Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Spurious Spinster

“That’s right, and it was to be on the dot,” Susan said.

Mason looked at his watch. “It’s twelve minutes to nine now.”

“We weren’t up here right on the button,” Della Street said.

“I have an idea it would be just like her to wait just about thirty seconds, then if Mr. Campbell hadn’t shown up to get out of the suite,” Susan Fisher said.

“But she has to use a wheelchair?”

“Yes, she can walk a step or two, I think, but she has to hang on to something when she walks. She does nearly everything in the wheelchair.”

Mason looked up and down the corridor, was looking towards the elevators when Campbell, accompanied by a quietly dressed, thoughtful-eyed individual, emerged from the elevators and started walking down the corridor.

“This,” Mason said, “looks very much like the house detective.”

“That isn’t the way I thought house detectives looked,” Susan Fisher said.

“That,” Mason told her smiling, “is the way they all look.”

“What way, Mr. Mason?”

“The way people think they don’t look,” Mason said, and stepped forward. “There seems to be no answer in this suite,” Mason said to the house detective.

“Should there be?” the man asked.

“We would think so,” Mason said.

The man shook his head. “The occupant of this suite checked out a little after five o’clock this afternoon.”

“What!” Susan Fisher exclaimed.

“I’m just going to verify the information,” the house detective said. “On our books the suite is listed as vacant. The bill was paid in cash and the woman who was in here checked out.”

The house detective produced a key from his pocket, said, “I want you folks to notice that I’m not entering a suite that is registered on our books as being occupied. This is a vacant suite, I’m simply going in to look around and inspect the suite to see whether the maids have cleaned up and left soap, towels, and clean linen.”

The house detective clicked back the lock, swung the door wide, stood aside, and bowed to Della Street. “Ladies first,” he said.

Della and Susan Fisher entered, followed by Endicott Campbell. Mason and the house detective brought up the rear.

It was a spacious suite, equipped with television, icebox, a little bar with a glassed-in shelf for bottles and glasses, cocktail mixers, and a thermidor for ice. There were two bedrooms, two baths, a spacious living room.

The entire suite was not only vacant but in that state of orderly cleanliness which marks vacant hotel rooms.

“That’s what I thought,” the house detective said.

Campbell was not content with the man’s pronouncement. He went prowling around through the bathrooms, looking in odd comers, inspecting the clean towels, even looking on the tile floor of the bathroom.

Suddenly he turned to Susan Fisher and said, “How do we know Miss Corning was here at all?”

Mason caught her eye and warned her to silence. “You might look at the hotel records,” he suggested.

“That’s exactly what we’re going to do,” Endicott Campbell said.

“Well, since we’re making this a joint investigation,” Mason said, “we may as well follow through on it ourselves.”

“Now, look here,” the house detective interposed, “we don’t want to do anything that’s going to involve us in any publicity.”

“Certainly not,” Mason said. “All you want to do is to get the facts so that you won’t be involved in any publicity.”

The house detective narrowed his eyes. “How do you know the facts won’t involve us in any publicity?”

“I don’t,” Mason said cheerfully. “However, I’m assuming that you haven’t anything to conceal and I know we haven’t anything to conceal. I’m sure Endicott Campbell hasn’t anything to conceal.”

“I don’t like that. I object to the insinuation,” Campbell said.

“What insinuation?” Mason said.

“That I have anything to conceal.”

“I specifically said you didn’t have.”

“Well, I’m not going to argue with you. Come on, let’s go down to the desk and see what the records show.”

They left the suite, went down to the registration desk, and the house detective explained the situation to the registration clerk.

The man at the desk spoke guardedly. “I wasn’t on duty this morning. I understand that when this party came in she was in a wheelchair and was accompanied by a young woman who signed the register at the request of Miss Corning. The suite had been reserved for her, although it was reserved for Monday morning instead of this morning. I have talked with the clerk who was on duty this morning. I understand he asked her how long she was going to be here and she said probably two or three weeks. The young woman who was with her was the one who signed the register.”

“That was I,” Susan Fisher said. “She asked me to sign for her because she was in her wheelchair.”

“Wasn’t that highly irregular?” Campbell asked the clerk.

“It was unusual,” the clerk conceded. “It wasn’t irregular in view of Miss Corning’s prominence and the fact that she intended to be here for a while... Of course, as I say, I wasn’t on duty at the time. I understand quite a few people were checking in, baggage was piled up in the lobby and a woman in a wheelchair is certainly entitled to some consideration.”

“She seems to have received plenty,” Campbell said dryly.

“What we’re interested in,” Mason said, “is what happened afterwards. Do you know about that?”

“I’ll have to refer you to the cashier. I was on duty when she checked out. I saw her going out and I wondered if she might be checking out but then dismissed it because our reservation list showed she was going to be here some little time.”

“She did have suitcases with her?” Mason asked.

“She had baggage with her, yes.”

The clerk called the assistant manager who in turn got in touch with the cashier. It appeared that Miss Corning had checked out shortly after five o’clock that afternoon.

Mason led the way from the cashier’s desk to the doorman, who regarded the folded bill which Mason pressed into his hand with respectful attention.

“A woman with dark glasses, in a wheelchair,” Mason said, “checked out somewhere around five o’clock and...”

“Oh, yes, yes, I remember her. I remember her very well.”

“Did she leave in a private car, or in a taxicab?”

“A taxicab.”

“Do you know which one?”

“No, I don’t. I don’t remember the man... Now, wait a minute, I do, too. I remember his face. I don’t remember the cab but I remember the driver. He’s here quite frequently and... Now, wait a minute. I saw him back here in line a little while ago. He’s... Let’s take a look down the line here. I think he’s the fourth or fifth cab in line.”

They walked rapidly down the sidewalk in a compact group. The doorman stopped in front of a cab, said, “Yes, this is the one.”

The cab driver seemed somewhat apprehensive. “What is it?” he asked, lowering the window of the cab.

Mason said, “We’re trying to locate a woman who left here in a wheelchair about five o’clock. She went in your cab and...”

“Oh, yes,” the driver said. “I took her down to the Union Station.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know. She paid me off and got a redcap.”

“She was taking a train somewhere?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Well,” Mason said, “that seems to be all we can do at this end.” He thanked the cab driver, turned back towards the entrance to the hotel.

Endicott Campbell waited a second or so, then forged rapidly ahead to come abreast of the attorney. “Look here, Mason,” he said. “Has it ever occurred to you that this woman was carrying away with her records of the corporation; records which are confidential and which are exceedingly important; records which the corporation must have; records which should never have been taken from the office of the corporation?”