Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Daring Divorcee

Mason regarded him thoughtfully. “You feel diffident, period,” he said. “Perhaps you’d better get over that and start fighting for what you want. Diffidence is a virtue women fail to appreciate.”

Beason lowered his eyes. “I love her so much I wanted her to do what was to her best interests. Hastings could give her things I couldn’t.”

Gertie rang the phone and said, “A Mrs. Blackburn is here with a package for Mr. Beason.”

“Just a minute,” Mason said. He turned to Beason. “Mrs. Blackburn is out there,” he said, “with a package for you. Shall I have her come in or do you want to talk with her privately?”

“No, no, have her come in.”

“I gathered she was unmarried from the way you talked. She gave the name of Mrs. Blackburn.”

“No, she’s been married. It’s rather a tragic history.”

“A widow?” Mason asked.

“Divorced. Her husband just failed to come home one night and she never saw him after that.”

“So she went to Nevada?”

“That’s right.”

“Las Vegas?” Mason asked.

“Carson City.”

“How long ago?”

“Shortly before she came to work for us, about a year, I think.”

Mason said, “Tell her to come in, Gertie. Della will meet her at the door.”

Della Street moved to the door which communicated with the short passageway leading to the reception room and a moment later a dark-haired, dark-eyed young woman stood on the threshold.

“Come in,” Mason said.

Rosalie Blackburn flashed him a swift glance, then her eyes swung to Simley Beason. She lowered her eyes at once, hesitated, flashed Beason another glance, then entered the room.

Simley Beason got up from his chair, extended his hand for the package, said, “Rosalie, this is Mr. Mason, the famous attorney. You’ve heard a lot about him and read a lot about him— What the devil! What’s happened to that package! ”

“That was the way it was when I took it from the golf bag,” Rosalie said.

“Why, the thing is all unwrapped. The whole paper has been cut open,” Beason said. “You can see the gun— Rosalie, you didn’t do this, did you?”

“No, sir. I brought it to you just the way it was.”

“And my locker was closed and locked?”

“That’s right. I got the key from the top left-hand drawer in your desk, where you keep it.”

“Well, that’s something,” Beason said.

He started to unwrap the package, then hesitated and said, “Rosalie, if you’ll go into Mason’s outer office and just sit down and wait I’ll be with you in a few minutes and drive you back.”

“Thank you,” she said, flashed a vague smile and turned and hurried from the office.

“As your secretary,” Mason asked, “does she have rather an inordinate curiosity as to your affairs?”

“She’s very efficient,” Beason said, “but if you’re asking me if she opened that package I’d stake my life that she didn’t.”

Mason said, “You may be staking just that.

“Della, put those wrappings in a carton and seal up the carton so we can get them at any time we may need them, and be careful not to get any more fingerprints on there than is necessary.”

“Can you get fingerprints from paper?” Beason asked quickly.

“By using a new process, you can,” Mason said. “Sometimes the fingerprints are startlingly clear and they last almost indefinitely. It’s a different process from the usual type of latent fingerprint developing where you use powder and the powder sticks to the moisture of the latent finger. prints. These prints are the result of amino acids and are brought out by chemical, rather than a physical process.”

“Gosh, I didn’t know you could get fingerprints from paper,” Beason said. “Of course my fingerprints are all over it and I presume Rosalie’s will be all over it.”

“I would certainly suppose so,” Mason said. “You both seem to have handled it enough.”

Della Street opened a closet door, took out a carton in which law books had been shipped. Carefully picking up the outer wrapping paper by the edges, she put it in the carton, then using equal care, removed the inner layer of paper and disclosed the blued steel revolver.

Mason bent forward, inserted a pencil in the barrel of the gun, lifted it gingerly to the desk, placed it in the drawer.

“Now,” he said, “we’ll call Lieutenant Tragg and tell him that the gun which I mentioned to him had been misplaced but I now have it.”

“Had been misplaced covers quite a bit of territory,” Della said.

“Exactly,” Mason told her. “Give him a ring and use those words — the gun had been misplaced.”

Mason said to Beason, “I don’t think we need to detain you any longer, Beason. Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide is very efficient. He may get up here within the next few minutes. He’ll undoubtedly be very anxious to get hold of that gun.”

“Meaning that there’s no longer any necessity for me to be here?” Beason asked.

“Meaning that it would be well for you not to be here,” Mason said.

“You’re going to try to protect me?”

“Hell no! I’m going to protect my client first,” Mason snapped, “and after that I’m going to protect myself. You’ve stuck your neck into this thing and it’s up to you to protect yourself.”

Gertie’s voice over the telephone was excited. “Lieutenant Tragg is in the office,” she said, “accompanied by Mr. Hamilton Burger, the district attorney.”

“Send them in,” Mason said, and nodded to Della Street. “Do the honors, Della.”

Della Street, with something of a flourish, opened the door connecting the passageway to the outer office.

Hamilton Burger and Tragg came striding into the room.

There was something of an apologetic, whimsical smile on Tragg’s face, but Hamilton Burger’s face was grim and official.

“Well, well, how do you do, gentlemen?” Mason said. “I suppose you’re here in regard to the gun. Won’t you sit down?”

Hamilton Burger said, “We’re here in regard to a number of things. Most of those things have to do with that gun. Now, just what are you trying to pull here?”

“I’m trying to co-operate with the police,” Mason said.

“A little of your co-operation goes a long, long way,” Burger said, and nodded to Tragg.

“Where is the gun?” Tragg asked.

Mason opened the right-hand desk drawer.

Tragg said, “Why wasn’t it in that drawer when I was here before?”

“It’s a long story,” Mason said.

“You said over the telephone that you had misplaced it.”

“I beg your pardon,” Mason said, “I think my secretary told you the gun had been misplaced.”

“By whom?”

“Now, that’s a long story,” Mason said. “I’m debating with myself whether to tell you or not.”

“Well, you’d better tell us,” Hamilton Burger said, “because I’m doing a little debating myself. I’m going to have you before the grand jury and I don’t know whether to try and get you for being an accessory after the fact on a murder charge or concealing and tampering with evidence.”

“Under those circumstances,” Mason said, “perhaps I had better not tell my story until I appear before the grand jury.”

Burger said to Tragg, “Can you check that gun for fingerprints?”

“You seldom find fingerprints on a gun,” Tragg said. “Sometimes on an automatic you get a thumbprint on the base of the clip but you very seldom find prints on a gun. However, I’ll process it for fingerprints as soon as we get to Headquarters.”