Erle Gardner - Case of the Beautiful Beggar

“Well, I was just checking — that’s all,” Tragg said. “Sort of a coincidence, you being here.”

He nodded to the driver of the car. “Let’s go,” he said.

When the police car pulled away, Mason turned back to look at Daphne Shelby.

She was sitting white-faced and frozen, her eyes wide with terror.

“Well?” Mason asked.

She looked at him, tried to say something, then collapsed to the floor of the car.

Mason said, “Inskip will be trailing us because we have Daphne in the car with us. Let’s see if we can spot him.”

The lawyer made a U-turn, circled back to the corner, suddenly spotted a car parked at the curb, braked his own car to a stop and motioned.

Inskip started the agency car he was driving and pulled alongside.

“Tell Paul we’re going back to the Serene Slumber Motel,” Mason said. “Tell him to come back there as soon as he finds out what’s cooking.”

The lawyer drove back to the motel where Daphne had her room. He and Della Street helped Daphne from the car. Daphne handed him the key with cold numb fingers. The lawyer opened the door, escorted Daphne inside.

“All right,” Mason said. “Pull yourself together, Daphne. Let’s have it straight from the shoulder. Did you have anything to do with your uncle’s death?”

She shook her head. Her lips quivered. “I loved him” she said. “He was a father to me. I’ve sacrificed most of my life trying to make him comfortable.”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “But that’s not the way the evidence is going to point.”

“What evidence?”

“Let’s look at the evidence,” Mason said. “You aren’t related by blood to Horace Shelby. You can’t inherit without a will.

“Shelby’s half brother has filed affidavits stating that you are a shrewd and designing person that you have planned to ingratiate yourself with Horace Shelby and get him to turn his wealth over to you. The records show that Shelby gave you a check for a hundred and twenty five thousand dollars.

“The Court ordered Shelby to have a conservator for his estate. You smuggled Shelby out of the rest home where he was placed on the orders of a physician, took him to the Northern Lights Motel. You got him to make a will leaving everything to you. And, within hours after he made that will, the man was dead.”

“I suppose,” she said, “he was so despondent that he could have committed suicide, although I would never have thought of it.”

“We’ll wait until Paul Drake comes,” Mason said. “Evidently, the police have reason to believe that barbiturates entered into it. You bought him a Chinese dinner tonight?”

“Yes.”

“Brought it in in cardboard containers?”

“Yes.”

“And had spoons and ate it from the containers?”

“He liked to use chopsticks,” she said. “I bought two pair of chopsticks. We ate it with chopsticks.”

“And what did you do with the empty containers?”

“They weren’t quite empty,” she said. “I had to leave, but Uncle Horace promised he’d flush what was left of the food down the toilet, wash the containers out so they wouldn’t smell, and put them in the wastebasket. After all. it isn’t a housekeeping unit — just a bedroom — and I thought they might make trouble if he used the wastebasket as a garbage pail.”

“There was food left and he promised to flush it down the toilet?”

“Yes.”

“Looking at it from the standpoint of the police,” Mason said, “they’ll claim you did the flushing and it will be considered an attempt to conceal the evidence. Then you weren’t content with that, they’ll say you washed the cardboard containers out with hot water. You told your uncle to do that?”

“Yes.”

“That and the will you let him make out in your favor can send you to the penitentiary for life,” the lawyer said.

Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.

Della Street let him in.

Drake looked serious.

“How bad is it, Paul?” Mason asked.

“Bad,” Drake said.

“Give us the lowdown.”

“Someone in Unit 22 had been out to dinner, came home and smelled gas coming from Unit 21. They notified the manager of the motel. He got a passkey and opened the door. The gas just about knocked him down. He opened the door, ran to the windows, opened them, and dragged the man’s body out into the open. He notified the police. Police arrived and tried resuscitation. It didn’t work.”

“Why did they figure homicide instead of suicide?” Mason asked.

“The gas stove is vented,” Drake said. “Someone had unscrewed the feed pipe so the gas could escape directly into the room. The guy had been eating Chinese food. The doctor who is riding with the deputy coroner suspected barbiturates. He made a quick test. Apparently, the food was loaded. I think they also found evidence of drugs in the bathroom.”

Mason looked at Daphne Shelby.

Her eyes refused to meet his.

“You stayed with your uncle while you both ate Chinese food?” he asked.

“I left before he was finished.”

“Did you,” he asked, “give him any barbiturates?”

“I–I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I told you he couldn’t sleep without these sleeping pills. He has developed such a need for them that he had to have them. I knew that, so when I left him I gave him the sleeping pills that I had.”

“Where did you get them?”

“They were given me by a doctor — the same doctor who treats Uncle Horace. You remember when I went away, I was all rundown and nervous. The doctor gave me some sleeping medicine in case I had any trouble sleeping.

“I never needed to use it. From the time I got on that boat, I slept like a log. I felt that Uncle Horace might need those pills, so I gave them to him to use if he needed them.”

Mason said, “You have put yourself in a beautiful spot for a first-degree murder rap.”

Drake said, “The proprietress of the motel got a little suspicious that everything wasn’t quite on the up-and-up. This young woman rented Unit 21 and said her uncle was going to occupy it that she would bring him in later. She got the license number of her automobile — it was a new Ford.”

Mason turned to Daphne and said, “And there you are, Daphne!”

Paul Drake caught Mason’s eye jerked his head, indicating he wanted a private conference.

“Excuse us a moment,” Mason said, and walked over to the far corner of the room with the detective.

Drake lowered his voice to a half-whisper. “Look, Perry,” he said, “you’re in a spot. Your client is in a spot. The minute she produces that will, she’s convicted herself of murder.

“That girl isn’t any sweet, innocent, naive rose-bud. She’s shrewd, scheming and clever.

“She located her uncle. She spirited him out of the institution. She was too smart to put him in the motel where she was staying, but she took him to another motel.

“Everything that she’s done indicates that she’s quick-thinking and ingenious.

“Now then, she found out that she wasn’t actually related to Horace Shelby. She can’t get any of his money unless she has a will.

“So she spirits him out from under the hand of the authorities and the guardianship of the Court, gets him to make a will, and then the guy promptly dies.

“Now then, if you want to forget about that will, I’ll forget about it.”

“What do you mean?” Mason asked.

“It’s the strongest single fact against her,” Drake said. “Just take that will and burn it up. Have her refrain from mentioning it to anyone, and we can refrain from mentioning it. In that way, we can dispose of some of the worst evidence against her.”