Erle Gardner - Case of the Silent Partner

“Do the police know?”

“Not yet.”

“I thought they left instructions they were to be notified as soon as...”

“They did. I left instructions that I was to be notified of the patient’s condition, that no information was to be given to anyone else, and that no visitors were to be received until I personally had checked up on the patient’s condition. In a hospital, the doctor is boss.”

“That,” Mason said, “makes it nice. How much trouble would it cause if I sneaked in and had an interview before the police arrived?”

“It would cause a lot of trouble,” Dr. Willmont snapped. “You know that as well as I do. It would put me on a spot, and would make trouble for the hospital. Within certain limitations I can countermand police instructions when I personally assume the responsibility and the orders are for the good of my patient.”

Mason smiled. “I appreciate your position and your professional ethics, Doctor. Now, you know the mechanics of the hospital, and I don’t. How can I get to see Esther Dilmeyer in advance of the police without making trouble for you?”

“You’d have to do it without my knowledge,” Dr. Willmont said promptly.

“And without the knowledge of the nurse in charge?”

“That’s right.”

“And, I take it, your instructions have been very definite that nothing like that is to happen?”

“That’s quite correct.”

Mason lit a cigarette.

Dr. Willmont said, “I’m going to call the special nurse into the office for the purpose of checking over the patient’s chart. The patient is in room three-nineteen. Then I’m going to send the nurse down to the dispensary to get a prescription filled. It will be a prescription that will take a little time to fill. Sorry I can’t let you interview the patient, but it’s absolutely impossible. Step this way, please.”

He took Mason’s arm, escorted him over to the desk, and said to the woman in charge, “There are to be absolutely no visitors for Miss Dilmeyer until after the police have talked with her, and the police aren’t to talk with her until I give permission.”

“That’s my understanding,” the woman said.

Dr. Willmont turned to Mason. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but you see how it is.”

Mason said, “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your position. Will you tell me when I can see her?”

Willmont shook his head in crisp negation. “I have nothing whatever to say about that, sir. I am acting merely as physician. As soon as it becomes advisable for her to see anyone , I will notify the police. From that point on, unless her health becomes affected, I will have absolutely nothing to say about who sees her. That will be entirely in the hands of the authorities. Good evening, Mr. Mason.”

“Good evening, Doctor,” Mason said, and turned away.

Dr. Willmont marched with quick, springy strides toward the elevator. Mason started toward the door, detoured into a telephone booth, waited until the attendant at the desk had her back turned, took the elevator to the third floor, and located Esther Dilmeyer’s room. He walked on past and waited in the corridor until he saw the nurse go out carrying a card fastened to a clip. Then Mason walked down the hallway and pushed open the swinging door.

Esther Dilmeyer was sitting up in bed, sipping hot coffee. She looked up at him and said, “Hello.”

“How are you feeling?” Mason asked, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I don’t exactly know yet. Who are you?”

“I’m Mason.”

“Perry Mason?”

“Yes.”

“I guess I owe you one. You saved my life, I understand.”

“I did the best I could,” Mason said.

“Did you have a hard time locating me?”

“I’ll say.”

“Gosh, that hot coffee tastes good. I guess I’m caught up on my sleep for quite some spell now.”

“Any idea who sent you the candy?” Mason asked.

She hesitated.

“Go on,” Mason prompted.

“Well, I thought it — you know, I’m not accusing anybody, but...”

“Go on.”

“Well, I met a young woman who seemed very much on the up-and-up — a squareshooter, you know.”

“That was Miss Faulkner?”

“Yes, that was Miss Faulkner. She runs the Faulkner Flower Shops.”

“I know.”

“Well, she told me I should have some orchids to go with my dress and sent them over.”

“Then what?”

“I got fed up with the whole business and decided to walk out on the joint. I was working over at the Golden Horn. They call me a hostess, but, you know, I was supposed to give the boys the spending urge, and let the management cash in.”

Mason nodded.

“Well, I went on home, and when I had been there about ten minutes, a messenger brought a box of candy. I opened the candy, and it had exactly the same sort of card in it that had been with the orchids.”

“The same handwriting?” Mason asked.

“I didn’t make a detailed comparison, but it certainly looked like it, and the initials and everything were the same.”

“So what did you do?”

She smiled and said, “Chocolate creams are one of the fondest things I am of. I was feeling low, and I went to town.”

“Then what?”

“I began to feel funny. I thought at first it was just drowsiness, but I had a one o’clock appointment at your office so I knew I couldn’t go to sleep. If it hadn’t been for that, I’d probably have drifted off without knowing anything about it, but, as it was, I kept fighting myself trying to keep awake. And then suddenly I realized it wasn’t just being sleepy. I’d been doped. I had an awful time keeping myself awake long enough to talk with you over the telephone. I can just remember hearing your voice. I kept trying to talk, and I’d go to sleep in between words, wake up with an awful effort, and then I’d go off to sleep again. It seemed as though I’d been talking with you for ages and ages.”

Mason said, “Now this is highly important. It may make a lot of difference. When you were talking with me, I heard a crash. It sounded as though you’d fallen out of the chair to the floor.”

“I can’t help you on that, Mr. Mason. I can’t remember.”

“I understand that, but when we arrived at your apartment, the telephone was lying on the floor, and the receiver had been put back into place. Now I can’t figure that you’d have put the receiver back.”

“I don’t think I could have.”

“Then someone must have been in your apartment, after you became unconscious and before I arrived.”

“And found me lying on the floor and gone off and left me without trying to help?”

“Yes.”

“That would be strange,” she said. Her eyes glinted with sudden anger.

“It would. Who else has a key?”

She took a deep breath. “Now get me straight, Mr. Mason. I’m no tin angel, but I strut my stuff at the nightclub. When I go to my apartment — well, I’m all finished. That’s the only way a girl can play my racket and have any self-respect left. No one at the nightclub even knows where my apartment is. Irma Radine’s one of my best friends there. Even she doesn’t know. The men who run the place don’t know.”

“You’re certain?”

“Abso lute ly, posi tive ly, definitely certain.”

“Robert Lawley for instance?”

“Robert Lawley,” she said, with a grimace of distaste, “a weak-chinned, spineless wise guy. He’s what the boys call ‘half smart.’ He thinks he’s so la-de-da he’s a pain in the neck.”

“How did you meet him? Did Peavis ask you to get in touch with him or...”

“Sindler Coll,” she said.

“You’ve known Sindler?”