held it open. “I’m sorry, Clane, I’ve gone farther than I intended to. I thought you were something of a heel. I guess you’re all right. But I still wish you’d stayed in China. Good-by.”

Clane took the man’s hand. “Good-by,” he said.

The door of the apartment banged shut.

Terry Clane, emerging from the apartment house where he had been in conference with Bill Hendrum, noticed a police car turn the corner and park.

Moving instinctively, Clane walked rapidly down the steep sidewalk and entered the first open door he found, that of a small neighborhood grocery store of the type so frequent in San Francisco.

Walking directly back to the shelves in the rear, Clane looked over the merchandise as though trying to find some particular brand he wanted.

The door pushed open and Clane saw outlined against the outer daylight the familiar figure of Inspector Malloy.

Malloy stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders hulking over the counter, his eyes surveying the interior of the store. Resignedly Clane moved forward, but somewhat to his surprise saw Inspector Malloy turn to the proprietor and beckon him over to the counter.

Clane, thinking this was perhaps a trap, moved up to the fruit-juice section and selected two cans of pineapple juice.

Inspector Malloy had pushed a typewritten list across the counter toward the proprietor.

“Within the last few days have you sold that list of groceries or a substantial part of it to some one person?” he asked.

Clane veered off, but it was too late. Inspector Malloy cocked an eyebrow, then suddenly snapped to surprised attention. “Well, well, well,” he boomed. “If it isn’t Mr. Clane. And what are you doing here , Mr. Clane?”

“Oh, just picking up a couple of cans of fruit juice,” Clane said.

“Well, well, well. Now isn’t that interesting? Quite a way from your own flat, aren’t you?”

“Oh, not too far. Within walking distance.”

“And you do your shopping here, Mr. Clane?”

Clane said, “Oh, no, I...”

“You mean did we sell this entire order to some one person?” the proprietor demanded.

“Never mind that now,” Malloy said and, facing Clane, said, “Go right on, Mr. Clane, don’t let us interrupt you. You were mentioning something about buying some fruit juice here. May I ask why you didn’t select a nearer store?”

“Oh, I was just taking a walk and happened to remember I wanted some fruit juice.”

“Rather heavy,” Inspector Malloy said.

“Oh, I can carry them all right,” Clane said smiling.

“I didn’t mean that. I meant that it’s rather unusual for a man to carry canned fruit juices some eight or ten blocks. There are stores right in your block, aren’t there?”

“I suppose so. Yes. But I happened to think of it now as I was passing.”

Malloy whirled to the proprietor. “Take a good look at this man,” he invited. “Did you ever see him before?”

The proprietor shook his head.

“No, I haven’t seen him before,” the proprietor said. “And I didn’t sell anyone an order like this within the last two or three days.” And he indicated the typewritten list Malloy has pushed over the counter.

Malloy’s face showed he was disappointed. “All right,” he said, “if you’re sure. Say nothing about my having been here. Don’t mention it to any of your customers. Understand? Any of them.”

“Okay, I guess I can keep my lip buttoned up.”

“That’s fine.”

Malloy turned to Clane. “Now isn’t it remarkable,” he said, “that you should happen to be in this neighborhood doing your shopping?”

“I told you, I just happened to drop in.”

“Yes, I understand that. But what caused you to happen to drop in?”

“I wanted some fruit juice.”

Malloy sighed. “Well, I was just making a routine investigation. I thought I’d run up and have a little talk with you some time this morning. Since you’re here, we may just as well take a few minutes to chat. Tell you what I’ll do. Get in my car and I’ll deliver you and your fruit juice right to your own flat.”

“I’d prefer to walk,” Clane said. “I like the feeling of having dry land instead of the deck of a ship under me. I want to prowl around, looking in store windows where there is actually some merchandise and...”