Erle Gardner - Erle Stanley Gardner’s The Case of the Murderer’s Bride and Other Stories

“No accusation,” I smiled, “no stealing. Simply for my own protection.”

“That’s right; you are entitled to some protection. Well, let’s see. There was my address book in there, and some cleansing tissues, and — and a coin purse.”

“Can you tell me how much money?”

“I’m sorry, I simply can’t. I always carry an extra coin purse in my pocket. Sort of mad money, you know, and then carry the balance in — oh, I suppose there’s ten or twelve dollars probably, altogether, but I can’t be certain at all.”

“And was there anything else?” I asked.

She frowned. “Really, Mr. Burr, I can’t remember all the little details. Surely I’ve identified the purse well enough... You have it with you?”

I looked her squarely in the eyes and lied like a trooper. “I decided I’d better leave it in the hotel until you’d identified it.”

“Why, what a strange way to—” she broke off and looked puzzled, a frown furrowing her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but, you see, you failed to describe the most important thing that was in the purse.”

She was silent for a matter of seconds, then, abruptly, she got to her feet. “Mr. Burr, I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to make allowances. But don’t you think that, in the first place, you should have returned the purse to the cab driver? In the second place, you should have carried your investigation of the contents of the purse only far enough to have ascertained my name and address. In the third place, I have described the purse to you — in the greatest detail.”

“The exterior.”

“The exterior!” she repeated with icy dignity. “And that should be enough in dealing with a gentleman."

I just grinned at her.

She said angrily, “You know I could have you arrested for taking that purse.”

“Why don’t you? Then I’ll tell the judge to turn it over to you just as soon as you’ve described the contents.”

“That wouldn’t help you any.”

“I don’t know much law, but I think you’d have to convince a jury that it was your purse before you could convict me of stealing it, wouldn’t you?”

Suddenly she was sarcastic. “Very well, if that’s the way you feel about it I would prefer to lose the purse than put up with your insolence.”

She swept toward the door and held it open.

That wasn’t the way I had planned the interview to go at all. “Look here,” I said. “All I want is a reasonable assurance that—”

“Thank you, Mr. Burr,” she interrupted. “All I want is my purse. You admit that you came over here without it. Therefore, no matter what I may say, you can’t deliver my purse to me here and now. Under the circumstances I see no use in prolonging the discussion. I will say this, that if you don’t have that purse in my hands before tomorrow morning I’ll have you arrested.”

“You can have your purse just as soon as you—”

“I don’t care to discuss it any more.”

She was watching me as I stood holding my left arm against my side. She must have realized that the purse was under my coat, but she said nothing.

I walked out of the door and said, “Good night,” without looking back. I heard the vicious slam of the door.

I was halfway to the elevator before I was aware she was following me.

The elevator was waiting there at the second floor. I pulled the door open and stepped to one side for her to get in.

She walked in ahead of me, chin up, eyes cold. I got in, closed the door, and pushed the button for the ground floor.

Neither one of us said anything.

The cage rattled to a stop. I opened the door, waited for her to get out. She was careful not to touch me as she walked past.

A man was sitting at the horseshoe desk behind a sign reading manager. He was a narrow-shouldered chap with thick-lensed spectacles which gave his face a look of studious abstraction. He blinked owlishly in my general direction, and then lowered his eyes to a daybook in which he was making some entries.

The girl cleared her throat loudly, then said, “Pardon me.”

The man at the desk looked up.

When she was sure his eye was on her, she grabbed for my left arm, which was holding the purse firmly against my body on the inside of my coat.

I was ready for her, and lowered my shoulder.

Her body struck against the shoulder and glanced off. Her hands clawed at my coat.

The clerk at the desk said, in mildly bewildered reproof, “Come, come, we can’t have—”

The girl hung onto me. “Will you please call the police! This man has stolen my purse!”

The clerk blinked.

I smiled at him and said, “I’ve found a purse. She says it’s hers, but she can’t identify it.”

She said to the clerk indignantly, “I’ve described it in detail. Please do as I say. Call the police!”

The clerk looked at me, then looked at her rather dubiously. “You’re with Mrs. Comley?” he asked. “Aren’t you the lady who just moved in?”

That question did it. She was licked the minute he asked her that question.

The clerk seemed surprised by her sudden surrender. “Oh, all right,” she stormed. “Take the purse if you think it will do you any good.” She flounced toward the elevator.

I raised my hat. “Good evening,” I said, and walked out.

I was dozing in the hotel lobby and didn’t see Gabby when he came in. The first I knew, I woke up with a start, and there he was looking down with that good-natured grin of his.

“Hi, soldier,” he said.

I came up out of the chair, forgetting everything the doc had told me about the leg. Gabby thumped me on the shoulder and I made a quick pass at his chin. Then we shook hands.

We went up to the room. Gabby splashed around in the bathtub and I told him all about the purse.

“Where you got this purse now?” Gabby asked.

“I did it up in a bundle and told the hotel clerk that the package contained important military documents, to put it in a safe, and to be darn sure no one else got it.”

Gabby, pulling clean clothes out of his bag, thought things over while he got dressed. “This jane is class?” he asked.

“With a capital C.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell you what was in the bag?”

“She didn’t know. She isn’t Muriel Comley.”

“Then what was she doing in Muriel Comley’s apartment?”

“I don’t know. Seemed like she was visiting, from what the clerk said.”

“Seems like we’d ought to do something about this,” Gabby said, and winked.

“That’s the way I felt.”

“Maybe Muriel’s good-looking,” Gabby suggested.

“Could be.”

“What,” Gabby asked, “are we waiting for?”

“You.”

Gabby grinned, struggled into his coat, and said, “Let’s go.”

At the apartment-house entrance I rang the bell of 218 and we stood there waiting, tingling with that feeling of excitement which comes from doing something interesting and not being quite certain what is going to happen next. After a few seconds I pressed the button again. When there was still no answer I said to Gabby, “Perhaps she’s been expecting this and decided nothing doing.”

“Perhaps she’s gone to bed.”

I said, “Oh, well then, we wouldn’t want to get her up. Oh, no! We’ll go right on back to the hotel.”

Gabby laughed.

I moved over to the front door, pressed my face against the glass, looked inside, holding my hands up at the side of my face to shut out the reflection of the street lights. There was no one at the desk. The lobby looked deserted.

“Anything doing?” Gabby asked.

“No. Evidently the clerk’s gone to bed and this outer door is kept locked at night.”