The Case of the Haunted Husband

Chapter 18

Paul Drake’s face showed surprise and consternation, but Lieutenant Tragg wasn’t watching him. He was studying Mason with the concentration of a surgeon making a diagnosis.

Della Street said casually, “Chief, don’t tell me you’ve committed another murder?”

Tragg, still looking at Mason, said, “He didn’t commit a murder, but Stephane Claire did, or else found the body in her room and telephoned Mason, and he told her to go out and concoct an alibi.”

Mason said, “Come, come, Lieutenant. You jump at the most absurd conclusions. How do you know that I didn’t go to the Adirondack Hotel while you were eating your sandwich, to find out from Miss Claire whether it would be all right for me to take you into my confidence?”

“And what did she say?” Tragg asked.

Mason laughed. “Rather obvious, Lieutenant. I am afraid I can’t help you there. I didn’t see her at the Adirondack.”

“Why did you go there?”

“I could have gone to see her, and yet not seen her.”

“You could have, but did you?”

Mason said, “I see no reason why I should account to you for all my moves.”

Tragg said, “Mason, you are a delightful host. Personally, I like you. Officially, we are opposed. And I am asking these questions in my official capacity.”

Mason said, “All right, I will answer you in my official capacity. I am an attorney at law. I protect my clients to the best of my ability. I don’t have to disclose anything that a client has told me. A client could tell me he had committed a cold-blooded, deliberate murder, and that communication is absolutely confidential.”

“The communication might be,” Tragg said, “but there are other things which aren’t.”

“Such, for instance, as what?”

Tragg inserted his thumb and forefinger in his vest pocket, took out a small piece of paper, unfolded it, and disclosed a small white feather, the tip of which was still moist. The lower half of the feather, however, was a dark, sinister crimson.

Tragg, keeping his eyes steadily on Mason, said, “I have been advised Tanner was killed with a shot in the base of the brain, fired at close range from a small caliber revolver. A pillow had been used to muffle the report of the weapon, and a fold of the pillow got in the way of the bullet, ripping the pillow open and scattering feathers pretty much over the bathroom. It had started to rain. When you went in, there was moisture on your shoes, between the heel and the sole of the shoe. One of these feathers stuck to your heel without your knowing it, and it wasn’t until you returned that the feather dried enough to drop from your shoe to the floor.”

“Are you trying to tell me you picked that up in my office?” Mason asked.

“Not in your office. I noticed your hat when you took it from the cloak closet. Then when you were chasing Della Street down the corridor, this feather was swirling around on the floor in the air currents generated by Miss Street’s skirts.”

Della Street said quickly, “I think that’s being very chivalrous of you, Lieutenant. Another man would have suspected me.”

Tragg’s eyes suddenly shifted to hers. “By George!” he said.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Why the devil didn’t I think of it sooner? You were out. You said you were in Hollywood. Someone telephoned Mason. The message was important enough so that he left his office while he was waiting for Mrs. Greeley to bring in some evidence which would exonerate his client. It had to be you who telephoned.”

He stopped talking to study her intently. She met his eyes with a level gaze.

“Go on, Lieutenant. It’s fascinating to see a keen mind at work.”

He said slowly, “You found the body, and Mason didn’t want you mix into it. He wouldn’t have risked so much to protect Miss Claire. It was you he was trying to keep out of a mess. But the feather fell from his shoe. He had been over there in that room with the corpse.”

He ceased talking.

“Well,” she asked.

“What have you to say to that?”

She said, “As they say in Hollywood, you really have something there. It is terrific. I mean definitely.”

Tragg pushed back his chair. “Nuts! I am going up to the Adirondack,” he said.

“Why not have your dinner first?” Mason asked. “You will have men up there who can take care of the routine work.”

Tragg paid no attention to the invitation. He leaned forward, putting his clenched fists on the table. “Mason,” he said, “I like you. Sometimes I think you like me. But I am just as good a fighter as you are, and just as bitter a fighter and just as ruthless a fighter. Have I made that plain?”

“Perfectly,” Mason said.

“You represent people who have committed crimes,” Tragg continued, “and I don’t want you to leave this restaurant until I tell you can. If you do, the results may be unfortunate. If you don’t hear from me within the next thirty minutes, call me at the Adirondack Hotel or at headquarters. Tell me when you are going and where you are going.”

Mason said, “I shall do nothing of the sort. I report to no man. The only way you can control my activities is to put me under arrest.”

“And I might even do that.”

