Case of the Silent Partner

Chapter 14

Tragg parked his car in front of the Molay Arms Apartments. “Ring her bell?” he asked Mason.

Mason opened the rear door and assisted Mildreth Faulkner and Della Street from the car. “Better to ring the manager.”

Tragg said, “Perhaps I can beat that. This passkey should do the work.”

He took a key ring from his pocket, selected a key, tried it tentatively, shook his head, tried another key, and the lock clicked back.

“Locks on those outer doors are mostly ornamental, anyway,” Tragg explained as they walked across the lobby. “Just what do you want with Esther Dilmeyer, Mason?”

“Ask her some questions.”

“Look here, if you’re getting anything hot, Loring Churchill should be here.”

Mason said, “This may be only lukewarm.”

“You’re leading up to something.”

“Uh huh.”

Tragg said, “Okay, I’ll ride along for a while, and see where you’re going.”

They walked down the thin carpet of the third corridor. There was a light coming from the transom over Esther Dilmeyer’s door.

Mason said, in a low tone to Mildreth Faulkner, “Tap on the door. She’ll ask who it is. Tell her.”

“Then what?”

“I think that’s all she’ll want to know. If she should ask what you want, tell her you want to talk with her for a minute about something that happened today.”

Tragg made one last attempt. “Listen, Mason, if you’d put your cards on the table, and tell us what you know, the department would...”

“Stall around until it got proof,” Mason said, “and, by that time, my client would be dead.”

Mildreth tapped gently on the door.

“Who is it?” Esther Dilmeyer called.

“Mildreth Faulkner.”

“Oh, it’s you...” Noises from the apartment, the sound of slippered feet on the floor, the noise made by a bolt turning, and Esther Dilmeyer, attired only in underthings, opened the door to say, “I wanted to see you. I hoped you’d understand...”

She broke off as she saw the group in the corridor, then laughed, and said, “Well, excuse me! Why didn’t you tell me there were men in the party?”

She said, “Just a minute,” stepped back into the apartment, and picked up a robe which hung over the back of a chair. She slipped it on and said, “Come on in. You should have told me you weren’t alone, Miss Faulkner.”

Mason stepped forward. He asked, “You know Lieutenant Tragg?”

“Oh, yes. I saw him before I left the hospital. They wouldn’t let me leave until I had permission of the police.”

There was an awkward pause. Tragg looked at Mason, and Mason said abruptly, “Miss Dilmeyer, I think you’re in some danger.”

“I — danger?”

“Yes. Murder — so you won’t get on the stand tomorrow.”

“What makes you think so?”

He said, “Don’t forget an attempt has already been made to murder you. Whoever tried then is just as anxious to get you out of the way now as he was a couple of days ago.”

She laughed. “To tell you the truth, I hadn’t thought much of anything about it.”

“If some person had a desire to kill you forty-eight hours ago, I know of nothing which has happened in the meantime that would cause him to change his mind,” Mason said.

Esther tapped a cigarette on the arm of the chair, and said, “You’re probably more concerned about that than I am.”

“Perhaps so. That’s because I think that the person who sent you the candy is the same person who murdered Harvey Lynk.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Well, isn’t that a bright idea!”

Mason said, “We have several clues to work on. I don’t know whether Lieutenant Tragg told you all of them.”

“I didn’t,” Tragg said.

“To begin with,” Mason observed as Esther Dilmeyer struck a match and held it to the end of her cigarette, “the address on the wrapper was typed on the typewriter in Mr. Lynk’s office at the Golden Horn.”

She shook out the match with a quick, nervous gesture. Her eyes showed that the statement came as something of a shock. “How in the world do you know that,” she asked, “—unless someone saw the thing being typed?”

“Many people don’t know that typewriters are more highly individualized than a person’s handwriting,” Mason said. “Any typewriter which has been in use for even a short time has a distinct individuality. The type gets out of line. An expert can compare samples of typing and tell absolutely whether they were done on the same machine.”

Esther Dilmeyer said, “I didn’t know that.”

“That’s one thing,” Mason went on. “The other is that the paper was taken from Lynk’s office.”

“How do you know that?”

