The Case of the Empty Tin

Chapter 19

Morning sun was touching the tips of the tall buildings as Mason, emerging from the Gentrie residence, helped Della Street into his automobile and said, “Well, I guess we’re entitled to play hookey today. Putting you on a day and night schedule and then having you type a confession afterwards is a little too much of a strain, isn’t it?”

She said, “Wouldn’t it be swell to take a plane over to Catalina, put on bathing suits, and just lie around in the sun, sleeping and eating hot dogs?”

“Temptress!” Mason charged.

She said, “If you’d drive right to the beach, we could catch the first plane over.”

Mason turned the steering wheel of his automobile toward Wilmington. “I think,” he said, “this is the direction of the office, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, keep going straight ahead,” she said.

“I’m a little dopey this morning,” Mason confessed, “so I’ll have to rely on you. If we should get lost, we’d have to telephone the office and explain to Gertie.”

“Gertie’s a good sport. You don’t have to explain things to her. She’ll stall off any clients.”

“You’re acting as though we were going to get lost,” Mason said.

“No, indeed. You’re headed for the office right now. Listen, you’ve been holding out on me again.”

“No. Honest I haven’t.”

“On Rebecca?”

Mason laughed. “Believe it or not,” he said, “after having all of the factors for a solution in my hands, I couldn’t put them together.”

“What do you mean, all the factors of the solution?”

“Don’t you remember?” Mason said. “We talked it over and decided that the two people who were involved must be persons who couldn’t afford to be seen together, and who couldn’t communicate by telephone, but who both had access to that basement. We thought about a person being deaf or being so crippled he couldn’t get to a telephone, but the true solution never occurred to me.”

“Which was?” she asked.

“Exceedingly simple. Rebecca could get to the telephone all right when she was called, but only after the children had answered the phone first, and she couldn’t put through outside calls without arousing suspicions because she had lived so much as a recluse.”

“But why couldn’t Wenston simply have called and asked for — oh, I see, — that lisp of his. Anyone would have noticed it at once, and then after the case developed, it would have been commented on. His lisp is sufficiently pronounced so no one would ever forget it, once they had heard it.”

Mason said, “That is it. And, having laid down all of the basic factors for a solution I simply failed to apply them.”

“But I thought you said the voice of the woman who called you was very cultured and...”

“Don’t forget,” Mason said, “Rebecca has remarkable powers of mimicry. Remember the way she imitated Opal Sunley’s voice? She even tried to mimic Mrs. Gentrie’s voice, but she was smart enough to know that she would have to make it sound as though she were in great agony, to cover up any little defects in impersonation. Read me her confession, Della. I want to check certain details.”

Della Street said, “I’ll have to read it from my shorthand notes.”

“Go ahead.”

She opened her notebook, read, “I, Rebecca Gentrie, make this voluntary confession so Lieutenant Tragg will see how stupid he was. He thought he could flatter me and pull the wool over my eyes. All the time I was laughing at him. I take the full responsibility for the murders. I don’t want Rodney Wenston to be charged with them. He didn’t have anything to do with them.

“Rodney and I met by accident after Karr took the flats next door. It was a case of love at first sight. I have always enjoyed fake photography. With a little practice, a person can transpose negatives in an enlarging camera so faces can be changed from one person to another. I had made a picture of myself and put Hedy LaMarr’s face on it. I happened to have it in my hand when I stepped out in the yard between the flats. Mr. Wenston was there. I showed him the picture, and he became interested in my photography. I took him into my darkroom and showed him around and told him how skillful I’d become in switching faces around. I thought perhaps I could do something with it commercially because lots of times when a person is being photographed, he’ll like one picture of his face, but not the pose of the body.

“Rodney told me afterwards he fell desperately in love with me then and there, although he didn’t show it at all until three days later, when I saw him again. Then he couldn’t conceal it.

“I have always hated my sister-in-law. I never wanted to live with her. I hated the children. I wanted a car. I could never even learn to drive while I was living there. I couldn’t get a chance at the car. Then Rodney told me a scheme by which he could make enough money to marry me, and we could live in style, and go around the world taking pictures. All I had to do was to take an old photograph of Doris Wickford’s family and place the head of another man on the body of the father in the picture. I told him I could do it if I could get both of the negatives. He gave me one of the negatives and explained that the other was kept in the safe over in Hocksley’s flat. He said Hocksley was a blind, that his stepfather had rented that flat under the name of Hocksley. Rodney wasn’t supposed to know this. They kept that lower flat so closely guarded he couldn’t ever get in to the safe. There was a housekeeper who was really in on the secret, and a secretary who didn’t know too much. There was also his stepfather’s bodyguard, Johns Blaine, and Gow Loong, the Chinese. These people used the back stairs to go up and down from the lower flat. They claimed they were doing some business with this man Hocksley. Rodney found out that it was no such thing. Hocksley had been one of the partners in the gun-running business they’d had twenty years ago. Hocksley had sold out then. Afterwards, he’d done some gun-running and double-crossed his Chinese customers, tipping the Japs off to when and where the guns were going to be put on Chinese junks. As a result, the Japanese were letting all of Hocksley’s business go through, so Karr simply took the name of Hocksley.