Mason got to his feet. “No hard feelings in case you do, Lieutenant. But I will have your hide if you try it. I enjoyed our little visit very much. It was a pleasure to cooperate with the police, even for so brief an interval. You understand my position, and I understand yours. I hope you will do me the honor of continuing our interrupted dinner at some later date.”

There was a trace of a grim smile at the corner of Tragg’s lips. “Mason, I may have to put you in jail one of these days.”

“That’s swell. Then I might have to get myself out, and make a monkey of you in the process.”

“That’s fine if you can do it but I might keep you in jail.”

Mason pushed out his hand. “That’s fine,” he said, “if you can do it.”

They shook hands.

Tragg said, “I am going up to look over that homicide. Remember what I told you about keeping in touch with me and not leaving here until you ask my permission. Good night.”

Mason watched him stride across the corner of the dance floor, thread his way among the tables.

“Any use to tail him?” Drake asked.

“Certainly not,” Mason said. “He has already made arrangements for plainclothes men to sew this place up, and it’s a ten-to-one bet that he has tapped the line out of that telephone booth, hoping that I will call someone. And,” he added with a grin, “I am damned if I don’t.”

“Watch your step, Chief,” Della Street cautioned.

Mason glanced at his wrist watch. “I will give him ten minutes,” he said, “to make certain he has got all of his preparations made.”

“Then what?”

Mason chuckled.

Drake said, “Perry, he did pick up that feather in the hall. There was no fake about that. How did it get there if you weren’t in the room with the body?”

“Just the way he says it did, Paul.”

“Good God, Perry! Don’t admit you were there — not to me.”

Mason picked up his fork and started eating his cocktail again. “Tragg is a very dangerous adversary.”

Drake sighed. “If only I had nerves like that,” he said to Della Street.

The dance music struck up. Della Street’s foot sought Mason’s ankle under the table, give it a slight nudge. He pushed back from the table, moved over to Della Street’s chair. A moment later they glided out onto the floor.

“What was it?” she asked.

Mason said, “Hortense Zitkousky telephoned. She was in a panic. I decided it would take a lot to get her in a panic, that I should better go see what it was. It was Tanner lying across the bathtub just as Tragg described it. Someone had pushed a pillow up against the back of his head, stuck a gun into the pillow, and pulled the trigger.”

“What was he doing while all that was going on?”

“Apparently being very ill from having absorbed too much alcohol.”

“Who did it?”

“Horty says she has no idea. She got him up to Stephane’s room because she wanted to have some central place to park him until Max Olger could get his story. He was getting talkative. She thought he was going to spill something important. She went downstairs to telephone me. The phone was busy. She went back up to the room and found what had happened. The second time, she called me from the room. She was wearing gloves.”

Della Street followed Mason’s leads mechanically while she digested that information.

“Knowing Horty,” Mason said, “you can believe her. If you didn’t know Horty, you wouldn’t.”

“But they will find out she was out with him.”

“How?”

“Well... don’t you suppose someone saw them? Her appearance is rather — well, distinctive.”

“It is if you connect her with Stephane Claire. Otherwise it isn’t. She is not so heavy. It is the way she carries herself. She is one of the few women I have known who stand out in my mind as really justifying the adjective voluptuous.”

“But after all, you weren’t responsible. Why not simply have notified the police and...”

“Because I am a hunter, Della. Some men get their thrills in life out of standing up to a charging lion or tiger. Some like to shoot small birds, some just like to hunt, not for what they kill, but for the thrill of hunting. Well, I hunt murderers. I think I know who killed Greeley. It is the only solution which fits in with the facts. And, Della, I want to bag that murderer. I don’t want Tragg to do it. I am willing he should have the credit, but I want to be the one to do the hunting, and finding.”

“Well, why mix into Tanner’s case so deep that you...”

“Tragg wouldn’t have let me be free to work. He would have had me all sewed up.”

“You mean just because you reported a murder?”

Mason laughed. “Sure. Look at it from Tragg’s view-point. He leaves me to go get a sandwich, and I run out and turn up another corpse.”

“Well, he knows you were there now.”

“Thanks to that telltale feather,” Mason said. “That was an unforeseen break which went against me.”

“Then you are in hot water now?”

“Well, I can feel it getting warm,” he admitted. “Come on, let’s get back to the table and hold Drake in line. He may get ideas of his own if we leave him alone too long, and I want to put through a couple of telephone calls.”

“To whom?”

“Oh, to some people I think Tragg should check up on.”

They circled the dance floor until they were near their table, then Mason escorted her back to her chair. “Hold the fort,” he said to Drake, “I am going to telephone.”

Drake said, “The waiter was here. He told me you said you wanted the dinner served right along.”

