Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Spurious Spinster

The miner had told her there was only one Monarch mine in the vicinity as far as he knew, and that hadn’t been worked for more than two years.

At the time, Susan had felt certain there was some mistake, that there must be a Monarch mine the old miner didn’t know about, and the mine she had found was simply another mine bearing the same name. After all, Monarch was a name which could easily be duplicated simply through coincidence.

During the past week, Sue had taken occasion to consult the records on the Monarch mine. There was an office in Mojave where the business affairs were administered. The Corning Mining, Smelting & Investment Company simply made regular checks covering expenses.

There were reports from the mine in the files. These reports indicated that engineers felt they were due to break into a big body of high-grade ore. The technical terms meant little or nothing to Sue Fisher when she had given them a hasty perusal. She barely knew the difference between a hanging wall and a foot wall. She did know that the main vein had “faulted out” and at the time the fault had been encountered, the vein was fabulously rich and getting wider.

Sue knew that there had been something in Amelia Corning’s correspondence about the Mojave Monarch records. Geological reports had been forwarded to her in South America. That, however, was only one of several matters that had caused Amelia Corning, after a five-year absence from the country, to return to make a personal check on the affairs of the company.

Sue dreaded the barrage of questions which might be asked. She decided to refer everything to Mr. Campbell and play it just as dumb as she knew how.

At the airport Sue paid off the cab. It took every cent she had in her purse to pay the driver and leave him a thirty-five-cent tip.

“I’m sorry about the tip,” she apologized. “I had an emergency matter and... this is every cent I’ve got.”

“Forget it, lady,” the cab driver said with a smile, handing her back the thirty-five cents. “Here, I’ll bet you’ve got some telephoning to do and... you take it.”

She looked at his rugged face, the kindly smiling eyes, and abruptly gave him her hand. “Oh, thank you,” she said. “I feel so... so cheap. Actually, I can put this on an expense account, but... well, I don’t have the cash money with me, that’s all.”

“Forget it,” he told her. “It’s a pleasure to carry a lady like you.”

Then he was gone and Sue was hurrying towards the waiting room, searching for Amelia Corning, fearful lest she shouldn’t find her yet dreading the encounter.

Susan saw Amelia Corning as soon as she entered the waiting room at the airport. It would, in fact, have been impossible to miss her. She sat in a collapsible wheelchair facing the door. Two suitcases and a bag were parked beside the wheelchair. The bags were generously plastered with labels of various South American hotels and resorts. The face was far from prepossessing, being set in grim lines with a long bony chin, a firm, straight nose, high cheekbones, and glasses with huge dark-blue lenses which completely concealed the eyes.

Susan approached the figure in the chair.

The woman sat completely motionless. If she saw Susan Fisher approaching, she gave no sign.

“Miss Corning?” Susan asked, trying to keep a quaver out of her voice.

The bony face slowly tilted upward. Susan had the feeling that back of the heavy dark glasses, weak eyes were trying to appraise her.

“Yes.”

“I’m Susan Fisher, Mr. Campbell’s secretary, the one you talked with over the phone when I was in the office.”

Susan expected some criticism and was surprised when the woman said, in a voice which had suddenly lost its truculence, “You’re a dear, Susan, to get out here so soon.”

“I came as soon as I could.”

“I know you did. Of course, it seemed like a long time to me waiting here, but I realize you had a long way to travel and you must have started at once. Thank you.”

Susan said, “You’re... you’re very welcome. Now, do we take a cab?”

“Of course we take a cab.”

“I’ll have to carry your baggage out and—”

“Call the porter.”

“Yes, Miss Corning. I... I’m sorry, I—”

“Well, what is it?” the woman snapped, suddenly losing her gracious manner. “I hate people who stumble around and try to put a sugar coating on bad news. What’s the trouble?”

“I haven’t a cent,” Sue said. “I used up all of my meager store of pocket money paying the cab fare out here.”

“Don’t you have a petty-cash fund at the office available for emergencies? Why isn’t there a fund available to trusted employees?”

“I... I don’t know. There just isn’t.”

“There’s a safe?”

“Yes... of course.”

“You have the combination to it?”

“Yes.”

“Who else has the combination?”

“Mr. Campbell and the bookkeeper.”

“There should be a fund of several hundred dollars kept available for emergency trips. How do you know when I might call on you to take a plane at once for South America?”

Sue Fisher stood in something of a quandary, hardly knowing how to reply to that.

“When you get hold of Mr. Campbell, see that such a fund is available. I may want you to come to South America. You’re a good girl, Susan. You’re frightened to death. After you get to know me better you won’t be so frightened, but you will learn to respect my judgment, you will carry out my orders unhesitatingly. Do you understand? Unhesitatingly.”

“Yes, Miss Corning.”

“Very well,” she said, opening her bag, taking out a billfold and extracting five bills.

“My eyes aren’t good. I can’t see well in this light. I never know how much money I have with me, but I make it a point to have enough. Here, my dear, are five ten-dollar bills. Charge yourself with fifty dollars expense money.”

Susan Fisher said in an odd voice, “Miss Corning, those aren’t ten-dollar bills, they’re hundred-dollar bills.”

“Thank you. I try to keep the hundreds in one side and the tens in the other. I guess my billfold must have got turned around.”

Her bony fingers moved to the other side of the thick sheaf of bills, counted out five bills.

“These are tens, Sue?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“All right, that’s fifty dollars. That’s expense money. Deduct what you paid for the taxicab and now get me a porter and a cab and we’ll get started. You have reservations for me?”

“The reservations were for Monday, but... we can probably get in.”

“My wire wasn’t received?”

“No, ma’am.”

“It should have been.”

“It’s probably on the way someplace.”

“On the way nothing! I left earlier than I intended to on the spur of the moment. That no-good attendant at the airport to whom I gave a big bill so he could pay for the wire tore up the telegram, put the money in his pocket, and went out and got drunk. That’s the way with the world these days. No responsibility, no moral stamina, no real downright honesty. All right, Susan, we’ll go to the hotel.”

Susan secured a porter, a cab, and found herself answering intimate searching questions about the business of the Corning Mining, Smelting & Investment Company during the ride in the taxicab.

At one point, Susan ventured to say, “I do wish you’d save these questions to ask of Mr. Campbell, Miss Corning.”

“You’re in my employ, aren’t you?”

“Yes. But I’m directly under Mr. Campbell.”

“I don’t care whom you’re directly under, you’re in my employ. You’re working for me. You’re drawing wages that come out of my pocket. I want loyalty, I want efficiency, and I want cooperation. You’ll answer my questions, my child, and we won’t have any more of this ‘Ask Mr. Campbell’ stuff.