Erle Gardner - The Case of the Empty Tin

Mason said, “I don’t know. His death is going to complicate things somewhat.”

“How do you mean?”

“There are two persons involved. One of them is the person who sent the message, and the other the person who received it. Now, if we assume that Steele is the person who was receiving the messages, the question arises, Who was sending them? Let’s suppose, for the sake of the argument, that it was Sarah Perlin. Steele sees a can placed on the shelf after Sarah Perlin’s death. Therefore, he knows it must be a trap. For that reason, he won’t touch the can. On the other hand, if Sarah Perlin wasn’t the one who was sending the messages, Steele — conceding that he’s the person who was receiving them — would undoubtedly have grabbed that decoy can the first chance he had.”

Della said, “I’m getting all topsy-turvy. I thought the person who had sent the message, and the person for whom it had been intended were the murderers. It looks now as though they were the victims. Now, what are we going to do?”

Mason said, “While we’re at the Gentrie residence, I’ll make some excuse to get down in the cellar. If the can’s still there, it will be significant.”

Della Street’s voice was filled with conviction as she declared, “The can will still be there. It’s dead open and shut. Mrs. Perlin must have been the one who was sending the messages, and Steele the one who was receiving them. They’ve both been killed. Even if we didn’t have an iron-clad case against those two, their deaths would prove it. You can see what happened. Mrs. Perlin was a spy. She was reporting to Steele. That was the reason Karr’s attempt to trap the real Hocksley failed.

“Karr took the bullet in his leg, but that was all he needed to show him what was going on. With truly Oriental cunning, he tracked down the two persons who were responsible, and killed them.”

Mason said, “There’s another angle that puzzles me. What became of the real Hocksley?”

“The one who was in China?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t you suppose he’s dead?”

“There’s nothing to indicate it. Karr must have had some reason for taking that lower apartment under the name of Hocksley. He could have used any one of a thousand fictitious names, but instead of doing so, he has Johns Blaine make himself up so he looks like Hocksley, and then takes the name of Hocksley. That must be significant.”

“Gosh, Chief, I wonder if Hocksley enters into the picture. After all, if he’s anywhere around and saw his name in the papers — well, you can see what would happen. Karr has managed to hide his identity by taking the flat under the name of Rodney Wenston, but this case is getting a lot of newspaper publicity. If Hocksley is anywhere in the country, he’ll see his name in the papers and — well, don’t you see? It makes sort of a sieve that sifts out everything except one particular-sized article. Karr has hidden himself from everyone except Hocksley, but Hocksley will read about what happened and come to that apartment just as certain as — but what am I doing, rattling along this way? Paul Drake’s coffee must have given me this talking jag.”

Mason was frowning thoughtfully. He said, “Go ahead, Della, keep on talking. You’re doing fine.”

She shook her head. “I absolutely refuse to solve cases for you. It’s a violation of my contract with the union.”

“You’re not trying to solve the cases,” Mason said. “You’re simply giving me ideas.”

“You don’t need anyone to give you ideas,” she said. “Or do you?”

They laughed.

Abruptly, she settled down against his shoulder with a little wriggling motion. “I’m getting my wires crossed,” she admitted. “In order to get anywhere in this world, a woman is supposed to be feminine and leave the thinking to the males. They like it better that way.”

“You must have been taking lessons,” Mason said.

She yawned sleepily. “I have. It’s a swell book. Sex Appeal for Secretaries, in two volumes. It says a well-trained secretary never argues with her boss.”

“Can’t a boss argue with his secretary?”

“It takes two to make an argument. Go ahead, Chief, and solve your mysteries. I’m supposed to stand by and hold your coat. Here I was, forgetting myself and trying to put it on, and — somehow, I don’t think it fits.”

The rambling frame structure of the Gentrie residence was dark and somber, save for the dining room and kitchen, which were ablaze with light. Mason parked his car and climbed the long flight of stairs which led up from the street to the porch level.

“Remember now,” he cautioned Della Street, “not to show too much interest in that can.”

He tapped gently on the door with his knuckles.

They heard the sound of quick steps from the inside of the house, then Mrs. Gentrie flung open the door. She pressed her finger to her lips for silence. “Please don’t make any more noise than possible,” she said. “I would prefer not to have my sister-in-law in on this. She’s never been very tolerant about the children.”

Mason nodded.

“Come in,” she invited.

They filed into the house, and Mrs. Gentrie escorted them through the living room into the dining room. “I hate to ask you to talk in here,” she said in a low whisper, “but the living room is right under Rebecca’s bedroom. She wants to know everything that’s going on, and very definitely she isn’t fair to Junior. What’s more, that police lieutenant has been flattering her with a little attention, and it’s turned her head. If we talked over anything where she could hear it, Lieutenant Tragg would know all about it before noon. He flatters her, and she thinks he’s simply wonderful.”

“What did she say when she knew Junior had been arrested?” Mason asked in a low voice.

“She doesn’t know yet. I just didn’t feel up to telling her. I didn’t know when you’d come, and I knew that she’d sit up and keep up an interminable chatter.”

“What happened?” Mason asked. “Tell me in exact detail.”

Mrs. Gentrie said, “Well, of course, I expected it. Lieutenant Tragg dropped in about dinner time. And Junior wasn’t here. His father said Junior had complained of not feeling well about three o’clock in the afternoon, and he’d told the boy to go on home. Naturally, he was surprised and irritated to find Junior wasn’t here.”

Mason nodded.

“What did Tragg say to that?”

“I think Lieutenant Tragg was very angry — not with us exactly, but with himself. He thought he should have done something about Junior earlier. He put men on watch at the house, and instructed the telephone company to disconnect our telephone. We were held here during the evening as virtual prisoners. Of course, the other children had to learn about it.”

“Was Steele here?”

“No. He’s out several nights each week. I just can’t size that boy up. He seems lonely. He’s certainly attractive enough, but I don’t think he has any girl friends. He just seems to enjoy sitting around with the family.”

“How about Rebecca?” Mason asked.

“Fortunately, she didn’t come in until after Tragg had left. There is only one thing she really cares for besides crossword puzzles and photography, and that’s opera. She had a crossword-club dinner meeting, and it’s also her opera night.”

“What time did Junior finally arrive?”

“Almost eleven o’clock.”

“Did Tragg ask him any questions?”

“No. He took him into custody. Then he took away the men who had been watching the place, and a short time after that the telephone rang. It was the telephone company to say that our telephone had been temporarily out of order, that service was now restored. I called your office right away. Of course, no one answered. I didn’t think anyone would. Then I called Mr. Drake’s agency, and it must have been nearly midnight when I got in touch with him. He told me he thought he’d be in touch with you later on, and if I’d wait up he’d pass the message on.”