“Yes. We might even skip the soup and get busy on the steaks. It may be quite a while, Paul, before we get nice tender filet mignon again.”

Drake winced. “I wish you wouldn’t kid about it. Tragg really means business this time.”

“Uh-huh,” Mason agreed.

He skirted the dance floor, picked his way between the tables to the telephone booth, and dialed Homan’s unlisted telephone number. A few moments later, he heard the voice of the Filipino boy on the line.

“Is Mr. Homan there?” Mason asked.

“Who is this talking please?”

“This is Mr. Mason, the lawyer.”

“Oh, I am sorry, sah. He is very busy. He leave a message that no one is to disturb, no matter who. But perhaps...”

“Okay, Felipe, tell Mr. Homan to remember that you didn’t go out tonight. Do you understand? You didn’t go out.”

The boy’s voice showed surprise. “But I have not gone out, Mr. Mason. I am here all evening.”

“That’s the stuff,” Mason said, and hung up the telephone.

Mason consulted his notebook, found the telephone number of Mona Carlyle, the employee at Rigley’s Cafeteria, and called her.

“Miss Carlyle,” he said, when he had her on the telephone, “this is Mr. Mason. I am speaking on behalf of Mr. Drake. Mr. Drake offered Mrs. Warfield a position. For some reason best known to herself she decided not to take that position and left the hotel where she was to stay until Mr. Drake told her where and when to report.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Mason,” the voice at the other end of the line said. “I simply can’t help you at all. I don’t know a thing about her.”

“I understand that is the case,” Mason said, “but it occurs to me that she may get in touch with you within the next few hours.”

“Why? What makes you think so?”

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “Perhaps it is just a hunch. When she does, would you mind telling her that I have verified my information about her husband, and that if she wants complete information about him, I will be only too glad to give it to her. But she must get in touch with me personally. Will you tell her that in case she communicates with you?”

“Why, yes,” she replied dubiously. “I will tell her, but really, Mr. Mason, I haven’t the faintest idea that she will get in touch with me...”

“I think she will,” Mason said. “And thank you very much.” He dropped the receiver into place.

He returned to the table where Drake and Della Street were conversing in low tones. Della looked up, smiled, and said, “I am glad you are back. Every time they get me alone, it is the same old story.”

“Trying to pump you?” Mason asked as he sat down.

“Uh-huh. I am afraid I am losing my sex appeal. He used to try kidding me along. Now he has changed his objectives.”

Drake said, “Dammit, Perry, you are always dragging me into some mess, and then making me go at it blind.”

“I know,” Mason said soothingly, “but it is better that way, Paul. It keeps you from getting gray.”

“Well,” Drake said, “couldn’t you satisfy my curiosity? Just off the record?”

“There isn’t any such thing as off the record, Paul. You are too conscientious. You wouldn’t take a brick out of the chimney to drop it on an escaping murderer.”

“That was a swell illustration you gave Tragg,” Drake said, “but you couldn’t have made it stick with me. I know you too well. You pull the house down and leave only the loose brick in the chimney standing.”

“But,” Mason smiled, “I put it all back together again.”

“You have so far. This time you shall be like all the king’s horses and all the king’s men who couldn’t put Humpty-Dumpty together again.”

“Only in this case,” Mason said, “Humpty Dumpty hasn’t fallen off the wall.”

“What were your telephone calls?” Della Street asked.

“Oh, just something to keep Tragg out of mischief. He has been afraid to go after Homan, knowing Homan will pin his ears back through some political pull. Well, this time I have put him in such a position he will have to either fish or cut bait. And the second call is insurance. He will let me stay in circulation now. We may as well settle down to enjoy our dinners.”

“You aren’t going to try to leave here?”

“Not until after Tragg comes back to ask me about the young woman with whom I was seen in the elevator. I...”

A bus boy approached the table. “Are you Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

“Lieutenant Tragg wants to talk with you on the telephone.”

Mason said, “The lieutenant is saving time. I guess you folks will have to excuse me once more. Oh, waiter. Just go ahead and serve the dinner. We will have to hurry.”

Mason went to the telephone. Tragg’s voice said, “Mason, one of the elevator operators recognizes your photograph.”

“My photograph!”

“Yes.”

“Where in the world did you get one of my photographs?”

Tragg said, “If you think I am going to play around in your backyard without having a photograph of you all ready for emergencies, you are badly mistaken.”

“Well, that’s a commendable piece of foresight. What about the elevator boy?”

“He picked you up on the third floor. There was a young woman with you. Now what were you doing on the third floor, and who was the young woman?”