“Papers vary as to rag-content, weight, chemical composition, and trade-mark. Trade-mark is usually water-marked directly into the paper.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

Mason said, “The label was pasted on with glue. The glue was similar in composition to some that is used at the Golden Horn, and, most important of all, the glue had set so thoroughly that the police were able to tell that the label had been put on at least forty-eight hours before the package was sent.”

“Well,” she said, “I guess the police are a lot smarter than I’d ever thought they were.”

“They are,” Mason commented dryly.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Yes. Bear in mind that the label was prepared for the candy more than forty-eight hours before it was sent to you. Now, you’ve worked in a candy factory. You know something about what a job it is to tamper with chocolate creams, and then leave them so perfectly finished in appearance that there wouldn’t seem to be anything wrong.”

“Yes, I can appreciate that. It wouldn’t be such a difficult job if one knew how, but it’s no job for a bungler.”

“Now also bear in mind that the card which accompanied the candy was one which had previously been enclosed with an orchid corsage sent to you.”

“Either that or it’s an exact duplicate,” Esther Dilmeyer said, avoiding Mildreth Faulkner’s eyes.

Mildreth laughed. “I certainly hope you don’t think that I went back and sent the candy with another card.”

Esther Dilmeyer didn’t look at her. She said to Perry Mason, “I’m only answering questions so we can help get the thing cleared up.”

The smile left Mildreth Faulkner’s lips. “Then you do think that I sent you the candy?” she asked.

Esther said, “I like to live and let live.” She turned slowly to face Mildreth Faulkner. “I don’t want to make any accusations or insinuations, but just the same that certainly looked like your handwriting on the card.”

“Why, I never...”

“Easy, Miss Faulkner,” Mason warned. “Let’s develop the facts a little bit before we start looking for the person who sent that candy. Now then, Miss Dilmeyer, when you got that candy, and saw the card on the inside, you felt completely at ease. Is that right?”

“Yes, naturally. I’d met Miss Faulkner, found her very charming, and sympathetic — although she had grounds for being otherwise if she wanted to be — well, you know, narrow-minded about things and hold me responsible for things which were entirely beyond my control.”

“I see, but that possibility hadn’t occurred to you at the time you received the candy?”

“No. I thought she was a very nice person. She was going to give me a job, and I felt very friendly and — well, loyal.”

Mason said, “Let’s see where that leaves us. The person who sent the candy was someone who had access to virtually everything at the Golden Horn, someone who could use Mr. Lynk’s typewriter, open the desk drawer, take out some of Lynk’s stationery, use the glue pot, someone who knew something about the manner in which packages were handled at the package-delivery service during the rush hour; and, last of all, someone who was able to get that card which had been sent with the orchids and put it in the candy before the candy was delivered to the messenger service. That was an interval of less than thirty minutes. That calls for rather fast work.”

“Unless,” Esther Dilmeyer said, and then stopped.

“Unless what?”

“Unless Miss Faulkner was the one who sent the candy. If she did, there were two cards, and... and... well, that’s all there is to it.”

Mason said, “I’ve carefully investigated Miss Faulkner. She would have been unable to have sent the candy even if she’d wanted to.”

“What do you mean?”

“She hasn’t had sufficient experience with handling chocolates to have doctored the candy for one thing, and for another, she didn’t have any access to the Golden Horn forty-eight hours prior to the time the candy was sent. No, there’s only one person who meets all of those requirements.”

“Who?” Esther Dilmeyer asked.

“You,” Mason said quietly.

She half rose from her chair. “Me! You mean...”

“I mean,” Mason went on, “that you were the only one who could have sent that candy. You sent it to yourself.”

“And then ate a lot of poison just to put myself in the hospital?” she asked sarcastically.

Lieutenant Tragg leaned forward, started to say something to Mason. Mason, without taking his eyes from Esther Dilmeyer, said, “Shut up, Tragg,” and then to Esther Dilmeyer, “You didn’t eat any drugged candy.”

“Oh, I didn’t?” she said. “I just wanted to get a ride to the hospital. I was pretending to be asleep and fooled the doctor, is that it?”

“No. You took a big dose of veronal, but you didn’t get it in the candy.”

She made a show of irritation. “Listen, I’ve got some things to do tonight. I understand that you saved my life. At any rate, you paid my hospital bill. I felt grateful to you, but you have bats in your belfry, and I haven’t all night to sit here and listen to you spout a lot of theories.”

