The Case of the Rolling Bones

Chapter 6

The detective draped himself over the black leather chair as limply lugubrious as crepe hanging on a door. “Hell,” he said, “that bozo is as wise as a tree full of owls.”

“Meaning Milicant?” Mason asked.

“Meaning Milicant,” Drake said. “I put a man on him when he left your office, and got another man to tag along for relief. Milicant never even looked back. He went right along about his business, leading the fellows on a merry chase while he put on a swell act of a man about town keeping business appointments. Then when he got ready, he ditched them so neatly that it wasn’t even funny. Of course, he made a beautiful build-up by never looking behind him, never acting at all suspicious, and going right on about his business.”

“Any chance it was accidental?” Mason asked.

“None whatever,” Drake said. “These boys weren’t exactly amateurs, you know — even if Milicant did make them look like it.”

“That makes him look more and more like Conway,” Mason said.

“It does for a fact.”

“All right, Paul,” Mason said. “Within the next few minutes, Emily Milicant is going to be at the office. I’m going to tell her things which will make her hunt up her brother. You have men ready to take over when she leaves the office.”

“Sounds like you’re gunning for big game,” Drake said.

“I’m going right on down the line, Paul. What else do you know, anything?”

Drake said, “I gathered you wanted me to look up Emily Milicant’s past.”

“Did I tell you to?” Mason asked.

“Not in so many words,” Drake said. “I read your mind.”

Mason said, “Nice going, Paul, only remember it was telepathy. What have you found out?”

“Not too much,” Drake said. “I expect more details as soon as my Seattle agency runs down a couple of leads.”

“Why Seattle?” Mason asked.

“She used to be a dance hall girl.”

“In Seattle?”

“No, in the Klondike.”

“When?” Mason asked.

“Around 1906 and 1907. Ever hear of the ‘M and N Dance Hall’ in Dawson, Perry?”

“Seems to me I’ve heard something about it.”

Drake said, “There were two dance halls, the ‘M and N’ and the ‘Flora Dora.’ Emily Milicant was in the ‘M and N.’”

Mason said, “Well, now we’re commencing to get some place. That makes Emily Milicant a lot more understandable to me. She may have known Leeds up in the Klondike. Get your men working, Paul, and let’s see what they can turn up.”

“Okay,” Drake said. “How did you burn the carpet, Perry?”

“Oh,” Mason said, “Della did it. — It was arson. Get her to tell you about it sometime.”

Drake jackknifed himself up out of the chair. “Hell, Perry, don’t try to arouse my curiosity. I haven’t any. I wouldn’t investigate that damn carpet unless you paid me for it.”

Mason grinned. “How about Emily Milicant?”

“She’s different. How long do you want her tailed, Perry?”

“Only until she leads to Conway.”

“Okay. I...”

The door from the outer office opened. Della Street came in with the three clean glasses. “Emily Milicant just came in,” she said.

“Did you tell her you’d been trying to get her?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Good girl. What does she want?”

“Just to see if there’s anything new.”

Mason said, “Tell her I want to see her. Tell her to wait a minute.”

Drake looked at the three whiskey glasses, and said significantly, “Guess I got here a little too late.”

Mason took the glasses from Della Street, left them on the top of his desk. Drake grinned and said, “Oh, go ahead and put them in the drawer, Perry. I know where you keep it — the right-hand bottom drawer. I’d be a hell of a detective if I didn’t know that.”

Mason grinned. “Got some men you can put on Emily Milicant when she leaves, Paul?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “Any husbands in her life, Paul?”

“She’s reputed to have married a man by the name of Hogarty,” Drake said, “but I haven’t the details.”

“What happened to him? Was she divorced?”

“I don’t know. I guess so. She’s going under her maiden name.”

The telephone rang. Mason said, “Wait a minute, Paul. This is probably Phyllis Leeds. I told Gertrude not to ring this phone unless it was someone connected with the Leeds case.”

