Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Backward Mule

Clane thanked him and walked out.

As casually as though he hadn’t heard that Cynthia Renton was not to be found at her apartment, Terry Clane directed a taxi to her apartment and rang the bell. When he turned away after receiving no answer, he was conscious of the car which had pulled up to the curb. There were two men sitting in that car. The one on the right-hand side opened tie door.

“Hi, Buddy.”

“Good evening,” Clane said.

“Looking for someone?”

“Yes.”

“She ain’t there.”

“Apparently not.”

“Guess we’d sorta better check up on you. Name maybe, and perhaps a driving license and a social security card. You know, just a routine check-up.”

“How would a passport do?” Clane asked.

The officer frowned. “Well, now, I guess that’s all right.”

Clane produced a passport. The officer made notes. “You been in China?”

“That’s right.”

“When did you get back?”

“About three hours ago.”

“Oh, oh, and came right here?”

“Not directly here, no.”

“Where ya been?”

“At police headquarters.”

“Huh?”

“That’s right.”

“How’d you happen to go there?”

“I was escorted.”

“By whom?”

“Detectives who met me at the boat.”

The officer grinned. “Okay,” he said. “On your way.”

Terry Clane found Alma Renton, Cynthia’s sister, in her studio apartment. She opened the door to his knock, took a quick backward step as though to get him at proper perspective. Then with a glad cry she flung herself into his arms. “Terry, oh, Terry!” she sighed.

She gave him tremulous lips, her eyes fluttered shut. For a moment she relaxed. Then she was laughing half hysterically. “Oh, how I’ve been waiting for you, Terry,” she said. “I didn’t dare to meet the boat. Detectives were there. The most terrible things have been happening...”

“I know,” Clane said.

“The officers are absolutely furious. If they could get Edward Harold, I think... gosh, Terry, I think they’d kill him. Do they do that sometimes? You know, claim a man was resisting arrest?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Clane said, and then added reassuringly, “and I doubt if anyone else would. You probably hear lots of rumors, but you can take them with a whole barrel of salt.”

“Apparently an escape was the last thing on earth they were looking for. It’s made the police seem inefficient and exposed them to a lot of censure. They’re absolutely furious. It’s a deadly cold fury. They’re leaving no stone unturned. I’m scared.”

“Who engineered the escape?” Terry asked.

She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Cynthia and a friend of Ed Harold’s, a man named Bill Hendrum. You don’t know him. He’s one of these barrel-chested he-men who believe in direct action. It was a crazy thing to do and I’m just sick over Cynthia. They’ll catch her, of course, eventually — and when they do, they’ll throw the book at her. The officers told me that. They said I could tell her in case she communicated with me. They’re absolutely furious. And they said orders were out to get Ed Harold, alive or dead. Oh, Terry, I’m just limp with fright. You know Cynthia. Her idea of loyalty and all that. She told me she’d kill herself the day they executed Harold, a sort of protest to society. She isn’t... oh, Terry, why couldn’t you have got here sooner!”

“I did the best I could. I tried for a plane, but they red-taped me to a steamer, and if I’d missed that thay’d never have let me go. You see, there were some things they wanted me to check on en route. It was that or nothing. You’ve heard from Cynthia?”

“Not a word. Of course, Terry, I’m hoping she’s playing it smart, that she’ll either show up with an alibi, or else just sit tight and let them try to prove it on her. But I’m afraid she and Ed have gone away to hide as long as they can and then shoot it out with the officers.

“There’s nothing one can do except go on living the same as though nothing had happened. They’re shadowing every move I make. They’ll be following you, too, I guess.”

“Well, the best thing we can do is pretend to carry on our regular routine. How about dinner?”

“It’s a date. How soon?”

“Soon. I’ve been thinking of a good thick steak with baked potatoes and lots of butter ever since we left Hong Kong.”

“Did you stop in Honolulu?”

“No, we came right through.”

She said, “I wrote you care of the boat in Honolulu. I didn’t know whether it would stop or not. I guess you didn’t get my letter.”

“No.”

“Did you know anything about... about the escape before you arrived?”

“No. The police broke the news to me. Did they give you a lie-detector test, Alma?”

“Heavens, no.”

“They may do it,” he said.

“My gosh, Terry, would I betray myself...?”

“Probably,” Clane said. “I’ll give you a recipe for making it a little bit difficult for them to evaluate the readings.”

“Don’t you want a drink, Terry? I’ll have to put on a little war paint. It’ll take me two or three minutes and I can fix you one as easily as not.”

“No, we’ll have a cocktail at the café,” Clane said. “I’ll look around while you get fixed up.”

He moved slowly around the studio, studying some of the finished and unfinished paintings. When she joined him some five minutes later, he said simply, “You’ve improved in your work, Alma.”

“Thanks.”

“Your technique always has been good. Now you’re getting a depth, a certain sweep of power into your work. It’s hard to define.”

She said simply, “It comes through suffering.”

“Suffering?”

“Yes. I’ve found that out. Suffering is a large part of life, and you can’t understand life until you’ve suffered. I keep thinking of that figure on the mule and the story you told me about it.”

“Do we ride or walk?” Clane asked, holding the door open. “The police are also interested in that figure. Did it enter into the case?”

“No. Not directly. The case was terrible. Let’s walk. It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“When did you see that figure last?” Terry asked.

“Cynthia had it on her mantel. She was very much attached to it. It was a tie that bound her to you. And then she appreciated the philosophy back of it.”

“The last time I saw it,” Clane said dryly, “the police suddenly thrust it under my nose. It had blood spots on it.”

“Terry! It couldn’t have.”

“It did,” Clane said. “At least the spots looked to be blood.”

“Oh, Terry! How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I want to find out.”

“I don’t see how... Cynthia considered it one of her most prized possessions. You wanted to break off with her when you went to the Orient on that dangerous mission. Some crazy idea about giving her her freedom. You shouldn’t have done it, Terry.”

“Why?”

“Oh... because.”

“Because she fell in love with Edward Harold?”

“I’m not so certain she is in love with him, Terry.”

“If she isn’t, she’d better be,” Clane said grimly. “She’s certainly in a mess now, and I guess he is too.”

Alma choked back a sob. “Don’t, Terry. You know Cynthia. She isn’t like other people. She’s wild and impulsive and unconventional. Life is really a cage, a cage of deadly routine, and Cynthia is like a wild thing that can’t be caged.”

“Tell me what you can about the case,” Terry Clane said in a low voice when they were seated in the restaurant. “Cover as much ground as you can before the food arrives, then we’ll quit talking about the case and quit thinking about it.”