“You see,” Mason went on, “each piece of candy was held in a little brown paper cup folded and scalloped so as to fit around the piece of candy.”

“Well?” she asked.

“In the box of candy which was on the table,” Mason went on, “several pieces were missing, but the little paper containers were also missing, and those weren’t anywhere in the room. You’d hardly have devoured the papers as well as the candy.”

A swift flicker of expression showed on her face.

Mason followed up his advantage quickly. “But where you gave yourself away was when you told me that when you saw the card in the candy box, with the initials ‘M.F.’ on it, you were completely reassured. If you’d been telling the truth, that card would have made you suspicious, because, not thirty minutes earlier, you had received an orchid corsage with an identical card. You will even notice that on the card there were two pinholes, showing where the card had been pinned to the orchids. It’s hardly possible that you could have failed to notice that.”

“You’re cuckoo,” she said. “Why would I want to send myself poisoned candy?”

“Because,” Mason said, “you wanted an alibi.”

“An alibi for what?”

“For killing Lynk.”

“Oh, so I killed him, did I?”

Mason nodded. “And then gave yourself away by trying to implicate too many people this afternoon in court. Magard, Peavis, Irma Radine... You very adroitly suggested numbers of people who knew of your candy-eating propensities.”

“Well, aren’t you interesting!”

“You see,” Mason said, “you wanted an alibi. It occurred to you that it would make a swell alibi if you could be drugged into complete unconsciousness at the time when the murder was committed. So you sent yourself the poisoned candy, slipped out of your evening dress, put on more serviceable and less conspicuous clothes, and drove to Lilac Canyon.

“You probably telephoned Lynk to make certain he would be there. Then you stopped on the way to telephone me. You had to telephone me early enough to give yourself an alibi, but not early enough to enable me to locate your apartment and get out here while you were still out on your murder mission. The best place you knew to telephone from was where Sindler Coll lived. You knew there was a booth in the lobby, that no one would be in the lobby to see you using the telephone, or to overhear the conversation.”

“And just why did I telephone you?” she asked.

“For a very particular reason, Miss Dilmeyer. You wanted to have someone whose word the police would take. You wanted to have someone who knew something about you, but didn’t know where you lived. You wanted someone, in short, who would make a good witness; but who wouldn’t know where you lived or how to go about finding out.

“You’d planned your alibi and the murder for two or three days. You were wondering just how you could fix it so you would be found before you had been unconscious too long, but not soon enough to interfere with your alibi.

“You knew that I would have to get hold of Mildreth, Faulkner to connect you with the Golden Horn. Even if I did, you weren’t particularly concerned, because no one in the nightclub knew your address.

“You felt reasonably certain that I wouldn’t be able to get hold of Miss Faulkner until she came to keep her appointment at one o’clock, that then Miss Faulkner would give me the lead to the Golden Horn, that even then it would take me quite a while to locate your apartment.

“As a matter of fact, I almost got here too soon. Thanks to a little detective work on the part of my secretary, Miss Street, I connected you with the Golden Horn almost at once.”

She said sarcastically, “Aren’t you smart? I mean real-l-ly!”

Mason said, “You left Coll’s apartment house after you had telephoned me, drove out to Lilac Canyon, killed Lynk, and then, after you killed him, took a big dose of veronal. Then you drove to your apartment, placed the telephone on the floor, taking care not to change the position of the receiver, and yielded to the drug which was beginning to make you sleepy. By the time I found you, you had just dropped off into deep sleep.”

“That’s your story?” she asked.

Mason nodded.

“Well, go jump in the lake. I suppose you’d like to have me be a nice fall guy so you could get your rich client out of a mess, but unfortunately for you I’m not going to do it. You’ll have to find some other fall guy.”

There was an interval of silence. Lieutenant Tragg looked across at Esther Dilmeyer, then looked away. He studied the carpet thoughtfully.

“Well,” Esther Dilmeyer said, after more than a minute had elapsed, “what is this, a new kind of third degree, or are we just sitting here enjoying the scenery?”

“We’re waiting,” Mason said, “for you to tell us about the murder.”

“You can wait until doomsday. Don’t hold your breath until I start talking. I’m going out. And now if you folks will excuse me, I’ll start dressing.”

