Erle Gardner - Case of the Silent Partner

“I understand.”

She made it a point to hold the door open for him, and coughed significantly when she thought he had remained long enough in the apartment.

Mason took the hint, walked out into the corridor. She pulled the door shut. “I suppose,” she said, “it won’t be necessary to mention anything about this to Mr. Coll. He wouldn’t like it.”

“You don’t need to mention it to anyone,” Mason said, “because I won’t.”

In the lobby, he thanked her again, said, “I have a call to make,” and went into the booth. He dialed the number of the Drake Detective Agency. Paul Drake had been called out, but his secretary was on the job, and said, “We have that number for you, Mr. Mason.”

“What is it?”

“The phone’s listed in the name of Esther Dilmeyer in the Molay Arms Apartments.”

Mason gave a low whistle, then said, “Okay. Thanks.” He hung up and called Dr. Willmont at his office. “Where’s that patient, Doctor?” he asked.

“Which one, the heart case? I haven’t seen her since this morning. I didn’t know you wanted...”

“Not that one. The poisoned-candy case, Esther Dilmeyer.”

“Still in the hospital.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

“She wouldn’t have left the hospital without your knowing it?”

“Absolutely not.”

Mason said, “You wouldn’t, by any chance, be letting someone slip something over on you, would you?”

“Not in that hospital,” Dr. Willmont said positively. “It’s run like clockwork. As far as I know, Miss Dilmeyer is still sleeping. I left word that I was to be notified if there was any change in her condition.”

“Perhaps you’d better call up and verify the fact that she’s there.”

Dr. Willmont said testily, “I don’t need to. She’s right there. I’ll take the responsibility for that.”

“She couldn’t have sneaked out and...”

“Not a chance in the world... I’m going out there just as soon as I finish with my office patients. You can call me then if you want.”

“How soon will that be?”

“Just a minute,” Dr. Willmont said. “I’ll see how many more patients are in the office... Oh, nurse. How many have you?... Two... Hello, Mason. It shouldn’t be over fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Mason said, “All right, I may meet you there.” He hung up and rejoined Della Street in the car. “Got the address on that number, Della.”

“Where?”

“Esther Dilmeyer, Molay Arms Apartments.”

“Why, I thought Miss Dilmeyer was still unconscious...”

“She is,” Mason said. “She’s sleeping it off. Dr. Willmont says so.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“It means,” Mason said, “that I’ve been asleep at the switch.”

“I don’t understand.”

Mason said, “It stuck out like a sore thumb. We knew that Bob Lawley was playing around. We knew that he’d been mixed up in an automobile accident, and that Esther Dilmeyer had been with him. She’s a come-on blonde at a nightclub. She was working with Lynk and Sindler Coll, and they, in turn, were working for Peavis. There was big money involved. Get the sketch? Naturally, she wouldn’t have been standoffish with Bob Lawley.”

“You mean he had a key to her apartment?”

“Sure, he did,” Mason said, “and when he realized he was in a jam last night, he naturally went to her apartment. It was the logical thing for him to do. I should have known that’s where he’d have been. He’s just the type who would want some woman to stroke his forehead and comfort him and tell him that it was all right, that she’d sacrifice herself for him and a lot of that hooey.”

“Yes,” Della Street said thoughtfully, “everything he’s done seems to fit in with that type.”

Mason said, “Well, he went to the apartment. Esther wasn’t there. So he made himself at home. He telephoned the ad into the newspaper, charged it to Esther’s telephone, and sat back and waited. Carlotta violated my instructions, got a newspaper, read it, and looked in the classified ads. She and her husband may have had some understanding like that. In case of any emergency, they’d communicate with each other that way. Some people do. Or she may just have looked. Anyway, she got the telephone number. She called Bob.”

“And what did he do?”

“Went out and got her.”

“And then what?”

Mason stroked the angle of his chin. “There’s the rub. Let’s go out there and see what we can find, Della.”

They drove out to the Molay Arms. Mason tried the bell of Esther Dilmeyer’s apartment, got no answer, and called the manager. He said, “You’ll remember me. I was out here last night on that poisoning matter...”

“Oh, yes,” she said, smiling.

“I want to get some things out of Miss Dilmeyer’s apartment, and take them to her at the hospital. Would you give me the passkey please?”

“I can hardly do that,” she said, and hesitated, “but I’ll go up with you while you get what you want.”

Mason said, without letting her hear any change in his voice, “That’s fine.”

They walked up the stairs. Mason managed to slide in close to the wall, so that when she started to open the door, he was the first into the room.

There was no one in the apartment.

“What was it you wanted?” the manager asked.

Mason said, “Her nightgown, bedroom slippers, and some of her toilet articles. I’m rather helpless about those things, but I guess I can find them.”

“Oh, I’ll be glad to help! I think there’s a suitcase in the closet. Yes, here it is. You can just sit down if you wish, and I’ll get the things together. How is she?”

“You’re very kind. She’s doing nicely.”

Mason looked around the apartment. Police had dusted articles — the telephone, the table, some of the doorknobs — for the purpose of bringing out latent fingerprints. The ashtrays were well filled with cigarette stubs. Mason had no means of knowing whether the police had remained in the apartment for some time collecting evidence, and had left those cigarette ends, or whether they were indicative of a more recent occupancy.

While the manager was neatly folding garments into the suitcase, Mason made a detailed study of the cigarette ends. There were three of the better-known brands. One brand invariably had lipstick on the stubs. The other two did not. There were only four stubs which Mason found with lipstick on them. There were fifteen of the second brand, and twenty-two of the third. Those had evidently been consumed by nervous smokers. Seldom had more than half of the cigarette been smoked before it was ground into the ashtray.

“Was there anything else?” the manager asked.

“No, thank you. That’s all. You don’t know whether anyone’s been in here today?”

“Today? No, I don’t suppose so. No one said anything to me.”

“The police?”

“No. They finished last night — early this morning.”

“Maid service here?”

“Once a week is all. She takes care of her own apartment save for the regular weekly cleaning.”

“When’s that due?”

“Not until Saturday.”

“Thank you very much,” Mason said. “I’ll tell Miss Dilmeyer how helpful you were.”

He walked out of the apartment house carrying the suitcase, tossed it into his car, and said to Della Street, “Well, I guess I go to the hospital.”

It was twenty minutes past five when he reached the hospital. Dr. Willmont was already there.

“Patient still here?” Mason asked.

“The patient,” Dr. Willmont said, “is still here. She wakened about forty minutes ago, and while she’s a little groggy, her mind is clearing up very nicely.”