The Case of the Buried Clock

Chapter 6

At the hotel in Kenvale, Mason gave Della Street swift instructions. “Just before we turned off the main road, I noticed a road sign put up by the Auto Club bearing the words, ‘Kern County.’ Look up the exact location of the county line and of that cabin. Then come back here and hold the fort.”

“On my way,” she said. “It shouldn’t take long.”

Mason made himself comfortable in the lobby of the hotel, watching the door, waiting for Vincent Blane. At the end of thirty impatient minutes, he went to a telephone booth and put through a person-to-person call for Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency in Los Angeles. The call was completed within a few seconds, and when Mason heard Drake’s voice on the line, he said, “Perry Mason, Paul. I’m suspicious of telephones so you’ll have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“I’m in Kenvale. About twenty miles from here, in the mountains, a man by the name of Blane has a cabin. Blane’s son-in-law, Jack Hardisty, got himself bumped off in that cabin sometime last night. Jameson, the resident deputy sheriff who’s on the job now, is inclined to be decent. There are replacements coming from Los Angeles who will be hard boiled. I’d like to get everything lined up before they clam up.”

“What do you mean by everything?”

“Time of death, clues, means of death, motives, opportunities, alibis — and locate Milicent Hardisty, the widow of the victim.”

Drake said, “Is that last job a bit of routine?”

“No.”

“You mean it may be difficult?”

“Yes.”

“That’s the i I’m supposed to dot?”

“Also the t you’re to cross. There’s a probability it may have to be a double cross.”

“I take it there’s no use looking in the usual places?”

“Right — and don’t be fooled by information to the contrary.”

“Okay Perry, where will you be?”

“Kenvale Hotel, at least until we get things straightened out. If I’m not here, Della will be.”

“Who’s your client?”

“Vincent P. Blane.”

“Any chance that he did it?”

“The police haven’t said so.”

Drake said, “That doesn’t answer my question.”

“You just think it doesn’t”

Mason hung up the telephone, waited another five minutes, then impatiently called the Blane residence.

“This is Perry Mason, the lawyer,” he said to the feminine voice who answered the telephone. “Is Miss Adele Blane there?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re the housekeeper?”

“Yes, sir. Martha Stevens.”

Mason said, “Mr. Blane was to meet me here in the hotel. He’s evidently been detained. Have you heard anything from him?”

“No, sir.”

“Is Mrs. Hardisty there?”

“Yes, sir. She’s here in the house, but there are strict orders that she isn’t to be disturbed. She was hysterical last night, and had some sleeping tablets.”

Mason smiled, said, “That’s fine. I won’t bother her... Have there been any other calls asking for her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How many?”

“Oh, there must have been half a dozen.”

“Friends?”

“No, sir. Strange voices who wouldn’t leave names.”

“Men or women?”

“Both.”

Mason said, “All right, if you hear anything from Mr. Blane, directly or indirectly, call me at the Kenvale Hotel.”

He hung up and was just leaving the telephone booth when the lobby door was pushed open explosively. A small group erupted into the lobby, Blane and Jameson in the lead. Blane’s face lit up with relief as he saw Mason. Jameson kept at Blane’s side as the pudgy, harassed businessman crossed over to the lawyer.

Mason kept his voice casual, as he said to Blane, “You seem to pick up more people as you keep traveling.”

Blane’s eyes held desperate appeal. “These are witnesses,” he explained quickly. “Miss Strague and her brother and Mr. Beaton. They live up around there.”

Mason said, “You folks look rather hot and flustered. How about coming up to my room where it’s cool and where we can have a drink?”

The deputy said, “I’m afraid there isn’t time for that, Mr. Mason. Mr. Blane has adopted a very peculiar attitude.”

“What is it?”

“Miss Strague has found the weapon with which the murder was committed. Mr. Beaton was with her at the time.”

Mason, sparring for time, made a little bow to Lola Strague. “Congratulations. Evidently you did some high-class detective work... May I ask where it was?”

“Lying in the pine needles on the other side of that rock near which Mr. Raymand says the clock was buried.”

“We don’t need to go into all that now,” Jameson interjected hastily. “The point is, there’s evidence linking this gun with Jack Hardisty’s wife.”

“Is that so?” Mason asked, his voice showing only casual interest. “What’s the evidence?”

Blane nodded to Beaton.

Beaton interposed hurriedly, “Of course, gentlemen, I won’t swear that it was a gun she had in her hand, but I drove past her last evening. She was standing on the main road, and had something in her hand. At the time I thought it was a wrench, that her car might have broken down. I was going to ask her if she needed help, but just then she drew her arm back and tossed this gun — if it was a gun — down into the canyon. Her face was contorted with emotion. She looked at me as I drove past, without showing the slightest sign of recognition. I doubt if she even saw me, although I raised my hat.”

“What time was this?” Mason asked.

“Somewhere between six-fifteen and dark. Up in the mountains we don’t bother much about time. I carry a cheap watch. Sometimes I wind it, and sometimes I don’t. When it’s running, I usually set it by the sun, so I’m not going to stick my neck out on a statement of time that could be twisted around by a lot of lawyers on cross-examination.”

