Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“He didn’t take it over personally?” Mason said.

“No, sir. He sent me. That’s one of the things I’m for, to relieve him of detail work of that sort.”

“And when did Tidings leave his office?”

“At the same time I did. He went down in the elevator with me.”

“And didn’t tell you where you could reach him to report on the completion of the transaction?”

“No, sir. He called me.”

“When was that?” Sergeant Holcomb asked, putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone.

“I would say it was shortly before noon.”

“Tuesday morning?”

“Yes.”

“Did he say where he was calling from?” Mason asked.

“No, sir. He didn’t.”

Mason said, “Then the last we know of…”

“Hold it,” Sergeant Holcomb said to Mason, and then into the telephone transmitter, “Yes. Hello. This is Sergeant Holcomb, Doctor. I want the dope on Albert Tidings. I want to know exactly when he died… Yes, of course, I understand you haven’t completed your examination, but you’ve certainly gone far enough to give me a pretty good guess… Well, what’s the temperature of the room got to do with it?… I see… What?… What’s that?… Now, wait a minute. That doesn’t check with the evidence… No, it couldn’t have been that early… Ten o’clock at the latest?… You’ll have to up that by three hours… Well, get busy on it… Of course, I want the exact facts, but I don’t want you to make a monkey out of yourself and the department, too… You get the chief autopsy surgeon on that.”

Sergeant Holcomb banged up the receiver.

Mason grinned at Byrl Gailord, then turned to Sergeant Holcomb and inquired courteously, “What did he say, Sergeant?”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “He doesn’t know. He hasn’t completed his examination… Those doctors are a pain in the neck. I left word they were to go to work on that the minute the body was received at the coroner’s office.”

Mason smiled at Mrs. Tump. “Well, Mrs. Tump,” he said. “I guess you won’t have to produce any alibi to show that you didn’t drag Tidings out of his club, shoot him, and drive him up to Mrs. Tidings’ house. The autopsy surgeon has just advised Sergeant Holcomb that the man has been dead since ten o’clock Tuesday morning.”

Sergeant Holcomb frowned at Mason. “You’re using a lot of imagination,” he said.

Mason picked up the telephone, and when he heard Gertie’s voice on the line, asked, “Did you listen in on that telephone conversation, Gertie?”

“Uh huh,” she said.

Mason said, “Thanks. That’s all.”

He dropped the receiver back into its cradle, and smiled at Sergeant Holcomb’s discomfiture.

“Those doctors,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “are a bunch of boobs. How the devil can a man work up a case with a lot of nitwits tying his hands?”

Mattern said, “Why, I know he was alive shortly before noon. I talked with him over the telephone.”

Mason said, “You talked with someone who said he was Tidings.”

“I talked with Tidings.”

“You recognized his voice?”

“Well… well, I thought so at the time.”

Mason said, “Voices can be imitated, you know.”

“Exactly when did he leave the office?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.

Mattern said, “Well, to tell you the truth, Sergeant, I don’t know the exact time. It was right after his conversation with Mr. Mason — just a few minutes after that.”

“Can you,” Sergeant Holcomb asked Mason, “fix the exact time of that conversation?”

Mason said cautiously, “I might reconstruct it from data which I could assemble, Sergeant, but I can’t give you the exact time right now.”

Sergeant Holcomb said irritably, “What are you so damned cagey about, Mason? Your clients are in the clear — if their alibis hold up. Why not tell me exactly when that conversation was?”

Mason glanced significantly at Byrl Gailord. “I think,” he said, “that there’s one matter I’ll have to investigate first.

“What’s that?”

“The stock of the Western Prospecting Company.”

Carl Mattern said, “I can tell you all about that, Mr. Mason.”

“You haven’t done so, so far,” Mason said.

“It’s a good investment.”

“I prefer to make my own investigations and draw my own conclusions.”

“Well, you’ll find it’s a good investment.”

Sergeant Holcomb nodded to Mattern. “All right,” he said, “that’s all. Let’s go.” He turned to Mason and said, “The next time I’m investigating a murder and want to talk with clients of yours, and they’re in your office, don’t try to hold out on me.”

“I didn’t,” Mason said. “I simply wanted my clients to make their own appointments.”

Sergeant Holcomb stared at Mason, “You,” he said, “don’t co-operate very much with the authorities. Some day, it’s going to get you into trouble… Come on, Mattern.”

They left the office.

Mason turned to the two women. He said, “I told you that I couldn’t be of any particular assistance… I think now that I can.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Mason?” Mrs. Tump asked.

Mason said, “I want to know more about that deal covering the Western Prospecting Company stock. We may be able to set that sale aside — if we want to.”

“But I don’t see how,” Mrs. Tump said.

Mason said, “Neither do I as yet, but Sergeant Holcomb is in a fix. The autopsy surgeon is going to say Tidings was killed within ten or fifteen minutes of the time he left his office Tuesday morning.”

“Well?” Mrs. Tump asked.

Mason said, “A dead man can’t buy stock.”

Mrs. Tump and Byrl Gailord exchanged glances. Then Mrs. Tump said, “But suppose it should turn out the stock really is a good buy?”

“Then,” Mason said, “we’ll simply sit tight… Now then, you run along and let me get busy.”

The women arose. Byrl Gailord gave him her hand, and said, “I have implicit confidence in you, Mr. Mason. Thanks very much.”

Mrs. Tump said nervously, “Mr. Mason, I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to double-cross you. I… Well, I wanted to see Mr. Tidings and let him know that I wasn’t bluffing; that I said I’d go to you and that I’d gone to you.”

Mason said, “Forget it. Even if you had been trying to effect a last minute settlement with him, it would have been all right with me.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason. You’re so kind. You make me feel like a… like a…”

“Like a heel,” Byrl Gailord interrupted, laughing. “But really, Mr. Mason, Mrs. Tump was working for my best interests, and she wants to save every dime of my money she can. Come on now, Abigail. ’Fess up.”

Mrs. Tump laughed. “I don’t need to ’fess up, Byrl. I’ve been caught with the goods… Good-by, Mr. Mason.”

Mason and Della Street watched them out of the office.

“The chiseler,” Della Street said.

Mason nodded. “They’ll all do that,” he said, “if they’re smart enough… Get my broker on the line, Della. Tell him to find out everything about Western Prospecting, what the stock can be sold for, and who unloaded a block of fifty thousand dollars’ worth on Tuesday morning.”

“Do you want to talk with Loftus & Cale?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Mason said. “I want to be loaded for bear when I talk with them.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “Call it a hunch if you want. I think there’s something fishy about that stock deal. Tidings was being crowded. He must have known that Adelle Hastings was going to put the screws on him…”

“His Monday night appointment was with her?” Della Street asked.