Case of the Silent Partner

Chapter 7

Mason shamelessly used the prestige resulting from his association with Lieutenant Tragg. The manager of the apartment house, summoned once more to the door in the small hours of the morning, strove to conceal her natural irritation.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “The police again.”

Mason smiled. “Well, I’m not. That is, I’m not calling in an official capacity, although I’m trying to solve the case.”

He acted as though there could be no possible doubt of his welcome, and, entering the lobby of the apartment house, said, “I want to go up to see Coll for a minute, and I don’t want him to know I’m on the way. You might get me a key. Then I won’t have to bother you.”

Her face was swollen with sleep, her hair stringy, her skin still greasy with make-up, but she smiled coyly. “A key — to Coll’s apartment? I’m afraid...”

“Just the outer door,” Mason said hastily.

“Oh, that will be easy. I have quite a few extras. Just a moment and I’ll get one.”

As she walked into her own apartment, shuffling along in heelless slippers, Mason closed the door of the apartment house, and consulted his watch. He was fully conscious of the rapidity with which the precious minutes were ticking across the dial.

She returned with the key.

“Thank you,” Mason said, taking the key. “I’ll run up and see if he’s in now. What’s that apartment number?”

“Two hundred and nine.”

“Oh, yes. And thank you very much. I’m quite certain we won’t have to bother you but once more.”

“Once more?” she asked.

“Yes,” Mason said with a smile. “I think my associate, Lieutenant Tragg, will be here shortly. I’m afraid that we’ve pretty well disrupted your beauty sleep.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” she said, with synthetic sweetness. “I don’t mind at all. It’s a pleasure to co-operate with the police — particularly when they’re so nice about it.”

She was getting wider awake every minute, and quite evidently enjoying her rôle of unofficial assistant to the police. Minutes were too precious to indulge her so Mason merely smiled his thanks and took the elevator to the second floor.

He found two hundred and nine without difficulty. A light was coming through the transom.

Mason tapped gently on the door, and almost instantly heard the sound of a chair being pushed back and of feet on the carpet. Coll opened the door. It was quite evident he had been expecting someone else. The sight of Mason disconcerted him.

“What do you want?” he demanded. “I gave you her address. It’s the only one I have.”

“I want to ask you some questions.”

“Well, this is a hell of a time to be doing it. Who let you in the front door? Who are you? Are you a dick, too?”

“The name is Mason. I’m a lawyer.”

Instantly, the man’s face became absolutely void of expression. It was as though he had been able to shift a lever which threw out a clutch somewhere in his mental processes and divorced his features from any mental reaction. The look of annoyance vanished, leaving him like a graven image.

“Yes?” he asked tonelessly.

The lawyer was tall enough to look over Coll’s shoulder to glimpse a part of the apartment through the half-open door. As far as he could see, there was no one else in the apartment.

Mason said, “It’s going to be rather inconvenient asking questions here in the hallway.”

“And it’s going to be rather inconvenient having you in my apartment at this hour. Suppose you let it go until around noon.”

“These questions won’t wait,” Mason said. “Do you know who killed Lynk?”

The eyes narrowed for a moment, then slowly widened. They were so dark that, in the light which came from the hallway, it was impossible to see any line of demarcation between pupil and iris.

“What is this, a gag?”

“You didn’t know that Lynk was dead?”

“And I don’t know it now.”

“He was murdered, killed about midnight.”

Coll, his eyes still wide, said, “What’s your interest in it, Mr. Mason?”

Mason went on smoothly, “I am primarily interested in finding out who poisoned Miss Dilmeyer.”

“Poisoned her?”

“That’s right.”

Coll said, “Are you crazy, or is this your idea of a joke?”

“Neither. Miss Dilmeyer’s at the Hastings Memorial Hospital right now.” Mason, studying the expression of frozen surprise which was on Coll’s face, added a melodramatic embellishment. “Hovering between life and death.”

“How — how did it happen?”

“Someone shot him with a thirty-two caliber revolver — in the back.”

“No, no. Esther.”

“Oh, Miss Dilmeyer. Why, someone sent her a box of poisoned candy. Now what I want to find out is when that candy was received. Was it after she left here, or did she have it with her when she was here?”

Coll’s eyes ceased to show surprise. “What do you mean,” he asked, “when she was here?”

Mason said, “We know she was here earlier in the evening.”

“About what time?”

“I can’t give you the exact time. It was before eleven-thirty and after ten o’clock. We hoped you could help us on that.” And Mason, with the air of a man producing credentials, took from his pocket the handkerchief which he had found in the telephone booth.

Coll stretched forth his hand mechanically, picked up the handkerchief, looked at it.

“That’s her handkerchief, isn’t it?”

“How should I know?”

“But you do know, don’t you?”

“No.”

Mason raised skeptical eyebrows.

“That is,” Coll said, “I’m not going to identify it. It looks like the way she embroiders her initials on some of her things. I don’t manage her wardrobe, you know.”

“I understand,” Mason said.

He heard the metallic click of the switch on the automatic elevator. The lighted cage made noise as it slid down the shaft. Coll looked over Mason’s shoulder, said hurriedly, “Well, I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than that. If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Mason, I think I’ll get to bed. I’m not feeling quite myself, and...”

“Oh, certainly,” Mason observed. “I’m sorry that I bothered you. I can assure you I only did it because it was imperative...”

“That’s all right,” Coll interrupted hastily. “I understand. Good night, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “Just one more thing. Do I understand you don’t know whether Miss Dilmeyer was here tonight?”

“That’s right.”

“Then you weren’t here in your apartment?”

“Not all the time. Look here, I’m not going to be questioned on my own personal affairs.”

“When was the last time you saw Miss Dilmeyer?”

“I don’t know... I can’t be bothered with all that stuff now, Mr. Mason. I tell you I can’t help you. I don’t have any idea who sent her poisoned candy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Mason...”

He made an attempt to close the door, but Mason’s shoulder blocked him.

Coll said, with cold anger, “Mason, I don’t want to get tough about this, but I’m going to bed!”

He put force against the door.

“Why, certainly,” Mason said, abruptly withdrawing his shoulder and letting the door slam shut.

Mason walked rapidly down the corridor. The elevator was rattling upward in the shaft.

Instead of standing in front of the elevator, Mason walked some twenty feet beyond, to stand in the dimly lit hallway, flattened against the wall.

The elevator came to a stop. The doors slid smoothly open. A short, chunky man in full dress with dark overcoat and silk hat stepped out into the corridor with the rapidity of a man going some place in a hurry. He turned to the right, walking quickly down the corridor, looking at the numbers on the doors. He stopped at the far end of the corridor, looked back over his shoulder, then tapped on Coll’s door.

As the door opened, light streamed out to give Mason a good view of the man’s face. He had the thick neck and heavy features which go with broad shoulders and a beefy build. Mason heard Coll say, “Come in.”