Beaton’s eyes twinkled amiably at Mason, the network of crows-feet springing into quick prominence. “No hard feelings, Mr. Mason.”

“None at all,” Mason grinned. “I think you’d be a hard witness to cross-examine.”

Beaton said, “Mrs. Payson was in the car with me. We were going in to Kenvale together. We went to dinner and a show. She may be able to tell you what time it was, although she didn’t see Mrs. Hardisty toss the gun down in the canyon.”

“You think this was after six?” Mason asked.

“I know it was after six-fifteen because Mrs. Payson was listening to a radio program that came on at six and went off the air at six-fifteen. She made me wait until the thing was over before she’d leave... And that’s as close as I can fix it.”

“All this is beside the point,” the deputy said. “I want to talk with Mrs. Hardisty. Blane acts as though he believed his daughter was guilty.”

“Nothing of the sort,” Blane retorted angrily. “I’m simply trying to protect my daughter’s health.”

“Well, you rushed to the telephone and got Perry Mason down here in a hurry,” the deputy charged, also getting angry. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know what that means.”

Mason smiled affably. “Well now, gentlemen,” he said, “I wasn’t born yesterday, but I’m not certain that I know what it means.”

“It means Blane is trying to—”

“Yes?” Mason invited as the deputy stopped abruptly.

“I’m not sticking my neck out,” Jameson said somewhat sullenly. “I’m just a resident deputy down here. There’ll be someone on hand from the main office... I’ve looked for them to be here before this. I— Here they come now.”

The door was pushed open. Two men came barging over toward the group, moving with grim purpose like warships plowing through sea toward a convoy.

Mason said to the deputy, “Doubtless, you’ll want to explain the situation to these gentlemen. While you’re doing that, I’ll confer with my client.”

He scooped his hand through Blane’s arm, drew him off slightly to one side, said, “Okay, Blane, this is the pay-off.”

When Blane spoke, he was so nervous his lips quivered. “It’s her gun, Mason,” he said. “I recognized it.”

“What have you told them?”

“I’ve told them I would have to consult you before letting them know where my daughter was... This is terrible, Mason. They’ll find out that Milicent has disappeared now. There’s no way we can stall it off any longer.”

“You haven’t any idea where she is?”

“No.”

“Well, you’ve got to let them go to your house — and then bluff it out. Remember I’ll be with you. When they find the darkened bedroom with a bed that hasn’t been slept in, they’ll start acting rough. When the going gets too tough for you, let me step in and handle it.”

“All right — just so they don’t jump on Adele.”

“They won’t.”

“What makes you so certain of that?”

Mason smiled, “What did you think you’d retained counsel for? Go ahead, Blane, get it over with... Here they come now.”

The men from the Los Angeles office were hard boiled. They offered Blane none of the polite courtesies which the resident deputy had extended. “We want Mrs. Hardisty,” the man who acted as spokesman said. “What’s the idea that we can’t see her?”

“No one’s stopping you from seeing fer,” Mason said.

The man turned to Blane. “What’s this song and dance you were giving Jameson about not being able to talk with her until you’d talked with Mason?”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mason interposed. “Mr. Blane knows that his daughter has been very much upset over another matter which has nothing to do with—”

“Well, we think it has a lot to do with it.”

Jameson said hastily, “I’ve explained to these men what Mr. Blane told me. We’ll try to keep it out of the papers.”

“As I was endeavoring to explain,” Mason went on suavely, “because of this unusual situation, Mr. Blane—”

“What’s that got to do with where Mrs. Hardisty is now? Do you know where she is, Blane?”

Blane hesitated.

Mason said, “Go ahead, Blane. Tell them.”

“She’s at my house, asleep.”

The spokesman turned to Jameson. “You know where his place is?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Got your car here?” Mason asked Blane, as the others turned away.

“Yes.”

“All right, let’s get there first.”

Blane led the way to where his car was parked.

Mason settled down in the cushions, said nothing until Blane had parked the car in front of the house, then he said, as the officers drove up, “Remember to show surprise when they find no one in that bedroom.”

They escorted the officers into the house. Blane said, “I’ll go up and notify my daughter that—”

“No dice,” the man from the Los Angeles office interposed. “This is a business, not a social call. We want to talk with Mrs. Hardisty before anyone talks with her, before anyone gives her a tip on what’s happened. So suppose you just—”

“I insist,” Blane said with simple dignity, “that I’m going to be there when you interview my daughter.”

The Los Angeles deputy hesitated.

Mason said, “And, as attorney for Mrs. Hardisty, I am going to be on hand.”

“Okay, I’m not going to have an argument about that. I’m not going to bite her... But one thing’s definite: I’m going to do all the talking. If she answers my questions satisfactorily, all right. If she gets any coaching from you people, I’m going to take that into consideration in making my recommendations to the D.A. Now, show us the way to the bedroom.”

Mason nodded to Blane, and Blane led the little group up the stairs and down a corridor to a closed door.

“This it?” the deputy asked.

Blane said. “Yes, this is the back bedroom.”

The deputy reached toward the doorknob.