Tragg said, “You’re not going out.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Mason has built up a logical case.”

“You mean you fall for that stuff?”

He nodded.

“You’re nuts,” she said, and then, after a moment, made the expression inclusive by a sweep of her hand, “All of you.”

Again there was an interval of silence which seemed to make Esther Dilmeyer more nervous than when Mason had been accusing her of murder. “My God,” she said, “don’t all sit here looking at me in that tone of voice! Good Lord! This is my apartment. I want to dress.”

“You’re not going out,” Tragg said. “You can consider yourself under arrest.”

“All right, I’m under arrest. That doesn’t mean that I have to sit here and look at a lot of sourpusses. And I suppose, since I’m under arrest, you’re going to take me somewhere.”

“Perhaps.”

She flung open her robe. “In my undies, I suppose.”

“No. You may dress.”

“While you guys get an eyeful? No, thank you.”

Mason lit a cigarette.

“Well, for God’s sake, somebody say something. Won’t you at least argue about it?”

“There’s nothing to argue about,” Mason said. “The evidence is conclusive against you, on the poisoned candy. If you didn’t kill Lynk, you’d better start talking. You might have had some extenuating circumstances in your favor.”

She said, “I know your game. You’re trying to get me to talk. Well, brother, since you’re so damn smart, I’ll tell you something. Little Esther knows her rights. She’s going to sit very quiet and not answer a single damn question. If the cops think they have enough to hold me on, they can take me up in front of a jury, and I’ll get a lawyer who won’t turn out to be a double-crosser. Then we’ll see what happens.”

Mason said, “That’s fair enough if you deliberately murdered him in cold blood, but if you shot him in self-defense, or if it was an accident, you’re going to have to say so now.”

“Why now?” she asked.

“Because if you keep quiet now, and then try to make a defense of accident or justifiable homicide when you get to trial, it’ll sound to a jury as though you were reciting something a lawyer had thought up for you.”

She said, “You’re a big help.”

“I am at that,” Mason told her. “There are several weak points in your scheme. The police would have stumbled on them sooner or later. Then it would be too late for you to save yourself by telling what actually did happen.”

“Oh, is that so? What are the weak points?”

“The missing paper cups in the candy box, the identical cards, your handkerchief, the telephone on the floor with the receiver in place — and the other things the police will find.”

“What other things?”

Mason smiled. “Think back,” he said, “on what you’ve done. Remember that the police now know exactly what happened. They only need to look for confirmation.”

Her voice was defiant. “All right, let them look.”

“By that time,” Mason said, “it will be too late for you to tell your story.”

“Why?”

“Newspapers will think it’s something your lawyer thought up.”

She regarded him with the thought-clouded eyes of one who is striving to reach a decision.

“Suppose I tell it now?”

“The facts will sound a lot better coming all at once.”

She studied the tip of her cigarette. “You may be right at that.”

Tragg started to say something, but Mason’s quickly imperative gesture motioned him to silence.

“Coll has a key to your apartment?” Mason prompted.

“Yes.”

“Then he kept Bob Lawley here the day after the murder while you were in the hospital?”

“I suppose so. I wouldn’t know about that.”

“You’re in love with Coll?”

“Not now. I was crazy over him. I’ll get over it all right. It’ll wear off. It has before, and it will again.”

Mason looked at his watch. “Well, if you’re going to...”

“Oh, all right,” she said. “Here it is. I was color for the gambling house. It was my job to make men play, and keep them from quitting when they started losing. I got a commission. A while ago Coll and Lynk put it up to me that Bob Lawley was a rich playboy. I was to help them relieve him of some of the worldly possessions with which he was overburdened.

“I did my part.

“When things got ready for the payoff, they planned to double-cross me out of my cut, and plant Coll’s new girl in on my job.

“That’s all right. I was fed up with the life anyway, but I didn’t propose to stand for a double-cross. I decided to do some calling on my own.

“Bob Lawley carried this gun in the glove compartment of the automobile. I don’t think he even knew it was gone when I lifted it. Of course, I knew they’d suspect me first thing, and I needed an ironclad alibi.

“I decided to send myself some poisoned candy. I fixed it up four days ago — took a few pieces out of the box and put them in a paper bag which I could carry with me, poisoned the rest, wrapped the box and held it in readiness to send to myself by a messenger whenever Lynk gave me the chance to grab the stock. I was all set and waiting.