Mason said, “Hello,” and Phyllis Leeds, talking rapidly, said, “Mr. Mason, Uncle Alden wasn’t home. When we got here, the place had been ransacked.”

“You mean the whole house?”

“No, Uncle Alden’s study. Papers were all over the floor. Drawers were pulled out of the desks, and the filing cabinets were open. The sheriff went right to work on it.

“Listen, Mr. Mason. Uncle Alden gave another twenty thousand dollar check, payable to L. C. Conway and endorsed the same as the other one was. This time the check was cashed by a woman around forty-five with black eyes and high cheekbones. At the same time she presented the check, she gave the cashier a letter in Uncle Alden’s handwriting stating that if there was any delay about cashing the check, he would take his account out of the bank.”

“Did this woman leave a name?” Mason asked.

“No. She seemed to know her rights. She was very curt. She insisted on having the money in cash. The bank cashier says it was unmistakably Uncle Alden’s handwriting. He’s very much concerned about it. He was tempted to refuse payment, but the note frightened him.”

Mason said, “I want to see that check.”

“I’ve arranged for that,” she said. “I’ve already given instructions to the bank, and a messenger will have it in your office within the next ten minutes.”

“Good girl,” Mason said into the telephone. “How are you feeling, worried?”

“No,” she said. “I think Uncle Alden can take care of himself, now that he’s free, but I’m mad.”

“At whom?” Mason asked.

She laughed and said, “I don’t know. Sometimes I think it’s Uncle Alden.”

Mason said, “All right. Take it easy. Your uncle will show up all right. When was that check dated?”

“Today. It was drawn from the checkbook he carries with him in his pocket. I feel certain he must have written it after he got out of the sanitarium.”

Mason said, “Let me know if anything new turns up.”

“What do you know, anything?” she asked.

“We’re plugging along,” Mason said.

“If you find Uncle, will you let me know?”

“Certainly. Do you want me to have Drake send out a woman operative to stay with you?”

“No,” she said. “Why should I want anyone?”

“I thought you might be nervous, what with the study having been ransacked.”

“I’m all right,” she said, “but if I catch anyone prowling around the house, he’s going to wish I hadn’t. I’m mad enough to shoot someone.”

“All right,” Mason said. “Keep me posted. ‘By.”

He hung up and gave Paul Drake a digest of what Phyllis Leeds had told him.

Drake shook his head. “We’re supposed to be working for Alden Leeds,” he said. “I have a hunch we aren’t actually helping him any.”

“Perhaps not,” Mason said.

“I think Leeds is going to be sore when he finds out about it.”

“I think he knows about it,” Mason said. “He’s been in circulation for a while, and he seems to get around pretty fast, once he starts moving. He hasn’t given any stop orders. Go to it, Paul. We’ll get all the information we can. Tell your Seattle agency to show some speed.”

“I’ve already told them,” Drake said, “and I’ll pick Emily up as she leaves the office. So long.”

He ambled out through the outer door, moving as casually as though he had all the time in the world.

Mason said to Della Street, “Show Emily Milicant in. When the bank sends up the second check, Della, rush it over to our handwriting expert. Dig up some genuine samples of Leeds’ handwriting.”

Della Street nodded and quietly withdrew.

Mason opened his desk drawer and took out the pair of loaded dice. Drake had given him. He sat there, rolling them easily across the desk.

Emily Milicant was very much excited and showed it. Her eyes seemed unnaturally large and glittering. The hollows of her cheeks were more pronounced, the quick nervousness of her gestures more emphasized.

“Isn’t it the most horrible thing?” she said. “I’ve been talking with Phyllis over the telephone.”

Her eyes watched Mason’s hand as he rolled the dice. The motion seemed to increase her nervousness.

“I’m anxious to know something about your brother,” Mason said.

“My brother!” she echoed.

Mason nodded.

“I understand you asked Phyllis to bring him in, and asked him some questions about a crap game. Would you mind telling me what it’s about?”

