Erle Gardner - The Case of the Empty Tin

“Why did you send for me?” Mason asked.

“I’m coming to it. Don’t interrupt me. When I get started, let me go. And don’t make me repeat. It makes me nervous to have to repeat. Where was I? Oh, yes, publicity. I’ll tell you why I can’t stand any publicity. I’m hiding. They’re trying to murder me. Wouldn’t be surprised if this murder downstairs was because some hired assassin got his numbers mixed. I used the greatest care getting this flat. It’s an ideal location for what I want. But I made one mistake. I should have rented the lower flat as well, and put Gow Loong in there. But when I moved in, the lower flat was untenanted and had been for over a year. Neighborhood’s gone to hell, but they still want too much money for their rentals. I rented this place, moved in at night...”

“Why didn’t you take the lower apartment for yourself?” Mason asked. “The stairs must make a difference.”

“Don’t make any difference at all,” Karr said. “Can’t go any place except in a wheelchair. Have no desire to go out of doors except to get a little sunlight. There’s a fine balcony here on the south and west side. I can get out there and get the sunlight. That’s why I like the place. No buildings over on the south side to shut off the sunlight. That big old-fashioned mansion over on the north literally blankets the north side, shuts off any cold north winds. I want it warm. My blood’s thin. Too long in the tropics. Too much dysentery. Too much malaria. Too much other stuff. Never mind. Don’t need to go into that now. How’d I get talking about stairs? Oh, yes, you asked me.”

He raised his hand and pointed a long, bony finger at Mason. “I told you not to interrupt me. Let me talk.”

Mason smiled. “There are certain things I have to know.”

“All right, I’ll come to them. Wait until I’ve finished, and then ask me for anything I haven’t covered. What was I talking about?”

“Publicity,” Johns Blaine said in the half second of silence which followed Karr’s request.

“Murder,” corrected Gow Loong.

Mason’s eyes shifted to the face of the Chinese, regarding him with keen interest. The one word which he had spoken had been without emphasis, without accent, and without hesitation. It was the one word of prompting which Karr needed.

“That’s right,” Karr said. “It’s murder. I’m a wanted man, Mr. Mason. There are people who want to know where I am. If they find out, I’m finished. In my condition, I can’t move around rapidly. I took a lot of trouble getting into this place unobserved. Johns Blaine rented it, and moved in. He and Gow Loong smuggled me in under cover of darkness. No one has ever seen me. That’s the beauty of the place. That balcony out there gets the sunlight, but it can’t be seen from any direction. There isn’t any other house which can command a view. That’s the advantage of that deep gully along there — ‘barranca’ they call it in this country. That’s one of the reasons I didn’t think they’d ever rent the lower part of the house. Too many people are afraid there’s going to be an earthquake, and the whole thing will slide down into the gully — barranca.

“There may be better places out here in Hollywood, but we didn’t have time to look around too much. They were after me. They were pretty hot on my trail, if you want to know the truth. A man who has to move around in a wheelchair isn’t exactly what you’d call inconspicuous. Johns did a good job in the limited time he had. It’s a satisfactory place. But I can’t stand any investigation. I don’t want to talk with the police. I don’t want them to talk with me. I can’t see any newspaper reporters.”

“What do you know,” Mason asked, “and what happened?”

“A man moved in down in the lower flat about a week after I’d rented this place,” Karr said. “I haven’t ever seen him. He’s never seen me. His name’s Hocksley. Guess you saw it on the mailbox — didn’t you?”

Mason nodded.

“I don’t know what he does. I think he’s connected with the studios, some sort of a writer. Damned irregular habits. I can hear him dictating sometimes at night. Always seems to dictate at night. Don’t know what he does during the daytime. Guess he sleeps.”

“Does he dictate to a stenographer?” Mason asked.

“No. To a dictating machine. That’s the way it sounds, and I think that’s right. Has a girl who comes in every day and pounds the typewriter. He seems to keep her busy. She’s the one who discovered the murder.”

“She comes in each day?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“He lives down there alone?”

“No, he doesn’t. He has a housekeeper. What’s her name, Gow Loong?”

“Salah Pahlin.”

“That’s right, Sarah Perlin. Never can remember names. That’s an odd name, anyway. I’ve never seen her. Johns has seen her. Tell him what she looks like, Johns.”

Blaine said very tersely, “Fifty-five, tall, angular, dark eyes, thin gray hair, keeps it combed tightly back, flat-footed, doesn’t try to make herself look attractive. She lives in the place, has the back bedroom, I think. About five-foot-four or five, weighs a hundred ten or a hundred and fifteen. Is there to work, and that’s all, closemouthed, does the cooking, takes care of the place, doesn’t do washing, evidently a good cook. There’s lots of baking. You can smell it up here. Doesn’t seem to do much frying.”

Karr held up his hand. “That’s enough,” he said. “Gives Mason the picture. He doesn’t have to know too much about her. Just wants a description — doesn’t want to know what brand of toothpaste she uses. She’s disappeared.”

Abruptly, the sound of the buzzer on the door interrupted Karr’s speech.

Mason said, “That’ll be the police.”

Karr said, “Keep me out of it, Mason. You’ve got to keep me out of it.”

Mason said impatiently, “You’ve spouted out a lot of rapid conversation, but you haven’t got anywhere. That’s because you wouldn’t let me interrupt you and ask questions. Gow Loong, go to the door. If that’s Tragg, keep him down there for a minute or two. Karr, tell me exactly what happened.”

Karr frowned irritably. “Don’t interrupt me. I...”

“Shut up,” Mason said. “Answer my question. What happened?”

Johns Blaine stared at Mason in sudden consternation, said, “Mr. Karr gets nervous when he’s interrupted, Mr. Mason. He...”

“Shut up,” Karr said to Blaine, and to Mason, “Last night about half past twelve, a shot. After that, some moving around downstairs. I didn’t do anything about it. I couldn’t. I could have yelled, that’s all. I didn’t try yelling. Wouldn’t have done any good, anyway.”

“How about these other people?” Mason asked. “Where were they?”

“I was here alone,” Karr said. “I don’t ordinarily stay alone. I...”

Mason said to Gow Loong, “If that’s Tragg, stall him along as much as you can, but let him in. Go ahead and open the door. All right, Karr, let’s hear the rest of it.”

“Heard someone running, heard a door slam,” Karr said. “Then I didn’t hear anything more for ten or fifteen minutes. Then I heard someone moving around cautiously. I heard a man’s voice talking. Might have been telephoning.”

“Then what?” Mason asked.

“Nothing more for an hour. Then things moving again, a sound of something being dragged across the floor, and out the side door. It sounded like a body being dragged by someone who couldn’t lift it. There were two people, I think. I was in bed. I couldn’t even get to the window or the telephone. Never have a telephone by my bed. Makes me too nervous if it rings at night.”

“The side door?” Mason asked.