Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

“You mean she left her room?”

“That’s right, and went to his room. She simply moved her baggage down there.”

Drake whistled a few bars from a popular tune. “You are right! It is so obvious we overlooked it.”

“And it worked,” Mason said. “That’s the beauty of the scheme — its direct simplicity.”

Drake said, “I wish you could kick me, Perry. If we had only thought of it last night — and I blame myself for it. I am the detective. I am supposed to keep a line of what is happening. To think I could have been followed...”

“The streets were crowded about that time. A dozen people could have followed us,” Mason said.

“Well, if I had only had the sense to figure out what had happened this morning, when we first went there, we still might have found out something.”

“We can still find out.”

“What do you mean?”

Mason said, “Mrs. Warfield left that room. She was either lured away from it and into another room, or she went voluntarily. Let us suppose she went voluntarily. There are only two persons who could have done the job, her husband and Spinney. Her husband is keeping out of her way. He is either in a penitentiary or has gone to a lot of trouble to impress her with the idea that he is in a penitentiary. Therefore, the man is Spinney.”

Drake said, “You are ringing the bell every time you pull the trigger, Perry. Keep shooting.”

“Now then,” Mason went on, “we come to the involuntary phase of it. Suppose she didn’t move her baggage. Suppose that someone went to her room, knocked on the door, told her there was a message for her, asked her to go with him, and took her into another room. She didn’t come out. Afterwards, the man went back, got her baggage, put it in that other room, locked the door, and went out.”

Drake looked pained. “The more I think of it, Perry, the more that theory sounds like the one we shall have to pay off on. The fact that the towels weren’t used... I don’t like it.”

Mason said, “All right, Paul, here is what we have got to do. We have got to find out who followed us to that hotel. We have got to check everyone who registered there after we got that room. Remember, we didn’t even know ourselves what hotel we were going to select, so it had to be someone who came in immediately after we did.”

“I don’t get that immediately part,” Drake said. “Why couldn’t...”

“Don’t you see, Paul? It was done too fast. The towels weren’t used. She wasn’t in that room ten minutes — probably not five minutes... She waited until we had left, then went down to the newsstand to ask for back issues of Photoplay. Then she went back to...”

“I get you,” Drake interrupted. “Okay, Perry, my operatives are still there in the hotel. They had their room already paid for, and when I took them off the case, they decided to grab a few hours’ shuteye. I can telephone them, get them on the job, and...”

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for?” Mason asked. “Get busy.”

“I shall do it from my office,” Drake said. “I can...”

“Okay, get going. Seconds are precious. I want that information, and I want it fast. On your way.”

Drake was back within ten minutes. “Okay, Perry,” he said, “we have got him.”

“Nice work, Paul. How did you get it through so fast?”

“It turned out my operative hadn’t gone to bed. He was standing in the lobby chatting with the clerk when I called him. We have got this man on two counts. First, he registered within five minutes after Mrs. Warfield went up to her room, and there were only two people who registered within the first hour after she went to her room. One of them was this man, and the other was a woman who registered right after he did, then there was no one for an hour. Then a couple, and after that...”

“Didn’t you use the description of the driver?”

“Yes. I am coming to that. We have got him on both counts. We...”

“To hell with all that stuff,” Mason said impatiently. “Where is he now?”

Drake grinned triumphantly. “In his room.”

“You are certain?”

“Absolutely. He registered as Walter Lossten of Los Angeles, said he had been having a directors’ meeting, and had decided to stay downtown overnight. He didn’t have any baggage. He paid for his room in advance and went up...”

“What room?”

“Five-twenty-one.”

“What makes you think he is still there?”

“There is a ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign on the door.”

“You didn’t try giving him a ring?”

“No. I told my operative just to look the situation over.”

Mason stood for a moment with his hands pushed down in his trousers pockets, his legs spread apart, his head thrust forward. “By Jove, Paul,” he said, “I don’t like it. That ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign is a danger signal.”

“I don’t get it.”

Mason said, “Mrs. Warfield is in that room. There is a ‘Don’t Disturb’ sign on the door. She hasn’t communicated with us. That sign means something, Paul. It may mean murder.”

Drake thought the situation over. “Shucks, it does look bad.”

Mason said, “You go on down to the hotel, Paul. I am going to get Lieutenant Tragg on the job. We have discovered too many corpses as it is.”

“Wait a minute, Perry. You can’t get Tragg to go down there without letting him think...”

“Leave it to me,” Mason said. “I will take care of Tragg. I will hand him a line that will get him down there. Remember, it may be all right, Paul, and if it is all right, we are going to find who Spinney is and who the driver of that car was.”

“Do you think they are the same?”

“Looks like it.”

Drake said, “You are going to have a hard time with Tragg. Remember we got Mrs. Warfield that room in the hotel. If she is...”

“Forget it,” Mason said. “Leave Tragg to me. You beat it down there.”

Lieutenant Tragg looked up, saw who was calling, nodded a greeting, and dismissed the detective who was making a report.

“Hello, Mason. This is an unexpected pleasure.”

The two men shook hands. Tragg was about Mason’s age, an inch or two shorter, a pound or two lighter, but there was a certain similarity about the men which would impress a close observer. Tragg’s high forehead, wavy black hair, clean-cut features, and thoughtful eyes were at sharp variance with the bull-necked beef of Sergeant Holcomb whose place on the Homicide Squad he had taken.

“Found any more bodies?” Tragg asked.

Mason grinned. “You are always claiming I play a lone hand and don’t take the police into my confidence. This time I am going to let you in on the ground floor.”

“Okay, sit down and confide.”

Mason dropped into a seat beside Tragg’s desk, lit up a cigarette.

“This Stephane Claire manslaughter case.”

“Oh, yes. I don’t know too much about it. One of the other boys has been handling it. I understand the D.A.’s ready to go ahead. It’s a county case.”

“Preliminary is on Friday,” Mason said.

“Well, it is out of my hands.”

“Not necessarily. You are interested in seeing justice done, aren’t you?”

Tragg’s smile was somewhat whimsical. “Well, Mason, I am and I am not. The department has its own ideas of what constitutes justice. If we could uncover some evidence which would bolster the D.A’s case, that would be justice. If we uncovered some evidence that wouldn’t... well, you know how it is.”

“Suppose you could find evidence that would pin the guilt on some other party?”

Tragg rubbed his hand across his forehead, up ever his hair, and down to the back of his neck. His fingertips rubbed the base of his skull. “Lovely weather we are having,” he said, “—for this time of year.”