Erle Gardner - The Case of the Rolling Bones

“Oh,” Mason said, “Della did it. — It was arson. Get her to tell you about it sometime.”

Drake jackknifed himself up out of the chair. “Hell, Perry, don’t try to arouse my curiosity. I haven’t any. I wouldn’t investigate that damn carpet unless you paid me for it.”

Mason grinned. “How about Emily Milicant?”

“She’s different. How long do you want her tailed, Perry?”

“Only until she leads to Conway.”

“Okay. I...”

The door from the outer office opened. Della Street came in with the three clean glasses. “Emily Milicant just came in,” she said.

“Did you tell her you’d been trying to get her?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Good girl. What does she want?”

“Just to see if there’s anything new.”

Mason said, “Tell her I want to see her. Tell her to wait a minute.”

Drake looked at the three whiskey glasses, and said significantly, “Guess I got here a little too late.”

Mason took the glasses from Della Street, left them on the top of his desk. Drake grinned and said, “Oh, go ahead and put them in the drawer, Perry. I know where you keep it — the right-hand bottom drawer. I’d be a hell of a detective if I didn’t know that.”

Mason grinned. “Got some men you can put on Emily Milicant when she leaves, Paul?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “Any husbands in her life, Paul?”

“She’s reputed to have married a man by the name of Hogarty,” Drake said, “but I haven’t the details.”

“What happened to him? Was she divorced?”

“I don’t know. I guess so. She’s going under her maiden name.”

The telephone rang. Mason said, “Wait a minute, Paul. This is probably Phyllis Leeds. I told Gertrude not to ring this phone unless it was someone connected with the Leeds case.”

Mason said, “Hello,” and Phyllis Leeds, talking rapidly, said, “Mr. Mason, Uncle Alden wasn’t home. When we got here, the place had been ransacked.”

“You mean the whole house?”

“No, Uncle Alden’s study. Papers were all over the floor. Drawers were pulled out of the desks, and the filing cabinets were open. The sheriff went right to work on it.

“Listen, Mr. Mason. Uncle Alden gave another twenty thousand dollar check, payable to L. C. Conway and endorsed the same as the other one was. This time the check was cashed by a woman around forty-five with black eyes and high cheekbones. At the same time she presented the check, she gave the cashier a letter in Uncle Alden’s handwriting stating that if there was any delay about cashing the check, he would take his account out of the bank.”

“Did this woman leave a name?” Mason asked.

“No. She seemed to know her rights. She was very curt. She insisted on having the money in cash. The bank cashier says it was unmistakably Uncle Alden’s handwriting. He’s very much concerned about it. He was tempted to refuse payment, but the note frightened him.”

Mason said, “I want to see that check.”

“I’ve arranged for that,” she said. “I’ve already given instructions to the bank, and a messenger will have it in your office within the next ten minutes.”

“Good girl,” Mason said into the telephone. “How are you feeling, worried?”

“No,” she said. “I think Uncle Alden can take care of himself, now that he’s free, but I’m mad.”

“At whom?” Mason asked.

She laughed and said, “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s Uncle Alden.”

Mason said, “All right. Take it easy. Your uncle will show up all right. When was that check dated?”

“Today. It was drawn from the checkbook he carries with him in his pocket. I feel certain he must have written it after he got out of the sanitarium.”

Mason said, “Let me know if anything new turns up.”

“What do you know, anything?” she asked.

“We’re plugging along,” Mason said.

“If you find Uncle, will you let me know?”

“Certainly. Do you want me to have Drake send out a woman operative to stay with you?”

“No,” she said. “Why should I want anyone?”

“I thought you might be nervous, what with the study having been ransacked.”

“I’m all right,” she said, “but if I catch anyone prowling around the house, he’s going to wish I hadn’t. I’m mad enough to shoot someone.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Keep me posted. ‘By.”

He hung up and gave Paul Drake a digest of what Phyllis Leeds had told him.

Drake shook his head. “We’re supposed to be working for Alden Leeds,” he said. “I have a hunch we aren’t actually helping him any.”

“Perhaps not,” Mason said.

“I think Leeds is going to be sore when he finds out about it.”

“I think he knows about it,” Mason said. “He’s been in circulation for a while, and he seems to get around pretty fast, once he starts moving. He hasn’t given any stop orders. Go to it, Paul. We’ll get all the information we can. Tell your Seattle agency to show some speed.”

“I’ve already told them,” Drake said, “and I’ll pick Emily up as she leaves the office. So long.”

He ambled out through the outer door, moving as casually as though he had all the time in the world.

Mason said to Della Street, “Show Emily Milicant in. When the bank sends up the second check, Della, rush it over to our handwriting expert. Dig up some genuine samples of Leeds’ handwriting.”

Della Street nodded and quietly withdrew.

Mason opened his desk drawer and took out the pair of loaded dice. Drake had given him. He sat there, rolling them easily across the desk.

Emily Milicant was very much excited and showed it. Her eyes seemed unnaturally large and glittering. The hollows of her cheeks were more pronounced, the quick nervousness of her gestures more emphasized.

“Isn’t it the most horrible thing?” she said. “I’ve been talking with Phyllis over the telephone.”

Her eyes watched Mason’s hand as he rolled the dice. The motion seemed to increase her nervousness.

“I’m anxious to know something about your brother,” Mason said.

“My brother!” she echoed.

Mason nodded.

“I understand you asked Phyllis to bring him in, and asked him some questions about a crap game. Would you mind telling me what it’s about?”

Mason said evenly, “What I’m particularly interested in is whether a shrewd lawyer could show that your brother regarded you as a means of support.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Mason?”

Mason pounced upon the uneasy expression which crept into her eyes, as an alert cat jumps on a mouse. “Have you,” he asked, “ever supported your brother?”

“Why... I hardly know how to answer that question.”

“A lawyer,” Mason observed, “would ask you to answer it ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

“Why, I suppose every sister helps out her brother from time to time. She’d be a poor sister if she didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Mason agreed. “That brings us to the question of what you mean by ‘from time to time.’”

“Why, whenever a man finds himself in a pinch, or when there’s an emergency.”

“Has your brother ever given anything to you for your support?” Mason asked.

“No, I was thrown out on the world when I was a child. I had to earn my own way.”

“But you’ve helped out your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“Occasionally.”

“In the form of loans?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“How much of those loans have been repaid?”

“Why... I don’t know... You don’t consider your brother the same way you would a stranger. I... I don’t keep any account of it.”

“How much money have you given him in all?”