Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

Mason jerked his head toward Della. “Is she still Hollywood, Paul?”

“Oh, definitely,” Della said.

“Come on, brat,” Mason said. “Tell us what you found out.”

“Here is Tragg coming back.”

“It’s all right. He is one of the family,” Mason said, raising his voice just enough so that Tragg could hear as he approached the table.

“What now?” Tragg asked.

“Della is about to relay us the dirt from Hollywood.”

The waiter appeared with their cocktails.

“Here is to crime,” Mason said, looking at Tragg across the rim of the glass.

“And the catching of criminals,” Tragg amended before he drank.

“By fair means or foul,” Della Street volunteered.

They took the first long sip from their cocktails, then, as they lowered their glasses, Tragg said, “I see you have got Miss Street educated to your outlook.”

“Why not?” Mason asked. “A criminal doesn’t play cricket. He accomplishes the results he wants by any means that are handy. Why shouldn’t he be tripped up by the same means?”

“Because it isn’t legal.”

“Oh, bunk,” Mason said impatiently. “You folks are either fools or hypocrites when you say that.”

“No, we are not,” Tragg said earnestly. “The whole structure of the law has to be a dignified, imposing edifice and built on firm foundations, if it is going to stand. Whenever you violate the law, you are tearing down a part of that structure, regardless of what goal you may want to achieve.”

“All right,” Mason said, grinning, “why not tear parts of it down?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Mason said, “suppose you are on the roof and a murderer is sneaking out through the basement. You can’t stop him by yelling at him, but if you take a loose brick out of the chimney, drop it, and hit him on the head, it stops him, and why isn’t it perfectly justifiable? After all, you have only taken a loose brick from that dignified structure you have been talking about and...”

“Well,” Tragg said, “it is not exactly that way. It...”

“The hell it isn’t,” Mason interrupted. “A man has a joint where he sells liquor illegally, but he gives you all the low-down on the people that come into that joint. It is in the interests of the police to keep the place going. They know the man is selling liquor, and that the sale is unlawful, and after regular closing hours, but they wink at it.”

“Well, in that case you have to admit that you are getting something which is very important in return for a very minor infraction of the law.”

“Sure,” Mason said, “you are taking the loose brick out of the chimney of your imposing structure and dropping it on the head of the murderer.”

Tragg threw up his hands. “I should have known better than to argue with a lawyer. And, remember, Miss Street, the next dance is mine.”

“Okay.”

“And in the meantime, what about Homan?” Mason asked.

“My dear,” she said to Perry, pitching her voice in the high, rapid key of a woman who is a natural-born gossip, and talking at a high rate of speed, “you have absolutely no idea about how that man has come to the front! It has been terrific. I mean really. He started in as a writer on an obscure assignment and on a play that was stinko. Then out of a clear sky he shot up into a big job, and I mean gravy.”

“What is back of it?” Mason asked. “And can that Hollywood chatter before I crown you.”

“A woman.”

“What woman?”

“No one knows.”

“How do they know it is a woman?”

“Because Homan never plays around. He lives what my informant naïvely describes as a monastic life. I wouldn’t know what she meant.”

“Careful,” Drake warned. “That remark might be twisted.”

“Yes, and you have some of the best little remark-twisters in the world gathered right around this table,” Tragg interposed.

She laughed. “Well, anyway, Homan is something of a unique character around Hollywood, but doesn’t always stay around Hollywood. Occasionally he vanishes, and when he vanishes — tra la tra la! ”

“Where does he go?” Mason asked.

“He goes to some place where he can be all alone with his work,” Della Street said with a demure manner which was purposely exaggerated. Her eyes were large and round, gazing above the heads of the diners on the far ceiling. She pursed her lips and said mincingly, “He is always trying to get away somewhere where he can work. He is a man who simply can’t be disturbed. He breaks from the studio to go home and shut himself in his study where he will be free to concentrate, and then his nerves get so frayed by the environment of civilization that he has to jump in his car and go alone into the solitude.”

“Alone?” Mason asked.

“Alone,” she said, “definitely, positively alone. I mean really — and I do mean really.”

The dance music struck up, and Tragg said, “We shall leave Mr. Homan’s concentrational celibacy for another time, Miss Street. But right now you are in demand for another and more important matter.”

He walked around to stand back of her chair.

Mason said, “Don’t let him pump you, Della.”

“Don’t be foolish. He is not the sort who would do that, are you, Lieutenant?”

“Not unless I thought I could get away with it.”

Drake said, “Watch him, Perry. I think he is a viper. You should better forbid her to dance with him at all, and let her keep on dancing with me. At least, I am safe.”

“That’s right,” Della said to Mason. “He is just like Homan. He wants to concentrate. All the time we were dancing, he was trying to pump me about...” She stopped suddenly.

“About what?” Tragg asked.

She smiled mockingly up at him. “About whether the boss could put cocktails on an expense account,” she said, and, swaying slightly with the rhythm of the dance music, let Tragg take her in his arms.

Mason glanced at Drake. “Pumping her about what, Paul?”

“The little brat,” Drake said. “I should have known she would have passed it on to you.”

“What?”

“Trying to find out whether she was responsible for that telephone call you got while Tragg was eating and sent you dashing out of the office.”

“Why?” Mason asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. I just thought that was pretty damned important, or you wouldn’t have left. I somehow can’t see you jeopardizing your appointment with the Greeley woman to run out to have a talk with this girl Horty.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Mason said, his face suddenly hard. “You told Della I went out?”

“Yes.”

“And asked her if she knew where?”

“Well, not exactly that. I was trying to find out...”

“Now did you tell her not to mention that to Tragg?”

“What?”

“About my having gone out.”

Drake’s face showed sudden dismay. “Gosh, no, I didn’t.”

“And were you asking her seriously or just kidding along?”

“Just kidding along, Perry. It gave me something to talk about, and... Gosh, if she should let it out to Tragg...”

Mason said, “Tragg is nobody’s damn fool. It wasn’t raining when he came in. It started to rain right afterward. I was in taxicabs most of the way, but I had to cross a street and some raindrops spattered on my gray hat. When I took my hat out of the closet, Tragg happened to notice those damp spots. They had soaked in so they were almost invisible. You have to hand it to him for being a damn good detective, Paul. He noticed those spots, realized what they meant — and didn’t say a word. What was the meaning of those silly antics of his in the corridor? Did he pick up anything?”