The Case of the Crying Swallow

Chapter nine

The gravel on the driveway caused the wheels to slide as Mason slammed on the brakes. The car skidded at a sharp angle and Mason didn’t even bother to straighten it out. He snapped off the lights and the ignition, leaped out and headed up the steps of the Winnett mansion, pushed open the door, and strode into the drawing room unannounced.

Mrs. Victoria Winnett and Daphne Rexford were lingering over liqueurs, talking in low voices.

Mrs. Winnett’s smile was distantly friendly. “Really, Mr. Mason,” she said, “you’re rather late — for dinner.”

The lawyer merely nodded, glancing at Daphne Rexford.

Mrs. Winnett reached for the bell. “I presume I can get you something,” she said. “But after this, if you don’t mind—”

“Let the food go,” Mason said. “I want to talk with you.”

The finger which had been touching the bell remained motionless. She said, “Really, Mr. Mason,” in a voice that indicated a polite rebuke.

Daphne Rexford hurriedly arose. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a telephone call I want to make...”

“Sit down, my dear. After all, I can’t permit this human tornado to come bursting in on our tête-à-tête with...”

Mason caught Daphne Rexford’s eye and jerked his head. She made a feeble attempt at a smile and left the room.

“Really, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Winnett said, her voice now quite cold. “My attachment to my son is such that I am willing to make all allowances for his friends. Even so...”

She let her unfinished sentence carry its own meaning.

Mason drew up a chair and sat down. “Where’s the major?”

“He was called out about twenty minutes ago.”

“You’re fond of Daphne Rexford, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Was she in the observation tower Monday?”

“Really, Mr. Mason. I’m not on the witness stand.”

“You’re going to be,” Mason said.

“I’m afraid you’ve been drinking.”

“If you think this is a joke,” Mason said, “just keep on stalling. Time is precious. The officers may be out here any minute.”

“Officers?”

“Officers. Cops. Bulls. Detectives. Plain clothes men. Newspaper photographers. Walking around here with their hats on, throwing cigarettes on the rugs, taking flashlight pictures with captions — ‘Society Leader Insists on Innocence.’ ”

That last did it. Mason saw her wince.

“You’re a good poker player, but you can’t bluff now. This is a showdown, Mrs. Winnett.”

“Just what do you want?”

“To know all that you know.”

She took a quick breath. “I know some trouble has developed between Marcia and Claude. I think that Marcia has left him. I hope she has.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t feel that they are destined to be happy together...”

“No, I mean why has she left him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Make a guess.”

“I can’t.”

“You know something about what happened on Monday?”

“On Monday? No.”

“Was Daphne in the cupola on Monday?”

“I think she was.”

“Did she come to you and tell you anything about what she saw either Monday or Wednesday?”

“Mr. Mason, you’re being impertinent!”

Mason said, “You’ve found out something about Marcia. You thought she had involved the family good name, and took it on yourself to try to avoid notoriety. Your attempt backfired. I’m trying to find out just how badly it backfired.”

“You can’t prove any of these things you’re saying, Mr. Mason.”

“That,” Mason said, “is only because I haven’t the facilities at my command that the police have. The police may prove it.”

“They won’t,” she said coldly. “I have told you absolutely everything I know.”

Mason pushed back his chair, started for the door which led to the patio, then abruptly whirled, tiptoed swiftly back to the drawing room door, and jerked it open.

Daphne Rexford, plainly embarrassed, tried to pretend she had just been approaching the door. “Heavens,” she said, laughing, “I thought we were going to have a collision, Mr. Mason. You seem in a hurry.” She tried to push easily on past him.

Mason barred her way. “You were listening.”

“Mr. Mason, how dare you say anything like that?”

“Come in,” Mason said. “Let’s have it out. Let’s... no, on second thought, I think I’ll talk with you alone. Come on.”

Mason took her arm. She drew back.

