Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“Why?” she asked.

“I thought I might find a torn bill in there.”

“A torn bill?” she asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

“Well, at least one that had been cut along the edges.”

She said, with quick vehemence, “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, Mr. Mason.”

“Well,” he said, “we can discuss that later. Why didn’t you want me to know who you were?”

“For various reasons.”

“Can you tell me what they are?”

“I can, but I won’t.”

“Don’t you think it might be well for you to be frank with me?”

“No.”

“You’re the one who insisted on the investigation which disclosed the shortage in the hospital trust fund?”

“Yes.”

“How did you know Tidings had been embezzling funds?”

“I simply asked for an investigation,” she said. “I made no charges.”

“The question still stands,” Mason said.

“So does the answer,” she retorted.

Mason said, “Well, we’ll try it from another angle. I’m very anxious to talk with a certain architect. Of course, I can wait until tomorrow and read the answer to my ad in the Contractor’s Journal, but I thought it would simplify matters if you told me what Mr. Peltham had said.”

She stood stock-still, and Mason, looking at her, saw that her face was drained of color. The eyes were dark with panic. Her lips quivered. She tried twice to speak before she managed to say, “Oh,” in a choking voice that was half a sob. Then after a moment, she said again, “Oh, my God!”

Mason said, “No need to be so upset, Miss Hastings. Just tell me what he said.”

She clutched his arm then, and he could feel the tips of her fingers digging into his flesh. “No, no,” she cried. “No, no! You mustn’t ever, ever let anyone know about that… Oh, I should have known you’d trap me!”

Mason patted her shoulder. Noticing the curious glances of several pedestrians, he piloted her toward a doorway. “Take it easy,” he said. “Perhaps there’s some place we can talk… Here’s a cocktail lounge. Let’s go in.”

She permitted him to pilot her into the cocktail lounge, and seated herself as though glad to relieve the strain of her weight on wobbling knees.

“How did you know that?” she asked, as Mason seated himself on the other side of the little table.

A white-coated waiter appeared, and Mason raised his eyebrows at Adelle Hastings.

“A double brandy,” she said.

“Make it two,” Mason ordered, and, when the waiter had withdrawn, Mason said in a kindly voice, “You should have known you couldn’t get away with it.”

“But I could have,” she said, “if I’d… if I’d only used ordinary prudence. I can see it all now. I can see the trap you set for me.”

Mason brushed her remark aside. “Let’s quit this business of beating around the bush,” he said. “Haven’t you something to say to me?”

“About what?”

“About your first visit to my office.”

Her eyes narrowed. “What about it?” she asked.

Mason said, “If you need me, you know, arrangements have already been made.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mason said, “That isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“But I don’t. I really don’t.”

“All right,” Mason said. “You’ve had your chance. Remember that I protect my clients to the best of my ability. People who are not my clients have to be on their guard.”

She laughed nervously. “If you think I’m not going to be on my guard with you from now on, Mr. Mason, you have another think coming.”

“All right. We’ll handle it that way then,” Mason said with calm, patient persistence. “Now let’s get back to Robert Peltham. First, what did he say in answer to my ad?”

As she hesitated, Mason added, “I can find out by the simple expedient of ringing up the Contractor’s Journal. After all, they’re going to publish it, you know.”

She bit her lip. For a moment her dark eyes were veiled from his by lowered lashes, then she suddenly looked up at him, and he had a glimpse of flashing teeth as she smiled. “Mr. Peltham,” she said, “says he can’t meet you — for you to carry on.”

“But,” Mason observed, “I’m groping in the dark.”

“You seem to be doing very well at it, Mr. Mason,” she said, and Mason realized that something had given her a sudden return of self-confidence. Her manner was archly gay, a jaunty assumption of carefree banter.

Mason studied her, trying to find some reason for the transformation, to learn whether it was due to something he had said, or simply because she had suddenly conceived some new plan which offered such possibilities of ultimate success as to restore her confidence.

Mason said, “I’m in too deep to back out right now. I’m going ahead.”

“Do,” she said. “Mr. Peltham seems to think you’re doing splendidly.”

“Have you talked with him?”

“Well, let’s put it this way: I’ve been in communication with him.”

“Over the telephone?”

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to start avoiding questions again, Mr. Mason.”

Mason scowled. “All right,” he said, lashing out at her with sudden belligerency. “Let’s quite playing ring-around-the-rosy. What’s your alibi for Monday night?”

She smiled at him sweetly. “Tuesday from noon on, Mr. Mason,” she said.

“You heard my question. Monday night.”

“You heard my answer,” she replied smilingly. “From noon Tuesday, Mr. Mason.”

“I hope it’s a good one.”

“It is.”

“Just by way of satisfying my curiosity,” he asked her, “what were you doing Monday night?”

“What I was doing Monday night doesn’t have anything to do with the case. You know it doesn’t. The newspaper says you, yourself, talked with Tidings Tuesday morning around eleven o’clock… And I see you’re representing that Gailord girl… I wish you luck with her.”

“Are you,” Mason asked, “trying to change the subject?”

“No, of course not.”

“What do you know about Miss Gailord?”

“Nothing.”

“You know her?”

“I’ve met her, yes.”

“Where?”

“Oh, several times — at social functions.”

“She moves in your circle?”

“Not exactly. She tries to… wait a minute, I don’t mean it that way.”

“Yes, you do,” Mason said. “That’s exactly what you meant. The remark may have slipped out, but you meant it.”

“All right, then, I did. It’s just what she’s doing.”

“She’s a social climber?”

“If you want to put it that way. Good Lord, what if her father was a grand duke? Who cares?”

Mason, watching her narrowly, said, “At a guess, she has specific ambitions toward marriage?”

“I guess all women do, don’t they?”

“I wouldn’t know. What’s the catch she’s after?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. I don’t care to discuss it.”

“Simply because she’s a rival?”

“What do you mean? What are you insinuating?”

Mason said, “I may know more than you give me credit for.”

She said hotly, “You look here, Mr. Mason. Coleman Reeger and I are good friends, and that’s all. I don’t care whom he marries — only I’d hate to see him walk into a trap.”

“You think that’s what he’s doing?”

She said firmly, “That’s enough, Mr. Mason. We aren’t going to discuss that matter, and we’ll leave Coleman Reeger out of it.”

“All right, we will if you’ll tell me where you were Monday night.”

She laughed and said, “You’re laying another trap for me, aren’t you, Mr. Mason?”