Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Backward Mule

“You’re not at the end of your rope yet,” Clane said.

Harold might not have heard him. “It’s not that I am afraid to die. I want to live, but that doesn’t mean I’m afraid to die... only to the extent that man fears the unknown. After all, what is death?”

“A name,” Clane said.

“How’s that?”

“I said death was nothing but a name, a label. When man encounters something he can’t understand and doesn’t know how to study, he puts a label on it and then dismisses it. Just so a thing has a tag...”

“How could you study death?” Harold interrupted.

“By studying life.”

“Death is different from life.”

“Who said so?”

Harold thought that over, then laughed, a short, nervous laugh. “Well, of course, it’s always taken for granted that it has to be different from life. It’s the absence of life. It’s the antithesis of life.”

“How about birth?” Clane asked.

“That’s life.”

Clane said, “What we call life is merely a segment. It’s a narrow band stretching from birth to death. Granted the phenomenon of birth, we necessarily have the corollary of death. It’s all a part of life. The trouble is that we don’t have enough confidence in the Divine Architect. We think of Him as being able to plan the universe and control the heavens, but we’re not entirely certain. He knows what he’s doing when it comes to our lives. We’re just a bit uneasy that the divine scheme of things may be unjust, unpleasant, and inefficient. Therefore, we regard death as something which may have intruded upon the scheme of things when the Divine Architect had his back turned. We should realize that It’s part of life because it has to be, and that if the Divine Architect planned it, it should be beneficent... However, as you were saying, you intended to go back and see Farnsworth. I presume you took the image along?”

Harold nodded. “I went to Cynthia’s, got the image, took it over to show Horace Farnsworth. I thought the story of that man on the mule him. Somehow I didn’t feel his trouble was as big as he thought it was.”

Harold ceased talking again; then after a moment said, “I suppose that when a man really faces death he becomes somewhat detached from life. I can see things now more as a bystander.”

Clane waited. Harold remained silent.

“You were talking about going back to Farnsworth’s,” Clane prompted.

“That’s right. I wanted him to see that figure. I thought it might help him to get a grip on himself.”

“Did it?” Clane asked.

“It was too late. I went up to the front door and rang the bell. There was no answer. I pounded on the door, still no answer. I was worried. When I left him, I had an idea he was ready to do something desperate. So I walked around the house. When I came to the back door, I tried it. It was unlocked. I opened it and went in.

“The house was quiet. I called out Farnsworth’s name. There was no answer. I went on through the kitchen, into the study. He was there — dead.

“He was in his chair, his head over on the desk. There was a bullet wound in the head and blood was dripping down to the floor. I thought at the time that he’d killed himself. I ran over and took hold of his shoulders, trying to straighten him up. When I did that, the body slumped down to the floor, overturning the swivel chair in which he was sitting.

“Well, of course, I intended to notify the authorities. But before I did so, I looked around for the gun with which he’d killed himself and... well, there wasn’t any gun. It took a minute or two for it to dawn on me what that meant. And then I realized I was in a spot. I’d gone around the house and got in the back door. That would take a lot of explaining... I had an overpowering desire to get away. It was a blind urge to run. I grabbed up the image and got out of there. Of course, I was foolish, which is bad; and I was also unlucky, which is worse. People saw me leaving... there was blood on my trousers. I’ve been thinking afterwards that there may have been a spatter of blood on the image... I returned it to Cynthia later and was too rattled to look and see. You just can’t explain the things I did so they sound logical. Anyway, I took the easy way out and that was that.”

“Do you have any idea who murdered him?”

“Of course not. If I had, I’d have done something about it.”

“Any enemies?”

“I don’t know of any. He was a good egg.”

“Look here, when you went into the kitchen, what did you find?”

“What do you mean?”

“You went in through the back door?”

“That second trip I made, yes.”

“And when you entered the kitchen, did you notice a pot of water on the stove?”

Harold thought for a moment. “I remember that at the trial there was evidence of a teakettle boiling on the stove. My best recollection is that the teakettle was on the stove but was not boiling when I entered the kitchen.”

“You’re certain the teakettle was on the stove?”

“Yes. And I suppose the wrist watch must have been in the oven. Of course I didn’t look to see. I just walked on in through the kitchen. I’ve tried a hundred times to figure out why Farnsworth would have put on that water and put his wrist watch in the oven to dry out. The only explanation for the water, of course, is that Farnsworth wanted to steam open the flap of an envelope. As soon as I left, he went out to fill the kettle and was so nervous he must have got his wrist under the faucet. That got water in his watch, so he turned on the oven to dry it out while he was waiting for the water to heat.”

Clane nodded thoughtfully. “No idea of what that envelope could have contained — the one he wanted to steam open?”

“No,” Harold said, curtly.

Clane waited but Harold relapsed once more into silence.

Abruptly Clane broke the silence. “What happened down there at the warehouse?” he asked.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Is there any reason why you shouldn’t?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I can’t betray the person who helped me.”

“Don’t mention that person. Just tell me what happened.”

“I was being given sanctuary there in that warehouse. There was every reason to believe that it was a safe place, that no one would come there. I had been assured that things would... well, that they’d be arranged so that I’d have the place all to myself.

“Then out of a clear sky something happened. I heard an automobile drive up, a key in the door, and someone was coming in. I couldn’t get out through the door. I ran to the window and jumped out and ran. The lights came on just as I was climbing out of the window. I looked back and saw Gloster standing there in the doorway. He was flabbergasted. I think he saw and recognized me. I don’t know.”

“And he walked over to telephone?”

“I don’t know what he did. I didn’t stop to find out. I got out of there.”

“What time was this?”

“A little after ten, about ten minutes after ten I think it was.”

“And you went directly to that restaurant and telephoned?”

“Yes.”

“To whom did you telephone?”

“That is something I’m not going to answer.”

“Someone came and got you?”

“Yes.”

“Who was it?”

“Try and find out.”

“The police know.”

“Then you’d better ask the police. They can tell you; I can’t.”

“You mean you won’t.”

“All right, it’s the same thing.”

“Gloster wasn’t one of the persons who helped you escape when you were taken from the automobile?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Was Bill Hendrum one of the...”

“Damn it, Clane, don’t go flinging names around that way. Leave Bill out of this.”