Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

“Doubtless you would, but who was it?”

“I don’t think I shall answer that, Tragg.”

Tragg said to one of the men, “Get Paul Drake up here.”

Mason said, “After all, Tragg, you have no right to inquire into the confidential affairs of a lawyer even if you are trying to clear up a murder case.”

Tragg didn’t even bother to reply.

Paul Drake appeared in tow of the officer.

Tragg said, “All right, Drake, let us have this straight. Your men located this man here in the hotel. No, don’t look at Mason. Just answer the question.”

Drake nodded.

“How did they happen to locate him here?”

“They made inquiries of the clerk.”

“All right, Drake, I will be patient with you, but don’t carry it too far. How did they happen to make inquiries of the clerk?”

“Mason thought the man might be here.”

“And when did Mason get that bright idea?”

“About nine-fifteen or nine-thirty this morning.”

“Who was the witness that was here at the hotel?”

“I didn’t know there was any.”

Tragg’s face flushed slightly. “How many times have you been at this hotel within the last twenty-four hours, Drake?”

Mason said, “Go ahead and tell him, Paul. He will find out from the assistant manager, anyway.”

Drake said, “Mason and I brought a woman into the hotel last night. I didn’t know she was a witness. I thought she was just going to give Mason...”

“What is her name?”

“Mrs. Warfield.”

“Where is she from?”

“New Orleans.”

“Where did she register?”

“Room six-twenty-eight.”

“Well,” Tragg exclaimed, “it took us quite a little while to get that simple piece of information, didn’t it? Where is that woman now?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said.

“You have been to her room?”

“Been to her room,” Mason said, “secured a passkey, gone in, and looked around.”

“Indeed, and what did you find?”

“Nothing. She wasn’t there.”

“The room in the same condition now that it was then?”

“Inasmuch as I was paying the bill,” Mason said, “and apparently she had no intention of using the room, I checked out for her.”

Tragg’s voice became crisply businesslike. “All right. Mason — and you too, Drake, get this straight. We aren’t always on the same side of the fence. I can’t help that, and you can’t help it. You have your living to make. I have my living to make. But, by God, when I ask you fellows a question, I want an answer. Beating around the bush isn’t going to get you anyplace. If you don’t want to answer and think you can make it stick, simply refuse to answer. But don’t try giving me a runaround. Is that straight?”

Mason said, “Watch your questions then. Don’t accuse me of giving you a runaround if I don’t volunteer information.”

“If it is going to be like that,” Tragg said, “I can take care of it. All right, let us go take a look at that room Mrs. Warfield had.”

“Someone else may be in it now,” Mason said. “We checked out.”

“Get the manager,” Tragg told one of his men.

While the man was getting the manager, a radio officer escorted Stephane Claire out of the elevator. She seemed white and frightened. Her eyes glanced appealingly at Mason.

Mason said, “This is Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide, Miss Claire. You will find him very competent, but exceedingly partisan. I am afraid you are in for a disagreeable experience. We want you to look at a body.”

“At a body!”

Mason nodded.

“Here?”

“Yes.”

“Why?... What?...”

Mason said, “The man was mur...”

“That will do,” Tragg said to Mason. “I shall do the talking from now on. Miss Claire, we thought perhaps this might be the body of a man whom you have known. If you won’t mind stepping this way, please...” He took her arm and escorted her into the hotel bedroom.

There was the unmistakable atmosphere of death in the room. The body that was sprawled on the bed clothed the surroundings with the quiet dignity of death. On the other hand, the men who were working trying to develop clues, seemed entirely set apart from all solemnity. So far as they were concerned, the body on the bed might have been a sack of potatoes. It was merely an inanimate object to be photographed, measured, and studied in connection with the other objects in the room.

These men worked skillfully and quickly, with a complete air of detachment. Constant familiarity with death had in some way made them seem immune to it.

Lieutenant Tragg guided Stephane Claire past these men, moved around the foot of the bed in such a way that his body obstructed her vision. Not until she was where she could look directly down at the man’s face did Tragg step quickly to one side.

“Know this man?” he asked.

Stephane Claire stared down at the still gray features. For several moments her eyes were held as by some magnetic attraction which was stronger than her own volition, then she managed to shift her eyes to Tragg’s face.

“Yes, I know him. I don’t know his name.”

“Who is he?”

“He was the one who was driving the car the night of the wreck, the one who picked me up as a hitchhiker.”

Tragg made a little bow to Mason. “Very neatly done, Mason,” he said sarcastically. “I congratulate you. I suppose that will be your defense.”

“Naturally,” Mason said.

“Why, it is the truth!” Stephane Claire exclaimed. “Mr. Mason hasn’t said a word to me. I haven’t seen or heard from him since I left the hospital.”

Tragg looked from Stephane Claire to Mason. “Dammit,” he said to Mason, “I believe you. And offhand I can mention the names of three thousand eight hundred and seventy-six persons directly and indirectly connected with the police who won’t.”

The assistant hotel manager was profuse in his expostulations, emphasizing his desire to work with the police, and the high reputation which the hotel enjoyed.

“We want to take a look at Mrs. Warfield’s room,” Tragg said. “Come on. Mason. You and Drake come along — and you can stay with that officer, Miss Claire.” And it was significant that Tragg hadn’t even mentioned the baggage which he had found in the room with the corpse.

The little group walked down to the elevator, rode up to the sixth floor, and the manager said, “I understand the room is in the same condition as it was when...”

“When the party checked out?” Tragg asked.

“When the bill was paid.”

“Who paid it?”

“This gentleman here, her brother-in-law.”

“Her brother-in-law!” Tragg exclaimed.

“That is what he said.”

Tragg looked at Mason. “Well, well, well, you didn’t tell me she was related to you, Mason. And you a brother-less bachelor.” He turned to the manager. “I don’t suppose you know when this party checked out?”

“I most certainly do,” the manager said. “Mr. Mason and this other gentleman appeared and paid the bill. There was a very attractive young woman with them at the time. Mr. Mason said the party in the hotel was his sister-in-law, that she had a weak heart, and that he was afraid something had happened to her. I sent a bellboy up to investigate. We found the room unoccupied. There was no baggage in it.”

“No baggage?” Tragg asked.

“No.”

“Then she had baggage when she rented the room?”

“She had a suitcase and a hatbox.”

Tragg digested that information. Once more he kept silent about the baggage which Mason had seen in the room where the murder had been committed.

“Go on,” Tragg said. “What else happened?”

“After Mr. Mason had paid the bill and left, he told me that in case I saw Mrs. Warfield, I was to let her know that her brother-in-law had been looking for her and was very much concerned about her.”