“The night he went out to Lilac Canyon I knew he’d have the stock with him. I thought the payoff was to be that night. Then Miss Faulkner got in touch with me, and gave me a lot of information I hadn’t had before, also arranged for me to be at your office at one o’clock. I had intended to call the police to fix up my alibi, but you were a better bet. Coll knew where I lived and had a key to my apartment. I wanted to be certain he was out. I knew he’d be meeting Lynk out at Lilac Canyon. I shadowed Coll’s place until I saw him leaving, then I went to the lobby, telephoned you I’d been poisoned, and started for Lilac Canyon. On the way, I ate the unpoisoned candy out of the paper bag, so the stomach content would show chocolate creams. Just before I went to Lynk’s cabin, I took a big dose of veronal, put on a mask, and a raincoat.

“I knew Lynk was expecting a woman, from the way he answered my knock. When he saw my mask and the business end of the gun, he almost collapsed. I told him to get out that Lawley stock and put it on the table.”

“Did you have any trouble with him?” Mason asked.

“Only that he was frightened and his hands were trembling so I was afraid he couldn’t unlock the drawer that held the stock. Then, just as he did it, I heard a noise and looked back over my shoulder.”

“The other girl?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. You see I’d neglected to close the door behind me when I pushed Lynk back into the room. I’ll say one thing: she was dead game. I swung the gun around and tried to bluff her. She didn’t bluff. She came at me like a wildcat. She grabbed my right wrist with both hands and tried to wrench the gun loose. It was a double action. My finger was caught in the trigger guard. She kept pulling it back. I yelled at her to stop. She didn’t stop. The gun went off. That scared her, and she jumped back. The gun fell to the floor. And then we saw Harvey Lynk.

“My mask was still on. She didn’t know who I was. We made for the door. She left her overnight bag. I left the gun.

“I had an awful time getting home. The veronal was commencing to take effect. The last part of the drive I was having goofy ideas. I thought I’d dreamt the whole thing. I managed to get my car parked in the garage, got to my apartment where I’d left things all planted the way I wanted you to find them. I was asleep before I hit the floor. You know the rest of it.

“It wasn’t until I regained consciousness in the hospital that I realized I’d left the raincoat and the mask in my car. That mask was a giveaway. I was going to destroy it tonight.”

Mason nodded to Tragg. “All right, Tragg, go ahead.”

The police lieutenant said, “Both of you women ran out without waiting to see how badly he was hurt?”

“We didn’t need to examine him. He collapsed like a punctured tire.”

“What was he doing while you two were struggling for the gun?”

“Trying to get the stock back in the drawer,” she said. “He had his back turned toward us, but I saw he was fumbling with the drawer. Now I want you to do one thing.”

“What?” Tragg asked.

“Get that other girl and make her tell her story before she knows who I am or what I’ve told you.”

“Who is she?” Mason asked.

Her laugh was bitter. “That,” she said, “is the payoff. An empty-headed little fool who thinks being a gambling-house decoy on a commission basis beats working for a living. She wants my job, and I want hers.

“That’s the trouble with those empty-headed, high-spirited girls who have youth and looks. They think they’ll always have youth. Age is something that leaves its mark on other people. I remember when I felt that way myself — and you last quick in this game. When you’re thirty here, it’s the same as being forty in any other...”

“Who is it?” Tragg interrupted.

Esther Dilmeyer’s laugh was harsh. “Lois Carling,” she said, “—and that’s the payoff.”

Mason picked up the telephone and handed it to Lieutenant Tragg. “Call headquarters and tell them to release Carlotta Lawley,” he said.

Tragg took the telephone with a little bow toward Mason. “You win,” he said.

While he was waiting for the connection, he said, “And the next time you try to decoy me away from your sister, Miss Faulkner, don’t have a gun go off accidentally and don’t be such an obvious suspect. You had me fooled for a while, but after I got to know you well enough to know what a bright mind you had, I realized you were overplaying your part... Hello. Hello, Headquarters? Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. We’re releasing Carlotta Lawley. Perry Mason is arranging to put her in a private sanitarium. Rush it through and cut the red tape.”