The Case of the Crying Swallow

Chapter two

The city of Silver Strand Beach lay in a sheltered cove on the lee side of a peninsula. The Winnett estate dominated this peninsula, its wire fences with forbidding no-trespassing signs stretching for some two and a half miles. The Spanish-type house, perched on the summit some five hundred feet above the ocean, commanded a view in all directions.

Mason’s car swept around the last curve in the graveled driveway and came to a stop in front of the imposing house as he said to Paul Drake, “I think the cancellation of that insurance policy is, perhaps, the first indication of what she had in mind, Paul. And I think that may have some connection with the horseback ride she took Monday morning.”

Paul Drake’s professionally lugubrious face didn’t change expression in the least. “Anything to go on, Perry?”

“It rained Sunday night,” Mason said. “It hasn’t rained since. If you could find the path she took, it’s quite possible you might be able to track her horse.”

“For the love of Pete, do I have to ride a horse?”

“Sure. Tell the groom you’d like to ride. Ask him about some of the bridle paths.”

“I can’t see anything from a horse,” Drake complained. “When a horse trots, I bounce. When I bounce, I see double.”

“After you get out of sight of the house, you can lead the horse,” Mason suggested.

“How about me?” Della Street asked.

“Try to get acquainted with the nurse,” Mason suggested, “and take a look around.”

Major Winnett himself answered Mason’s ring; and the swift efficiency with which he installed them in rooms, then introduced them to his mother and Helen Custer, the nurse, showed that he had already made his preliminary explanations.

When Drake departed for the stables, after having expressed his spurious enthusiasm for horseflesh, Major Winnett took Mason on a tour of inspection.

Once they were alone in the upper corridors, Major Winnett asked quickly and in a low voice, “Is there anything in particular you want to see?”

“I’d like to get familiar with the entire house,” Mason said guardedly. “But you might begin by showing me your room.”

Major Winnett’s room was on the south side. Glass doors opened on the balcony, from which the ocean could be seen shimmering in the sunlight.

“That’s the swallow’s nest?” Mason asked, indicating a gourdlike projection of mud which extended from the tiles just above the balcony.

“That’s the swallow’s nest. You can see that a person climbing a ladder...”

“Was the ladder already there?” Mason asked.

“Yes. The handyman had been doing some work on a pane of glass on the side of the bedroom. He had left the ladder in position that night, because he intended to finish it the next morning. Damn careless of him.”

“In that case,” Mason said, “your thief was an opportunist, since he didn’t bring his own ladder.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“One who was, moreover, apparently familiar with the house. How about your servants?”

“You can’t ever tell,” Major Winnett said. “Particularly these days. But I think they’re all right. Mother pays good wages and most of the help have been with her for some time. However, she is rather strict at times and there is a certain turnover.”

“You own virtually all of the land on this peninsula?”

“Quite a bit of it, but not all of it. In a moment we’ll go up to the observation tower and I can show you around from there. Generally, we take in about three-fourths of the peninsula. There is a strip out on the end where the county maintains a public campground.”

“The public can reach that camp without crossing your estate?”

“Yes. Our line runs along by the grove of trees — beautiful oaks that offer a place for picnics. Picnickers are always scattering papers and plates around. We try to persuade them to go on down to the public campgrounds on the end of the peninsula.”

“So anyone who came out here at night would have been definitely a trespasser?”

“Quite definitely.”

“And having taken that risk, must have had some specific objective in mind, and would, therefore, if he were at all prudent, have arranged some manner of reaching his objective?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Therefore,” Mason went on, “either your burglar must have been someone who knew that the ladder was here, or else it was an inside job.”

“But how could anyone have known the ladder was here?”

Mason said, “If you can see the camp and the picnic grounds from here, it is quite possible that someone in the camp or picnic grounds could see the house.”

“Yes, the house is quite a landmark. You can see it for miles.”

“And perhaps a man, looking up here about dusk and noticing that a ladder had been left in place, would have decided it might be worthwhile to climb that ladder.”

“Yes, I suppose so. However, Mr. Mason, I can’t see that there is the slightest connection between the theft of my wife’s jewelry and her disappearance.”

“Probably not,” Mason said.

They finished their tour with a trip up a flight of stairs to the place which Major Winnett described as “the tower.”

Here was a belfry-like room, fifteen feet square, with plate-glass windows on all sides. In the center, a pair of eighteen-power binoculars attached to a swivel on a tripod could be turned and locked in any position.

“In times past,” Major Winnett explained, “when there was more merchant shipping up and down the coast, we used to enjoy looking the boats over. You see, these binoculars can be swung in any direction. Now I’ll point them toward town and—”

“Just a minute,” Mason warned sharply, as Major Winnett reached for the binoculars. “They seem to be pointed toward that grove of trees. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look through them.”

“Why, certainly. Help yourself.”

Mason looked through the powerful prismatic binoculars. The right eye showed only a blur, but the left showed a shaded spot under the clump of big live oaks where the road crossed a mesa before dipping down through a little canyon to again come into view as it swung out toward the picnic and camping grounds on the extreme tip of the promontory.

“There’s no central focusing screw,” Major Winnett explained. “You have to adjust each eyepiece individually. Perhaps...

“Yes, so I see,” Mason said, removing his eyes from the binoculars.

“Here is what I mean,” Major Winnett went on. “You simply screw this eyepiece...”

Mason courteously but firmly arrested the major’s hand. “Just a moment, Major,” he said. “I want to look at that right eyepiece.”

“Someone must have been tampering with it. It’s way out of proper adjustment,” the major said.

“The left eyepiece is at zero adjustment. I take it that means a perfectly normal eye,” Mason said, “whereas, on this right eyepiece, there is an adjustment of negative five. I take it those graduations are made so that a person can remember his own individual adjustment for infinity and adjust the binoculars readily.”

“I suppose so. The figures represent diopters.”

“And an adjustment of negative five certainly blurs the entire—”

“That can’t be an adjustment,” the major interposed. “Someone has idly turned that eyepiece.”

“I see your point,” Mason said and promptly turned the eyepiece back to zero. “There,” he announced, “that’s better.”

It was now possible to make out details in what had before been merely a patch of shadow.

Mason swung the binoculars to the picnic ground and could see quite plainly the masonry barbecue pits, the tables and chairs. Beyond them, through the trees he caught a glimpse of the ocean.

“A beach down there?” he asked.

“Not a beach, but a very fine place for surf fishing.”

Mason swung the binoculars once more toward the clump of trees and the wide place in the road. “And you say people picnic there?”

“Occasionally, yes.”

“From that point,” Mason said, “one could see the house quite plainly with binoculars.”

“But the binoculars are up here.”

“Not the only pair in the world surely.”

The major frowned. Mason turned the glasses on a moving object and saw a magnified image of Paul Drake walking slowly along a bridle path. The short, somewhat cramped steps indicated that his brief experience in the English riding saddle had been more than ample. The detective was leading the horse, his head bowed as he plodded along the bridle path.