Erle Gardner - The Case of the Haunted Husband

Mason said, “It is your move, Tragg. You said you would give me until this morning, and unless I could make some satisfactory explanation, you would arrest me after I had cross-examined Homan. Well, here I am.”

Tragg said, “Mason, you knew about that murder last night.”

Mason smiled and said nothing.

“I have enough circumstantial evidence to hold you — at least as a material witness.”

“Do it,” Mason said, “and you will regret it as long as you live.”

Tragg sighed. “I wish,” he said to Mason, “we could get along. After all, we should be working together on this case.”

“We could if you weren’t always trying to get something on me,” Mason said.

“Get something on you! Good Lord, you play tag with corpses, violate half of the laws in the penal code, and then expect me to tag along with a happy smile. How the hell did you know it was Homan’s shirt?”

Homan, who had marched from the witness stand and was standing on the outskirts of the group, pressed forward and said, “Gentlemen, I dislike to interrupt, but I simply want to tell Mr. Mason I think his questions are impertinent.”

Mason merely smiled.

Tragg said, “Mr. Homan, I don’t want to bother you, but it is imperative that we check up on your statements as to what you were doing on Wednesday. Will you kindly sit down over there and write the names of every person with whom you talked on Wednesday afternoon?”

“Gladly, sir,” Homan snapped. “I will do everything in my power to contribute to a solution of this case. I know I wasn’t driving that automobile, and I don’t believe Adler Greeley was driving it. What I object to is the manner in which my private affairs are being pried into.”

“I understand your position perfectly,” Mason said. “You object. You have made your objection — and it is overruled .” He turned his shoulder.

Homan glowered indignantly, then strode over to the table which Tragg had indicated, whipped some paper from his brief case, adjusted his horned-rimmed spectacles, and started to scribble.

Mrs. Greeley came walking toward them from the back of the courtroom. She said, “Mr. Mason, I had no idea that was not my husband’s shirt when I brought it to you last night. But I knew Adler wouldn’t have been guilty of the things they claim the driver of this car did. And I most certainly had no idea that shirt belonged to Mr. Homan. You evidently know something I don’t. Apparently, there is some mysterious connection between my husband and Mr. Homan. Can you tell me what it is?”

Mason shook his head. “Not right now, Mrs. Greeley. But if you can wait a few hours, I think I will have a lot more information.”

She said, “You were so helpful last night, Mr. Mason, so... so encouraging. You made things so much easier for me.”

“I am glad I did. And here is one way you can help. In going over your husband’s correspondence, did you find anything that would connect him with a Mrs. Warfield?”

She frowned. “There is nothing at the house. Perhaps his secretary at the office could tell you.”

“I would prefer to have you try to dig it up, Mrs. Greeley.” He turned to Tragg and said, “After all, Lieutenant, Della Street is the one who really called my attention to the key clue in the entire case.”

“What’s that?” Tragg asked as Jackson Sterne came up to stand diffidently on the edge of the group.

“Mrs. Warfield. She didn’t leave the Gateview Hotel that night. On the other hand, she certainly didn’t sleep in her room.”

Tragg said, “I don’t get you, Mason.”

Mason smiled. “I am going to the Gateview Hotel. I am going to take a room, and I am going to question the various employees in detail concerning a theory I have. Any objections?”

Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “No objections right at the moment, but until you have accounted for that feather, Mason...”

“Really, Lieutenant, you mustn’t attach too much importance to these inanimate clues. It is much more satisfactory to analyze motivations and opportunities, and deduce what must have happened. Well, I shall be seeing you.”

He picked up his briefcase and calmly walked away.

Jackson Sterne stood watching him, blinking slowly.

Mrs. Greeley watched Mason’s back with eyes in which there were quick tears. “He is going to clear Adler of getting out of that car and leaving Miss Claire to take the blame,” she said in a voice which carried conviction.

Hanley said with feeling, “There never was a more clever outlaw. Essentially, the man is nonsocial, nonconventional, a nonconformist. He may respect justice, but he certainly has no regard for the letter of the law!”

“But,” Tragg pointed out, “he has done more to solve murders than any man on the force; but... well, damn him!”

Mason sat in his room in the Gateview Hotel. From time to time he looked at his watch. The pile of cigarette stubs in the ash tray mounted higher. Toward noon, Mason called his office. “Anything new, Della?”

“Everything quiet and serene at this end.”

Mason sighed. “I am afraid Tragg’s interference has wrecked my little scheme. If you don’t hear from me in half an hour, call Tragg and ask him to come up here, will you?”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“That is all. Be seeing you, Della.”

Mason clicked the receiver into place, took another cigarette from his hammered silver case, and heard a knock at the door. “Come in,” he called. The door opened. Mrs. Greeley entered. Mason jumped to his feet. “Why, Mrs. Greeley, I had no idea you were coming!”

“I hope I haven’t disturbed you, Mr. Mason, but I have found something...”

Mason glanced at his wrist watch. “Can’t it wait, Mrs. Greeley? I am expecting someone else.”

“It will only take a minute.”

Mason hesitated, then quickly closed the door, and placed a chair for her. “I don’t want to seem inhospitable,” he said, “but I am expecting someone who may come at any minute.”

“Mrs. Warfield?” she asked.

“What makes you think of her?”

“Because I have found that correspondence you were asking about.”

“Where is it?”

“Here.” She indicated a brief case. “Do you want to look at it now?”

Mason once more consulted his watch, hesitated, said, “Could you leave it with me?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry,” he apologized, “but seconds are precious. I am trying to...”

“I understand,” she interrupted. “I shall just put these over on the bed. I am frightfully nervous, Mr. Mason. I am wondering if my own life isn’t in danger.”

“Frankly,” Mason said, “I think it is.”

“Mr. Mason, did you know what was in these letters?”

“I had an idea.”

“Do you know who the man was my husband was protecting?”

“I think I do.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I would prefer not to — not right now.”

She said, “There is something in that first letter, the one on top, I would like to have you read now.”

Mason reached for the letter. “This one?” he asked.

“Yes. That...”

Mason whirled. His hand clamped on her wrist.

An involuntary half scream left her lips. Something heavy dropped from her right hand, struck the edge of the bed, thudded to the floor. The fingers of her left hand continued to clutch at the pillow. Her right hand sought his arm, gripped it until her fingers dug into his muscles.

Mason said, “You are perfectly safe here, Mrs. Greeley, but you are not going to be safe if you carry that gun and draw it at the slightest noise.”

“There is someone at the door! Someone turned the knob!”

Mason strode quickly to the door, and jerked it open.