“The bellboy has identified my picture?” Mason asked.

“That is right.”

“The identification is positive?”

“Absolute.”

“Then,” Mason said, “the young woman must have been my client. Don’t you think that is a reasonable deduction, Tragg?”

Tragg’s voice held an edge. “Mason, this is murder. I am not going to play horse. I know you usually have an ace in the hole, but this time I am calling for a showdown.”

“I can’t answer any questions about any young woman with whom I was ever seen by an elevator boy in any downtown hotel at any time when any murder was committed,” Mason said. “It is a policy of the office. I think that covers the situation, Lieutenant?”

Tragg said, “Mason, I am going to let you stay out of jail until eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Why the generosity?” Mason asked.

“Because,” Tragg said, “I am going to put you on the spot. I am going to turn you loose on Homan. You have been trying to get me to stick my neck out. Now I am going to let you pull some of my chestnuts out of the fire.”

Mason said, “I don’t have to ask him a single question. Mrs. Greeley’s testimony will take care of everything.”

“Did you think that crude trick was going to fool me?” Tragg asked.

“What was crude about it?”

Tragg said, “Mrs. Greeley, you will remember, was very positive her husband wouldn’t have ducked out on the girl. She was, however, conscientious enough to produce the shirt as soon as she found it. You would have been in a spot if she had simply ditched it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“About that little alibi you fixed up for your client, Mason. When you planted that shirt, you overlooked one thing.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about, it Tragg.”

“You know what I am talking about, Mason. It was a nice trick, but it didn’t work. I suppose your charming secretary furnished the lipstick — and the imprint of the transferred lips?”

“All right, you are one up on me. Tell me what was wrong.”

“The laundry mark on the shirt. You overlooked that, didn’t you, Mason?”

“What about the laundry mark?”

“Unfortunately,” Tragg said, “the laundry mark on the shirt is one of the corroborating bits of evidence that I decided should be checked. I checked on it, and it isn’t Greeley’s laundry mark. That shirt was planted in that bag after Greeley’s death so Mrs. Greeley would find it. It was planted by some shrewd opportunist who knew that dead men can tell no tales, who knew that Mrs. Greeley, on finding that shirt, would communicate with you. And it was timed beautifully, Mason.”

“Wait a minute,” Mason said, his voice showing his concern. “Whose laundry mark is it?”

“We haven’t been able to find out whose it is,” Tragg said, “only whose it isn’t. It isn’t Greeley’s laundry mark.”

“Perhaps he had it done in San Francisco.”

“No. It isn’t Greeley’s shirt. The sleeves are an inch and a half shorter than Greeley wears them, and, above all, the collar is sixteen and a quarter. Greeley wore fifteen and three-quarters. So I think, Mr. Mason, that we will let you cross-examine Mr. Homan about the keys in the morning. And now you are free to leave the Tangerine at any time you want. But whenever you get ready to tell me the name of the young woman who was in the elevator with you this evening, you know where to reach me. And, by the way, I won’t be back to eat my steak, so you would better eat both steaks. Tomorrow night your diet will be much less elaborate. It will probably be some time before you have a good thick steak again.”

“Listen, Tragg, about that shirt. I...”

“I have told you all I am going to tell you, Mason. Miss Claire isn’t out in the clear, not by a long ways. You have got to go to work on Homan in order to get anywhere, and immediately after the court disposes of the Case of the People versus Claire, you are going to tell me who that young woman was who came down in the elevator with you, or you are going to be placed in custody as a material witness. And if that should be Paul Drake’s shirt, tell him he should better eat two steaks as well. Because I am eventually going to trace that laundry mark.”

And the receiver clicked at the other end of the line.

Mason hung up the telephone, walked slowly back to the table where Della Street and Paul Drake were seated, their faces turned toward the floor show which had just started. Other patrons of the establishment were showing the mellowing effects of good liquor, good food, and a good show. Drake and Della Street looked as though they had been sitting at a funeral.

Mason slid into his chair, pulled his steak over toward him, picked up knife and fork, and attacked the meat with extreme relish.

“Doesn’t seem to affect your appetite any,” Drake said.

“It doesn’t,” Mason admitted. “You have always said I would skate on thin ice, and break through, Paul. Well, get ready to smile. I have fallen in!”

“What is it?” Della asked.

“That wasn’t Greeley’s shirt. Someone planted it in the laundry bag for Mrs. Greeley to find.”

“Good God!” Drake exclaimed.

“That means we are elected.” Mason said, “Watch the floor show and quit worrying, Paul. Tragg says he won’t arrest us until after I have cross-examined Homan.”