“Once, when Rodney flew his stepfather to San Francisco, Karr went very sound asleep and Rodney was able to get a notebook from his pocket. There was a string of figures in this notebook, and Rodney decided it was the combination of the safe. He told me to go over and try it. He said I’d better take a gun just in case anything happened. Rodney was the only one who could manufacture an emergency which would take everyone out of the house except the old cripple. In order to do that, he had to leave himself. It was going to take quite a little planning to make it work. He fixed the time as midnight and agreed that he’d leave an empty can on the shelf as a signal. If anything turned up, he’d scratch a code message on the inside of the tin. If there was no message it simply meant everything was fixed for midnight the night the tin was placed on the shelf.

“We had to communicate that way because I couldn’t get to a telephone very well, and if Rodney called me, his voice would have been recognized.

“The yard between the Gentrie house and the flat was sort of common property. Rodney had access to that and had had a key made which would fit the door in the garage. Because the housekeeper didn’t like him and was suspicious of him, Rodney thought it would be better if we were never seen together, so he arranged this signal and the code. Occasionally, when I’d see him in the yard, he’d bow and smile, and I’d also bow and smile very impersonally, although I could feel my heart pounding until I grew dizzy.

“The night of the shooting, everything went wrong. In the first place, my sister-in-law found the can Rodney had placed as a signal. This was before I had gone downstairs. I was afraid she’d be suspicious, but I kept commenting about the tin, and I saw she had no idea that it might be a signal. I intended to get down afterwards, find where she’d left the can, and see if there was a code message scratched in it. Then I found Arthur had used it for paint. Apparently, there wasn’t any message. I got Steele to look at the can. Of course, Steele didn’t know why. I simply told him that I wanted to find out about the can because I thought it was a very peculiar circumstance. I didn’t know then Steele was a detective. I found that out later.

“Because of a mistake, I didn’t get the message about disconnecting the burglar alarm. I went over shortly after midnight and got the safe open. I got a lot of papers out of the safe, and then I heard steps coming, slow, halting, ominous steps. I hid behind the safe. Karr entered the room and came directly toward me. At first, I thought he didn’t know I was there; then he told me to come out. I shot. He fell over, and then I was completely paralyzed with fright. After a few moments, I started out of the house, and then I saw Junior coming in, lighting matches. I almost killed him. I kept backing away. He couldn’t see me because the light of the matches was dazzling his eyes. I moved back and hid behind the safe. He telephoned that little floozy with the painted fingernails, wanting to know if she was all right. When he found she was, he went back out. I was trapped in that room. Karr was lying there unconscious, but I didn’t dare to go out, right on Junior’s heels. I waited for several minutes. I took the negative I wanted out of the envelope and put the rest of the things back in the safe, closed and locked the safe; then I started out.

“I was near the door when I heard a key click in the lock. The door opened and the housekeeper came in. I should have shot her then, but I tried to rely on surprise and rush past her in the dark. She grabbed at me. I struck at her with the gun. She tore a piece of cloth from my dress, but I fought free and slammed the door. Then I sneaked in and went to bed. I didn’t know a piece was gone from my dress until the next day. She’d seen that dress. Sooner or later she’d identify the piece she’d torn out.

“I heard people from next door take the car out of the garage. I knew they were driving the old man to a doctor. Rodney had told me about the housekeeper having her own place at East Hillgrade Avenue. I went out there the next night to try and make a deal with her. She knew she’d seen the pattern on the dress somewhere before, but couldn’t remember where. That was all that had saved me. She’d have thought of it later. She was going to turn me in to the police. She pointed a gun at me. I struggled with her. The gun went off in the struggle. I really didn’t intend to kill her.

“I wasn’t the least bit panic-stricken. I thought I could ring up Mr. Mason and Opal Sunley and pretend to be the housekeeper, confessing to the murder, and then make it seem logical she’d committed suicide. It almost worked. I did intend to kill Steele, the snoop. He’d been prowling around. He knew too much. I found a telegram in his pocket sending him to San Francisco. I knew I had to kill him to save Rodney. I didn’t care for myself, but I couldn’t let Rodney be dragged into it. I love Rodney as I have never believed it possible for a woman to love.

“Afterwards, when the message in the second can said that Perry Mason had fingerprints, I thought of a marvelous scheme to clean up the whole business. I have always hated my sister-in-law. Lots of times I’ve thought I’d like to kill her. I rang up Mason, pretended to be Florence, confessed to the murders, and said I was going to kill myself. Then I only needed to go quietly to Florence’s room, tell her that I had heard the phone ringing and had answered it, that Mason wanted to talk with her and was holding the line. Arthur sleeps so soundly I could have done this without waking him. When she came down to the telephone, I’d have shot her and then put the gun in her hand.

“You never would have got any of this if Mason hadn’t lied to me about Rodney having married that creature. I couldn’t go ahead with the scheme of killing Florence, because he sounded so drunk that he couldn’t have remembered what I told him. I have no regrets. I did what I did for the man I love...”

“That’s enough,” Mason said. “It will give Tragg everything he needs.”

