The Case of the Cautious Coquette

Chapter 14

Della Street said nothing until Mason had gained the street once more, turned the car sharply to the right, and urged the motor into speed.

“What is it?” Della Street asked.

“That little devil!” Mason said. “That double-crossing little devil!”

“You mean she didn’t report to the police?”

“She didn’t report to the police,” Mason said. “The body is lying in there on the floor just as I saw it, only now, there’s a nice shiny gun lying right beside his right hand.”

“So it will look like suicide?”

“So it will look like suicide.”

“Well?” Della Street asked.

Mason said, “I’ve got to find a place where I can park this car and do a little thinking, Della.”

“Can’t we just forget about the whole thing?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure. Let’s... here’s a parking place. Let’s stop here for a minute.”

Mason eased the car into the parking place and switched off the motor and the headlights.

They sat for a while in silence.

“After all,” Della Street said, after two or three minutes, “no one knows that you were there except Lucille Barton, and she certainly can’t talk.”

Mason said thoughtfully, “Someone is masterminding this thing. Someone has talked her into playing smart.”

“Well, you told her what to do.”

“I told her what to do,” Mason said, “but remember I also have a responsibility. I saw the body. And when I saw the body there was no gun near it.”

They were silent for another few minutes, then Mason said suddenly. “Start asking me questions, Della.”

“What about?”

“About this darned case. Let’s try and clarify it.”

“Well,” Della Street said, “suppose you don’t tell the police? Then what will happen?”

“Then,” Mason said, “the police will find the body — that is, someone will find the body and report it to the police.”

“Who?”

“Probably Lucille Barton.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Shell come driving home with some witness, probably her girl friend, Anita Jordon.”

“Why not the boy friend?”

“Because she’s engaged, and if she’s going to get her name in the papers she wants it to appear she spent the evening with a girl friend.”

“I see. Go on. Then what?”

“Then,” Mason said, “Lucille Barton will hand Anita the key to the padlock and ask her to open the garage. Anita will find the doors unlocked, the padlock missing. She’ll open the doors, the headlights from the automobile will illuminate the interior, Anita will scream, Lucille will scream, they’ll have mutual hysterics, notify the police, and put on an act for the benefit of spectators and officers.”

“Can they get away with it?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “It depends on how good a job they’ve done.”

“You mean Anita and Lucille?”

“No, Lucille and whatever person was acting as mastermind — probably Arthur Colson.”

“You want me to ask questions about him?”

“About anything. Just throw questions at me.”

“Won’t the police ask her if she knows this dead man?”

Mason thought that over. “Yes. And she’ll have to admit that she does. She’ll have to admit that he was her ex-husband. Then police will want to know why he picked her garage as a place in which to commit suicide. They’ll immediately become suspicious about whether the death is or is not a suicide, and... Then, of course, later on they’ll fire a test bullet through the gun and compare it with the fatal bullet — if they can find the fatal bullet. Then they’ll know the gun in the garage was a planted gun. That won’t look good.”

“All right,” Della Street said. “Now, I’ll take the opposite approach. Suppose you do tell the police.”

“Then,” Mason said, “I’m in a jam.”

“Why?”

“Because I told Lucille to report it, but I didn’t stick around long enough to make sure that she followed my instructions.”

“Are you responsible for her?”

“No,” Mason said, “but I’m an attorney. I’m an officer of the court. I know I’m supposed to report any bodies I find. I found one and simply told Lucille to report it.”

“And what will Lucille say?”

“That’s the hell of it,” Mason said. “Lucille will have to insist that we didn’t find any body, and that I’m now trying to protect some client by making her the fall guy.”

“Will the police believe her?”

“If they do I’m in a jam. If they don’t they’ll raise hell with me because I didn’t make certain the body was reported, and because I didn’t check later when police didn’t contact me.”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

“Because,” Mason said, “of that damned insurance business. I was so tickled with what had happened and the way Argyle had slipped one over on himself that I didn’t pay enough attention to the fact police hadn’t called on us. Hang it, Della, if I’d had my wits about me I’d have known what must have happened. Well, the logical thing to do, the only thing I can do as a law-abiding citizen and as an officer of the court, is to report to the police.”

“Well, why don’t you do it then?”

“Because,” Mason said, “the police are laying for me. They wouldn’t want anything better than an opportunity to trip me up, and I have a feeling I’m fighting someone who is in a position to trip me up if I do make such a report.”

“I’m running out of questions, chief,” Della Street said.

“I’ve already run out of answers, Della.”

They sat for a while in silence, then Mason started the car.

“Well?” Della asked.

“I’m hooked,” Mason said. “I have the answer now.”

“What is it?”

“Whoever is directing this thing is smart. There’s only one way I can save myself.”

“What’s that?”

“We’ve got a client.”

“Who?”

“Lucille Barton.”

“I don’t get it.”

Mason said, “As her attorney anything she said to me would be privileged. They can’t ask her about it and they can’t ask me about it.”

“What about what you saw?”

“If she tells the police about it she’ll be acting on my advice. If she doesn’t, there’s no way of proving I was there.”

“I don’t like it,” Della Street said.

“Like it!” Mason exclaimed, “I hate it, but I’m hooked with a client, Della. Show on the books I’m representing her on a question of alimony with her last husband, one Willard Barton.

“And now, I’m going to drive you home.”