Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

“The only catch being that he knew you wouldn’t see her,” Tragg said.

“On the contrary, I did see her.”

“You did?” Tragg stopped abruptly and stared at the manager.

“Yes Lieutenant, she walked across the lobby not more than fifteen minutes after Mr. Mason had paid the bill. You see, the clerk who was on duty wasn’t the one who had checked her in, but we had her description, and he knows most of the regular guests. He called to her and told her he had a message for her. She came to the counter to wait for the message. He called me, and I told her brother-in-law had been here and wanted her to communicate with him. She insisted that her name was not Warfield, that she had no brother-in-law, that we were impertinent, and started for the door. I tried to detain her, but she was so utterly indignant that I couldn’t be certain of my ground. After all, her bill had been paid, and there was no legal ground on which I could hold her, but there are several matters in connection with her stay here which haven’t been properly explained.”

“She had no baggage with her when she left?”

“No.”

Tragg said, “Let us take a look at the room.”

The manager opened the door, and Tragg, motioning for the others to wait in the corridor, entered the room. He looked quickly around, then turned swifty to the manager. “Look here, this room has been made up. You said it was in the same condition as when she left.”

The manager shook his head. “I understand it is in exactly the same condition as it was when the bellboy opened it with his passkey.”

“What time was that?”

“Perhaps around eight-thirty.”

Tragg gently turned back the covers of the bed. “She didn’t make this bed?” he asked.

“No, sir. The sheets are absolutely clean. The bed hasn’t been used.”

“The chambermaid didn’t change the sheets?”

“The chambermaid hasn’t been in here.”

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

Mason, standing in the doorway, said, “No towels have been used in the bathroom either, Lieutenant.”

Tragg turned to Mason, regarded him speculatively, then devoted his attention once more to a study of the room.

He whirled back to Mason. “What was she doing out here?”

“Looking for work.”

“Did she find any?”

“She had a job under consideration.”

“What sort of a job?”

“I believe she was told that the vacancy hadn’t occurred as yet, but might within the next few days, and that her salary would be kept on while she was waiting.”

“Do you believe that is what she was told?”

“Yes.”

Tragg’s smile became a grin. “All right,” he said, “who told her?”

Mason answered his grin. “Paul Drake.”

“At whose suggestion?”

“Mine.”

Tragg said, “Well, I had to make those questions specific enough in order to get an intelligent answer.”

“You got the answer, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Tragg said, “Let us see if we can’t short-cut some of this a little, fellows. You made Mrs. Warfield that proposition because you wanted her for something — what?”

“We wanted to locate her husband for her.”

Tragg said, “Nuts,” and walked away to stand in the door to the bathroom. Then he came back, looked at the drawn shades and the electric light.

He turned again to Mason, “What would I have to do, Mason, to get you to give me the whole dope on this thing — the real low-down?”

“Ask questions,” Mason said. “Ask anything you want, and I shall answer it.”

“And what would I have to do to get you to give it to me without asking questions?”

“Follow up the leads I was working on.”

“You mean Hollywood?”

Mason nodded.

Tragg hesitated a moment, then shook his head. “That’s too large an order — yet.”

“Then keep on asking questions,” Mason said.

“Thanks. I will,” Tragg promised grimly. “I shall begin by asking you the name you mentioned when you called on me earlier this morning.”

Mason frowned as though perplexed. “Homan?” he asked.

“No, no,” Tragg said. “Come on, quit stalling. The one from San Francisco.”

“Oh, from San Francisco. I am not certain that I...”

“The one that sounded like Spelley or something of that sort.”

Mason frowned. “I don’t remember any Spelley.”

“Was that name Greeley, Adler Greeley?” Tragg asked.

“No,” Mason said.

“Well, what was it?”

“So the dead man’s name is Greeley, is it?”

“I am not answering questions. I am asking them. I want that name that you mentioned, the one that you said was wanted by the San Francisco police.”

“Oh, you must be referring to Spinney,” Mason said.

“That’s it. What about him?”

“That’s all I know about him,” Mason said. “The name of Spinney.”

“And how did you happen to find that out?”

“One of Drake’s men uncovered a lead which made him think Spinney was associated with Homan.”

“Homan again,” Tragg groaned. “My gosh, why do you always come harping back to him?”

“Because he is the angle I am working on.”

“Well, what made you think he was registered here under the name of Lossten?”

“Because,” Mason said patiently, “I thought the man who was registered here was the man who had been driving the car. I thought the man who was driving the car was associated with Homan. I thought that Mr. Spinney was associated with Homan. Therefore, I thought it was a good possibility that the man who was registered here was Mr. Spinney.”

“You didn’t come here because Miss Claire asked you to?”

“No.”

“You didn’t look him up on account of anything Mrs. Warfield told you?”

“No.”

“And why did you come to my office before you went to call on the gentleman?”

“I told you,” Mason said. “I wanted to cooperate.”

Tragg bowed. “I certainly appreciate your frankness, Mr. Mason. Don’t let me detain you. I know you are a busy man, and while I appreciate the great help you are giving me, I can’t ask you to sacrifice your practice.”

“Meaning that we are free to go?”

“Yes, all except the Claire girl.”

“Why can’t she go?”

“Because I am holding her.”

“I don’t know what grounds you have for holding her.”

“So far she is the only one we have found who knew this man. She had every reason not to like him. The man is dead. Under the circumstances, we are going to have to hold her for a while.”

“She has just been released from the hospital.”

Tragg smiled. “It isn’t where she has just been that counts, but where she is just going. And that’s the D.A.’s office.”

“May I talk with her before she leaves?”

“I would prefer that you didn’t.”

“She is my client. I demand the right to talk with her.”

Tragg smiled, “I wouldn’t want to deprive you of your right to talk with a client,” he said, “but unfortunately she isn’t here. A detective is driving her to the D.A.’s office.”

Mason said irritably, “Even when we cooperate, we don’t seem to be of much help to each other, do we?”

“Are you,” Tragg said, “telling me? However, Mr. Mason, don’t worry. I will start an investigation of Mr. L. C. Spinney who has been residing at San Francisco, and — shall we say Bakersfield?”

“I don’t know why not,” Mason said.

Tragg, looking at him, said, “Well, I shall pull that one chestnut out of the fire for you. What did Mrs. Warfield look like?”

“About thirty-one or two, tired looking, blue eyes, light chestnut hair, drooping shoulders, average height, thin. Wearing a blue serge skirt and jacket when we last saw her.”