Erle Gardner - The Case of the Empty Tin

“Well, I’ll declare! Why, then he must have been — he must — why, Mr. Mason, that would make him...”

“Exactly,” Mason said.

“Then don’t you think we’d better communicate with the police, Mr. Mason?”

“Not yet,” Mason said. “Just keep quiet so we don’t disturb anyone. We’ll do a little investigating on our own.”

Mason led the way to the cellar door, opened it silently, tiptoed down the cellar stairs. Mrs. Gentrie clicked a light switch which flooded the cellar with brilliance.

Mason inched his way over toward the shelf where the preserves were kept, keeping his eyes, however, on the garage door. “Now, as I understand it, this is the door which was painted. Your husband painted it the evening of the murder... Where is he, by the way?”

She said, “I made him go to bed. He couldn’t have done any good by sitting up, and he’s going to have a hard time at the store waiting on all of the customers without Junior to help him. That’s one thing about my husband. No matter what happens, he can sleep like a log. I don’t think he ever actually worries about anything. I don’t mean by that he isn’t concerned over the situation. He simply doesn’t worry about it. If he knew he was going to be executed tomorrow, I don’t think he’d lose a minute’s sleep. He’d simply say, ‘Well, if it’s going to be that way and there’s nothing I can do about it, there’s no reason for losing any sleep over it.’ ”

Mason turned then, casually, so he could look at the shelf on which he had placed the can. Apparently, the can had not been disturbed. He noticed that Della Street was also looking at it. She turned, caught his eye, then looked hastily away.

Mason said, “Now, is there any chance that your son could have got his fingers in that paint in some other way than off the garage door? Your husband must have brought this paint home when he came from the hardware store.”

“That’s right, but he didn’t mix it until after Junior had gone out.”

“Now, this door, I take it,” Mason said, “is not kept locked.”

“No. It isn’t. But the outer door to the garage is. There’s a spring lock on that, and Mr. Hocksley has the keys to it. I believe he has three or four duplicate keys.”

Mason said, “Let’s take a look in his garage.” He opened the door and stepped inside. “Is there a light in here?”

“Yes. There’s a drop light somewhere, and a string that turns it on. Here it is.”

She pulled the string and clicked a light on.

“There’s no automobile here in the garage,” Mason said.

“No. The police took the one that was here. There were bloodstains on the cushions, and they wanted to take fingerprints and things like that. They’ve never brought the car back.”

“I see. Now this door on the side opens into the yard which communicates with the flat.”

“That’s right. But you’ve been over this before, Mr. Mason.”

“I know,” Mason said, “but I want to be sure I’ve got the thing correctly fixed in my mind. There’s a spring lock on this door. It can be opened from the inside without a key. And by pressing that catch, the latch can be held back so the door isn’t locked. Just as it is now.”

Mrs. Gentrie looked at it and said, “Why, land sakes! That door is unlocked! We always keep that locked. I remember looking at it just this morning, and it was locked then. The latch was in position.”

“Then,” Mason said, “quite obviously, the lock must have been changed, either by someone who had a key, unlocked it from the outside and threw the catch into position, or by someone who entered the garage through the cellar of your home, Mrs. Gentrie. Now, of the people who live in the other house, Mr. Hocksley has either been killed, or has disappeared. His housekeeper has been murdered. Opal Sunley, who acted as stenographer, is the only one who remains. Was she there today, do you know?”

Mrs. Gentrie said, “I saw her going to the flat this morning — and I don’t know why, for the life of me. There certainly couldn’t have been any work for her to do.”

“Well, of the people in your house, who could have been down here? Mr. Steele?”

“Well, he might have been. He does have the run of the house like a member of the family. When Mr. Gentrie is down here, Steele will come down to talk with him for a While; but it’s in the same way he helps Rebecca with her crossword puzzles, just something to furnish an excuse for a visit.”

“The children were here after school?”

“Yes, the younger children.”

“Junior didn’t get home until quite late, as you’ve mentioned?”

“Yes.”

“Rebecca was here?”

Mrs. Gentrie shook her head. “No. Rebecca had that crossword-club meeting this afternoon, and then went to the opera from there.”

“What time did she get in?”

“Around midnight. She was full of talk about the opera, and a lot of gossip that didn’t interest me in the least.”

“Now, she went upstairs to bed without coming down to the cellar?”

“Yes. She was all dressed up in her best bib and tucker. You couldn’t have got her near the cellar.”

“Who else was down here? Your husband?”

“Yes, Arthur was down here. He spends a good deal of time here in the evenings. But I’m quite sure Arthur would never have left that door unlocked. He’s very methodical about those things.”

Mason thought that over for several seconds. Abruptly, he turned away from the door. “I guess on second thought,” he said, “there’s no use making any further investigation at this end. Better lock that door now, hadn’t you?”

Mrs. Gentrie snapped the catch on the door. “Yes, we’ll leave it locked. I don’t like the idea of having that door left unlocked. Anyone could come into the house without our knowing it — just walk right in.”

Mason said, “That’s right. Why don’t you put a lock on that door that leads to the cellar? There’s no necessity for anyone who uses the garage to use the cellar, is there?”

“No. There really isn’t. I was telling Arthur sometime ago we should have a lock put on there, but after we’d rented it to Mr. Hocksley, it looked a little as though we might have been suspicious of him. Arthur said we should either have put it on at the time we first rented the garage to him, or else wait until after he’d moved out and we had another tenant.”

“Yes, that sounds logical,” Mason said, and yawned. “Well, it’s time for me to turn in.”

Della Street was watching him closely, her forehead puckered into a curious frown.

Mrs. Gentrie made no attempt to conceal her concern. She asked, “What am I going to do about Junior? I’ve got to do something for him. That’s what I wanted to see you about. Isn’t there something we can do? And what about Steele?”

“Let it go until noon,” Mason said. “By that time, I’ll have found out just what Tragg’s planning to do. In all probability, he just wanted to make the boy talk and used that method to do it.”

“Well, he won’t talk, not as far as that woman is concerned.”

Mason started for the cellar stairs. “Well, there’s nothing more we can do tonight.”

“You’ll find out about Junior in the morning?”

Mason nodded. “First thing,” he promised.

“Please be quiet going out,” she requested. “I don’t want anyone to know I was down in the cellar at this hour, or that I’ve been up so late.”

At the front door, Mason whispered, “Try and get some sleep if you can. There’s nothing you can do. I’ll get busy just as soon as things open up. Good night.”

He opened the car door for Della Street. She jumped in with a quick, lithe motion, then switched on the dome light and looked over behind the rear seat.