Erle Gardner - The Case of the Baited Hook

“That’s very clever of you, Mr. Mason.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Mason, are you representing Adelle Hastings?”

Mason said, cautiously, “In what connection, Mrs. Tump?”

“In any connection.”

“A lawyer has to keep the affairs of his client confidential.”

Mrs. Tump said, “You know what I mean. If she should be accused of murdering Tidings, would you be her lawyer?”

Mason studied his cigarette thoughtfully. “That would be hard to say.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Tump said. “I just want to say one thing, and then I’m through, Mr. Mason. Personally, I think Adelle Hastings is a snob, an arrogant, insulting little snob. She’s done a lot to make things disagreeable for Byrl. I hate her because of that. But I know she isn’t one who would commit murder. I’ll say that for her — although I still hate her.

“Now then, Mr. Mason, suppose she’s accused of that murder. She might depend upon an alibi, and she might want to prove that Tidings died after twelve o’clock Tuesday in order to make her alibi good. Now then, if you tried to help her do that, you’d be working directly against Byrl’s interests because we want to show that Tidings died before eleven o’clock… You understand me, Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Tump got to her feet. “Very well, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I just wanted to know where you stood. I’m never one to mince words. I don’t care whom you represent, but there’s one thing on which there must be no misunderstanding: Albert Tidings met his death before that stock deal went through… Good morning, Mr. Mason.”

Mason glanced across at Della Street as the door closed behind Mrs. Tump. “That,” he said, “is that… Get your hat and coat, Della. Bring along a notebook. We’re going to call on the woman who holds the other part of that ten-thousand-dollar bill.”

“You know who she is?” Della Street asked in surprise.

“I do now,” Mason said grimly, “—just about three days too late.”

“How did you discover her?”

“By a little head work,” Mason said. “And I should have known a lot sooner. Come on. Let’s go.”

They drove in Mason’s car out through the city, swinging to the northward away from the through boulevard.

“Mrs. Tidings?” Della Street asked, as they started climbing up a twisting road.

Mason nodded.

“But she was in Reno. She left Monday. She couldn’t have been at your office Monday night.”

Mason said patiently, “She’s the only one who’s tried to make her alibi stretch back of Monday night. All the others presented alibis for Tuesday afternoon.”

“Well?” Della Street asked.

“Well,” Mason said. “The answer is obvious. She’s the only one who knew that he was killed Monday night. She couldn’t look ahead into the future, and know that Mattern would try to protect his ten thousand dollars by having Tidings alive on Tuesday morning.”

“That’s all the evidence you have to go on, Chief?” Della Street asked.

“It’s enough,” Mason said grimly. “The minute she told me about leaving for Reno on Monday noon and driving all night, I should have known.”

“And she’s the masked woman?”

“Yes.”

“Do you suppose she’ll deny it?”

“Not now,” Mason said. “I’m only hoping that I can get there before Holcomb figures it out.”

“You think he’ll figure it out?”

“Yes.”

They drove in silence up the winding road. The house in which the body of Albert Tidings had been found glistened white and clean in the sunlight, giving no evidence of the sinister background of gruesome murder which had attached itself to the cozy bungalow.

“Well,” Mason said, “here we go.” He opened the car door, slid out to the pavement, and he and Della Street walked up the short space of cement which stretched from the porch to the street.

Mason pressed his thumb against the bell button.

Almost instantly the door was opened by Mrs. Tidings who was dressed for the street. “Why, good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I thought I recognized you when you got out of the car.”

“Miss Street, Mrs. Tidings,” Mason introduced perfunctorily.

“How do you do?” Mrs. Tidings said to Della Street. “Won’t you come in?”

They entered the house, and Mrs. Tidings indicated chairs. “Cigarette?” she asked of Della Street, opening a humidor.

“Thank you,” Della said, taking one.

“I have one of my own,” Mason said, taking his cigarette case from his pocket.

Mrs. Tidings said, “Things are at sixes and sevens with me. I think you understand how it is. They’re having the funeral this afternoon. It was delayed while the experts were trying to uncover some clue which would point to the murderer… You don’t know what progress they’ve made, do you, Mr. Mason?”

“If they’re releasing the body this afternoon,” Mason said, “it’s certain that they’ve completed their tests.”

“Yes. I surmised as much, but I don’t know what they’ve found.”

“They haven’t told you?”

“Not a word.

“Of course,” Mrs. Tidings repeated, “I’m upset. We’d separated, but it was a shock to me… I hated him.”

Mason said, “I appreciate your position, Mrs. Tidings. By the way, I came to get the other half of that ten-thousand-dollar bill.”

“Why, Mr. Mason, what do you mean?”

Mason looked at his wrist watch. “Minutes may mean the difference between a good defense and a verdict of first-degree murder. If you want to waste time arguing about it, go ahead. It’s your funeral… And I don’t mean the remark figuratively.”

“You seem rather certain of your ground, Mr. Mason.”

“I am. When you and Peltham came to my office, I noticed two things. The first was that Peltham had laid careful plans to get in touch with me at any hour of the day or night, just in case he ever wanted a lawyer. The second was that a lot of things in connection with your visit showed extreme haste and lack of preparation: the fact, for instance, that Peltham gave me a fictitious name which wasn’t listed in the telephone directory. Also there was your mask.”

She kept her eyes veiled. “What about the mask?”

“It was a black mask with a silver tinsel trimming,” Mason said. “It had been part of a masquerade costume, something which had been stored away as a souvenir.”

“I don’t see what that proves,” she said.

“Simply this,” Mason said. “Peltham had made careful preparations to see me in case something happened. When that something did happen, he had to act fast. He decided to protect you by keeping your identity a secret even from me. That meant a mask. Now people don’t just carry masks around with them, and you don’t find them hanging on lamp posts late at night. But you had one, probably tucked away in some bureau drawer, at home. That means that whatever happened that made it imperative for the woman Peltham was protecting to see me, happened right in her home or reasonably close. I should have known the answer the minute I discovered Tidings’ body here.”

She looked at him for a moment in silence, studying the granite-hard lines of his face. Then, without a word, she opened her purse, took out a small envelope, tore it open, and from that envelope extracted the other portion of the ten-thousand-dollar bill which she handed to Mr. Mason.

There was some surprise on Della Street’s face, but Mason didn’t so much as flicker an eyelash.

“When did you know he was dead?”

“Why, when I returned from Reno of course.”

Mason said nothing, but once more looked at his wrist watch, an eloquent reminder of the passing of time.