Erle Gardner - The Case of the Empty Tin

“Well?”

“Unless Lieutenant Tragg has uncovered some clues pointing to the person who actually did commit the murder, he’s getting ready to pin the blue ribbon right on your chest.”

Karr said, “That would be unfortunate.”

“I gathered as much,” Mason said, “and may I remind you that Tragg’s inopportune arrival prevented you from telling me just why it was you wished to consult me?”

Karr sighed. “It’s about that old partnership,” he said, “but I don’t feel up to going into it now. Tell me, Mr. Mason, what’s the legal position of a surviving partner with reference to partnership business?”

Mason said, “The death of a partner dissolves the partnership. It’s the duty of the surviving partner to wind up the affairs of the partnership and make an accounting to the executor or administrator of the dead partner.”

“What do you mean by winding up the affairs of the partnership?”

“Reduce them to cash.”

“Suppose there isn’t any executor or administrator? What happens to the property?”

“It goes to the heirs.”

“I’m not positive there are any heirs.”

“You should have an administrator appointed, anyway, to protect yourself.”

Karr shook his head emphatically.

“Why not?” Mason asked.

“That would have to go through court, wouldn’t it?” “Yes.”

“Suppose the business was something you couldn’t take to court?”

“Why not?”

“Too dangerous.”

“For whom?”

“Me.”

Mason said, “Then you could absolve yourself from responsibility by paying the dead partner’s share of the funds to his heirs. But under those circumstances, you would have to take all the responsibility of seeing that you got all of the heirs and met the...”

“You mean,” Karr interrupted, “that if I paid money to someone who wasn’t the nearest relative, I might have to pay it all over again?”

“That’s right. Moreover, the nearest relative isn’t always the heir. Suppose a partner left a son, for instance, and sometime later on it appeared that he had been secretly married or he might have left a will which might not have been offered for probate.”

Karr fastened Mason with his alert, intense eyes, and said, “I understand. It’s better to take that risk than to have the court asking a lot of questions.”

“Was that the matter that you wanted me to handle?” Mason asked.

Karr leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. After a few moments he said, “That was it — at first. I wanted you to investigate the possibility of my late partner having left an heir. Now this other matter has come up.”

“You mean the murder?”

“Yes.”

“And you want me to do something in connection with the murder?”

“Yes, I think I do. I think I’d like to have you see that it’s cleared up just as quickly as possible. I can’t afford to have that develop into one of those mysteries that they spread all over the front pages of the newspapers. How soon do you think Tragg will solve it?”

“It shouldn’t take him long. He’s a good man.”

“Tell you what you do. You’re a good man. Give him a hand. See that the thing gets cleaned up and cleaned up fast.”

“You want me to find out who committed the murder?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

Mason said, “Make a note of that, Della.”

Her pen still poised over the notebook, Della said, “I did.”

“Why do you want a note of that?” Karr asked.

Mason said, “Because if you’re guilty, and I uncover the evidence that sticks your neck in the noose, I want to be in a position to send your estate a bill for doing it.”

Karr laughed. “You’re a great one! You really are. You measure up to expectations. Salty character. Individuality. All right, Mason, go ahead. Start working. Get that detective agency of yours on the job. Uncover everything you can. Help Tragg find out what actually happened. Turn over any evidence you find to him. Gow Loong, go massah’s bedroom. Drawer, on right-hand topside. Ketchum money. You savvy? You bring’m money. This lawyer man wants cash money now.”

“Can do,” Gow Loong said, and started for the bedroom.

Johns Blaine said easily, “Don’t let that idea of having Karr as a suspect cramp your style any, Mason. Just go right ahead. Karr’s absolutely in the clear, and I’d say the best way to get Lieutenant Tragg off his neck was to help him get some evidence.”

Mason said, “It’s all right, but I just wanted to have all the cards on the table. In this business, we find that a person who has anything to conceal wants to cover it up. You take a witness who’s lying on the witness stand, and he almost invariably starts stroking his cheeks with the tips of his fingers, then slides his hand around so that he’s concealing his mouth as much as possible while he talks. We know those signs and get to look for them. Mr. Karr’s idea about keeping his legs warm may be all to the good, but as far as Lieutenant Tragg is concerned, that heavy robe over his legs gave him the idea Mr. Karr was covering them up because he had something to conceal.”

Karr threw back his head and laughed. “And gave you the same idea, Mason?” he asked. “Come on, now, be frank. Didn’t it?”

Mason looked down at the heavy blanket.

“Yes.”

Gow Loong returned from the bedroom, carrying a tin cash box. He placed it gently on Karr’s lap. Karr threw back the lid of the box, reached in, picked up a sheaf of currency, and said to Mason, “How much do you charge in these cases, Counselor?”

Mason regarded the bundle of currency. “Usually all the traffic will bear,” he said.

Once more Karr threw back his head and laughed. “I like you, Mason. I mean I really do! You don’t beat around the bush.”

“No,” Mason said. “I don’t beat around the bush.

“And may I ask whether you want to retain me to solve that murder or to advise you in connection with your old partnership?”

“Both,” Karr said, “but we’ll do one thing at a time, Mason. I want that murder case off my neck. That’s a nightmare. Couldn’t possibly have happened at a more inopportune time. As I see it, the only way to keep it from becoming a mystery is to clean it up — only way to clean it up is to solve the damn case. Perhaps you can solve it by this afternoon. That’ll give me a chance to do what I have to do. Personally, I don’t see why the devil this man What’s-his-name couldn’t have picked a more opportune time to get himself killed. Damned inconsiderate, I call it.”

Mrs. Gentrie seemed somewhat overawed by the importance of her visitor. Aunt Rebecca and Delman Steele, sitting together at the dining-room table working a crossword puzzle, looked up as Mason introduced himself to Mrs. Gentrie. They stood up as Mrs. Gentrie escorted Mason toward them.

Mrs. Gentrie performed the introductions. “Mr. Mason, the lawyer you’ve read about,” she announced. “This is my husband’s sister, Miss Gentrie.” It was always necessary to emphasize the “Miss” in introducing Aunt Rebecca. So many people were inclined to call her Mrs. if they hadn’t been paying attention when the introduction was performed, and that led to a correction later which, somehow, always seemed like an embarrassing explanation. “And Mr. Steele, a roomer, who is also a crossword addict,” Mrs. Gentrie added.

Aunt Rebecca was by no means overawed. She looked Mason over critically, said, “Humph! You don’t look so formidable. Reading about you, I’d always imagined you bristled with hostility like a battleship.”

Mason laughed, sized up Delman Steele, a young man in the twenties, who met his eye steadily enough, yet who seemed, somehow, on the defensive. He was good looking, and there was plenty of character in his face, but something about the tight line of his lips indicated that he might, perhaps, have something to conceal.