“Just a minute,” Blane said. “My daughter is entitled to some courtesies.”

Blane knocked on the door.

There was no sound from within the room.

The officer knocked, his knuckles beating a loud summons on the panels of the wood.

Mason was reaching for his cigarette case when he heard a key turn on the inside of the door, and a woman, who quite evidently had been in the process of dressing and had hurriedly thrown on a bathrobe, said, “What is it, please?”

“You’re Mrs. Jack Hardisty?” the deputy asked.

“Yes. What is it, Father?”

The Los Angeles deputy said to Blane, “Okay, I’ll handle it from here on.”

Mrs. Hardisty showed her consternation. “Why, what’s the matter?”

“Where’s your husband, Mrs. Hardisty?”

“I... Why, I... Isn’t he at Roxbury at the bank?”

“You know he isn’t.”

She was silent.

“Did you know he was short at the bank?”

Blane started to interrupt, but the officer pushed him into the background. “How about it, Mrs. Hardisty? Did you or didn’t you?”

She glanced toward her father.

“Let’s have a straight answer to the question, please. Never mind trying to get signals from anybody.”

“ I... Yes.”

“That’s better. When did you see him last?”

“Yesterday.”

“What time yesterday?”

“I guess it was about one o’clock or one-thirty.”

“Let’s see if we can’t do better than that, Mrs. Hardisty. You’re familiar with the mountain cabin your father owns?”

“Why, yes, of course.”

“You were up there yesterday afternoon, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you go up there?”

“ I... I thought Jack might be up there.”

“You went up there, then, to see your husband, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And what time was that?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

“And you did see him, didn’t you?”

“No.”

For a moment there was a break in the rapid-fire tempo of the questions as the officer digested his surprise; then he returned to the attack, this time a little more savage, a little more grim. “Mrs. Hardisty, I’m going to be frank with you. Your answers may be very important — important to you. Now I want a truthful answer. You saw your husband up there at the cabin, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t even go all the way up to the cabin. I... I had hysterics. I stayed down on the highway... Well, I walked up our road a ways. I don’t know how far. I just went all to pieces — and then I came back to the main road and tried to quiet my nerves by walking, and I met Adele—”

“Who’s Adele?”

“My sister.”

“Why did you go to pieces? What was it you intended to do when you saw your husband?”

Mason interposed suavely, “I think that’s far enough along that line, officer.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

“As it happens, you don’t have anything to say about it. I told you I was going to do the talking.”

Mason said, “So far as questions of fact are concerned, that’s quite all right. I have no objection to letting my client answer—”

“But who is this man?” Milicent asked in confusion. “What’s this talk about me being his client?”

Mason said to the officer, “I’m going to give you every advantage. I’m not going to answer that question. I’m going to let you break the news to her in your own way, but I’m—”

“I’m doing this,” the officer said angrily. “I don’t have to do it here. I can load her in a car right now and take her in to the D.A.’s office. I’ve got enough on her.”

“You haven’t got enough on her to move her out of that room,” Mason said.

“Don’t you think I haven’t. That gun—”

“What about the gun?” Mason asked.

The officer angrily turned back to Mrs. Hardisty, said, “Since the subject has come up, I’ll ask you the question direct. Why did you take a gun up there with you?”

She was quite apparently stalling to cover her confusion. “ I... take a gun... You mean—”

“I mean that you took a thirty-eight caliber revolver which your father had given you for a Christmas present up to the cabin with you when you went up to see your husband. Now why did you do it?”

Mason interposed meaningly, “The gun your father gave you for your protection, Mrs. Hardisty.”

“I took it up because — because I was afraid of Jack.”

The deputy said angrily to Mason, “Oh, no! You aren’t going to say anything! You’re going to give me every advantage to get at the truth. Then you go and push words in the mouth of your client. ‘The gun your father gave you for your protection.’— All right, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to take this woman to Los Angeles with me, and question her there.”

“Going to arrest her?” Mason asked.

“If you want to force my hand, yes.”

“All right,” Mason said, “I’ll force your hand.”

“Very well,” the deputy announced, “Mrs. Hardisty, you’re under arrest. I warn you that anything you say may be used against you.”

“Under arrest for what?” Mason demanded. “You can’t arrest her without telling her the specific charge.”

The deputy hesitated.

“Go on,” Mason taunted. “If you’re going to take her out of that room as being under arrest, you’re going to arrest her on a specific charge. Otherwise she doesn’t leave this house.”

The officer hesitated another second or two, then blurted, “All right, I’ll do it up brown. Mrs. Hardisty, I’m an officer of the law. I’m arresting you for the murder of your husband. As an officer of the law, I have reasonable ground to believe that you were guilty of that murder. Now you won’t be permitted to talk with anyone. Get your things on. We’re leaving for Los Angeles right now.”

Mason said, “And, as this woman’s attorney, I advise her not to answer any questions asked her by anyone unless those questions are asked in my presence.”

The deputy said angrily, “I should have known better than to have let you come along. I’ll know better next time.”

Mason smiled, “And if you’d tried to stop me from coming along you’d know better than to have tried that next time.”