“How about the person who broke into her darkroom and lit a match?” Della Street asked.

Mason laughed. “Just a little more alibi stuff. Those films weren’t fogged. She simply pretended to be trying to help. She was really manufacturing a lot of confusing details.”

“And she flew to San Francisco?”

“Sure. She had a meeting of a crossword-puzzle club, and there was an opera afterwards, so she had a good excuse for one of her infrequent absences from the house.”

“I never would have suspected her,” Della said.

Mason was thoughtful. “I should have suspected her sooner than I did. Any person who has studied criminology recognizes in that type the most dangerous potential murderer. She was a creature of repressions, a sex-starved, disappointed female. By pretending to fall in love with her, Wenston had no trouble whatever in making her an accomplice. She’d have done anything for him. You have only to read any of the well-authenticated works on criminology to recognize her counterpart in dozens of murders.”

“Did you have any idea the picture was faked?” Della asked.

Mason said, “Yes. Gow Loong tipped me off to that. He’s Chinese. His eyes notice little details which we pass up, probably because the Chinese have such marvelous memories. He noticed that the picture of the Wickford family group showed a face on the father which was not only like the photograph of the picture of Tucker taken in Shanghai, but was absolutely identical with it in every line and shadow. Gow Loong didn’t know enough about photography to realize what this meant, but, as is the case with Chinese the world over, being confronted with something he couldn’t understand, he became suspicious.”

“How about Opal Sunley?”

“Just a good kid,” Mason said, “who knew something mysterious was going on. She knew she was being paid to keep her mouth shut, and she kept it shut. She was there to transcribe records. She transcribed them. She didn’t ask any questions and didn’t try to find out what was going on. Of course, Junior was in love with her. When he heard what he thought was a shot in the adjoining house, he dashed over there to investigate, because he was afraid Opal might have returned to the residence of her employer. He was in love. Her reticence about her job made him think she was having an affair with her boss. He was suspicious, and he was jealous. When he didn’t find her there, he telephoned her. Notice her number was one that could be easily dialed in the dark. When she answered, he pretended he was calling from his own house. He then went back home, ashamed of himself. He never wanted her to know that he had suspected her to the extent of going over to the adjoining flat and making a search. He’s young and romantic. He would have even gone to jail before he’d have told the truth. Della, we actually are approaching the beach.”

“Well, it does look like it,” Della said. “You don’t suppose that I got my directions mixed, do you? How about the charred remnants of the clothes Tragg found out at Mrs. Perlin’s bungalow?”

Mason said, “That’s simple. Karr went to San Francisco to be treated for his wound. According to the story he told the doctor there, he’d been shot after he’d retired. That left them with some bloodstained clothes to get rid of; trousers, underwear, shirt, possibly a coat, and most certainly a pair of shoes. When Karr came back, he gave those things to Mrs. Perlin, told her to keep out of sight for a while, and to dispose of those clothes. She burnt them in the furnace at her bungalow.”

“Why did they have her disappear?” Della asked.

“Probably because she was the weak link in their organization. She couldn’t have stood up to police questioning. Della, we definitely are headed toward the beach.”

“Well—”

Mason said, “We’ll have to telephone Gertie. Be kind of nice to cover up with warm sand and doze off to sleep, then plunge in the salt water.”

“Uh huh. Ham and eggs and coffee would be nice, too.”

“Stack of buckwheats on the side?” Mason asked.

“No. That’s too heavy. I have to watch my figure, you know.”

Mason grinned. “Not when you’re on a beach in a bathing suit, you don’t, baby. Plenty of other people are doing that for you.”

She smiled across at him. “You’re awfully nice,” she said. “It wouldn’t be so bad getting scared to death in murder cases if there were only longer interludes in between. Will we take a spin in the speedboat?”

“Will we go out in the speedboat!” Mason echoed. “Well, I hope to tell you! After we’ve had a little sleep, we’ll charter a speedboat and tear the ocean wide open. Speed, in case you haven’t noticed it, is our middle name.”

By way of illustration, Mason’s foot pressed down on the foot throttle until the speedometer needle went quivering up into the high figures.

Della Street smiled, said, “Yes, I’d noticed,” and then, adjusting the mirror on the sunshield of the car so she could apply powder to her nose, she added evenly, “And in case you’re interested, there’s a gentleman behind you on a motorcycle who seems also to have observed that trait in your character.”

Mason slowed the car, started reaching for his wallet containing his driver’s license. The siren wailed as the motorcycle officer putted alongside. “What’s the idea?” he asked, as Mason sheepishly slowed the car to a stop.

Della Street leaned across the steering wheel. “What’s the idea of stopping us?” she demanded indignantly. “We’re rushing down to interrogate some witnesses in that Hocksley murder case.”

“You one of the boys working on that?” the officer asked.

Della Street said, “Well, I hope to tell you. He’s Lieutenant Tragg’s brother!”

The officer grinned and waved them on. “Go to it,” he said. “We just got a radio report Tragg had cracked that one.”

As Mason eased the car into gear, Della Street smiled at him and said, “After all, there’s no use having relatives if you can’t get some good out of them once in a while.”