Mrs. Winnett said, “Mr. Mason is completely overstepping the prerogatives of a guest. I dislike to ask him to leave in my son’s absence, but...”

Mason said to Daphne Rexford, “Police are going to be swarming over the place before midnight. Do you want to talk to me or do you want to talk to them?”

Daphne Rexford said over her shoulder to Mrs. Winnett, “Good heavens, Victoria, let’s humor the man! I’ll be back within a few minutes.”

Without waiting for an answer from Victoria Winnett, she smiled disarmingly at Mason and moved away from the drawing room. “Come on, where do you want to talk?”

“Over here’s good enough,” Mason said, stopping in a corner of the library.

Daphne Rexford stood facing him. “What,” she asked in a low voice, “are the police going to be investigating?”

Mason met her eyes. “Murder.”

“Who... who was killed?”

“Let’s talk first about what you know,” Mason said. “You’re the one who has the trick right eye. Mrs. Winnett has been covering up for you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Whenever you look through the binoculars,” Mason explained, “you have to move the right eyepiece quite a distance in order to see clearly, don’t you?”

“What if I do?”

Mason said, “You were the one who was watching Marcia on Monday. What did you see?”

“Nothing. I—”

“Were you here Monday? Were you in the observation cupola?”

“I believe I was.”

“You’re over here quite a bit?”

“Yes. Victoria and I are great friends. She’s an older woman, of course, but I like her. I like what she stands for and—”

“And like to be near Major Winnett and see as much of him as you can?”

“Certainly not,” she said indignantly.

“We’ll let it go at that for the time being,” Mason said. “Now, about Monday, what did you see?”

“Nothing. I—”

“You were up in the tower?”

“Yes. I go there quite frequently. I study birds, and I write poetry. I can get inspiration up there, and—”

“And keep an eye on Major Winnett’s wife when she’s around the grounds, I suppose?”

“Mr. Mason, that’s unfair and untrue.”

“All right. You saw her Monday. What did you see?”

“I... nothing.”

Mason said, “You saw her go into that orange trailer that was parked down in the trees. You watched her—”

“It wasn’t orange. It was green.”

Mason grinned at her.

“All right,” she said. “Don’t think you’re trapping me. I just happened to notice Marcia riding, and then I saw a house trailer parked in the trees.”

“Did you see her go in?”

“I saw her tie up her horse and walk over toward the trailer. I wasn’t interested. I returned to the poetry I was writing.”

“How long was she in there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why did you watch her?”

“I didn’t watch her. I was looking at birds.”

“You had a pencil and a pad of paper up there with you?”

“Yes, of course. I told you I write poetry. One doesn’t write on the walls, Mr. Mason. I keep pencil and paper in the drawer of the table up there.”

“You used the binoculars to get the license number of the automobile. You marked it down, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“When were you up there last writing poetry?”

“Why... why, today.”

“Do you go up there every day?”

“Not every day, but quite frequently.”

“Have you been up every day this week?”

“I... I guess I have. Yes.”

The telephone rang, a sharp, strident, shrill summons.

Mason waited, listening, heard the butler answer it. Then the butler walked with unhurried dignity across the library to the drawing room and said something to Mrs. Winnett. She arose and went to the telephone. Mason heard her say, “Hello, Claude darling... Yes, dear... he’s here... I’m afraid. Claude, that there has been some misunderstanding. Mr. Mason’s activities are hardly such as one would connect with a mining matter. He has shown quite an interest in what Marcia—”

Mason walked over, gently pushed her aside, took the receiver from her hand and said into the telephone, “Okay, Major, I’ve got it now. Get out here at once.”

Major Winnett’s voice was harsh with anger. “Just what do you mean, Mr. Mason? I’m afraid that you and I—”

Mason interrupted. “Your mother is trying to protect somebody. Daphne Rexford is trying to protect somebody. There’s only one person I can think of whom they’d both go to such lengths to protect. That’s you. If you get out here fast, we may be able to beat the police to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” Mason said and hung up.