Mason said evenly, “What I’m particularly interested in is whether a shrewd lawyer could show that your brother regarded you as a means of support.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Mason?”

Mason pounced upon the uneasy expression which crept into her eyes, as an alert cat jumps on a mouse. “Have you,” he asked, “ever supported your brother?”

“Why... I hardly know how to answer that question.”

“A lawyer,” Mason observed, “would ask you to answer it ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”

“Why, I suppose every sister helps out her brother from time to time. She’d be a poor sister if she didn’t.”

“Exactly,” Mason agreed. “That brings us to the question of what you mean by ‘from time to time.’”

“Why, whenever a man finds himself in a pinch, or when there’s an emergency.”

“Has your brother ever given anything to you for your support?” Mason asked.

“No, I was thrown out on the world when I was a child. I had to earn my own way.”

“But you’ve helped out your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Often?”

“Occasionally.”

“In the form of loans?”

“I suppose so, yes.”

“How much of those loans have been repaid?”

“Why... I don’t know... You don’t consider your brother the same way you would a stranger. I... I don’t keep any account of it.”

“How much money have you given him in all?”

“I don’t know. I tell you I never kept track of it.”

“As much as a thousand dollars?”

“I guess so, yes.”

“Two thousand?”

“Perhaps.”

“Three?”

“Really, Mr. Mason, I don’t see the object of this.”

“Four?”

“But, Mr. Mason... ”

“Five?”

She straightened indignantly, and said, “What difference does it make?”

Mason said, “If he goes on the witness stand, a judge is quite apt to rule that it’s proper cross-examination as showing the extent of his interest. Was it as much as six?”

Her eyes, blinking rapidly, showed indignation. “It may have been.”

“As much as ten?”

“I don’t know.”

“Of this amount,” Mason asked, “has he ever repaid a dime?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

Mason gently shook the dice together in his cupped hands. She watched him as if fascinated. He rolled them out with a long, sweeping gesture.

“For Heaven’s sake!” she snapped out. “Stop rolling those dice!”

“What’s the matter?” Perry asked, putting the dice down on the desk. “Don’t you like the bones?”

“No—. Yes,” she said. “Oh, I don’t know, you just make me nervous.”

Mason said, “Now, let me ask you another question. Did you ever hear of the Conway Appliance Company?”

“The name is familiar. Oh, I know. That was the name on the check. Alden gave the check to L. C. Conway.”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “The company specializes in the sale of crooked crap dice — like this pair — and includes, as a ‘premium,’ a lottery ticket. The company was originally operated by L. C. Conway. Then, a few days ago, it was apparently sold to a man named Serle — Guy T. Serle, who has moved the business to 209 East Ranchester Avenue. Does any of that mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing.”

Mason said, “Look here, Miss Milicant, I’m going to be frank with you. Here’s a description of L. C. Conway — approximately fifty-five, five feet ten inches, weight around one hundred and eighty, heavy features, partially bald with black hair coming to a peak near the center of his head. Has a slight limp. Does that description mean anything to you?”

She met his eyes. “Is it supposed to?”

“I thought it might.”

“The description,” she said abruptly, “fits my brother,” and Mason noticed that her hands were gripping the arms of the chair.

Mason said, “So it does,” as though the idea had just occurred to him. “Are you trying to suggest to me that your brother and L. C. Conway are one and the same?”

She said, “I thought you were the one who was trying to suggest that to me.”

Mason said, “I think you’d better check up on your brother and the possibility that he is the L. C. Conway who got that twenty thousand dollar check from Alden Leeds.”

Her face was white enough so that the patches of orange rouge ceased to blend with her natural color. “He couldn’t have done that,” she said slowly, “simply couldn’t — not after all I’ve done for him. It would be a terrible, a wicked thing to do.”

Mason said carelessly, “I believe Leeds made the bulk of his fortune from a gold strike up in the Yukon, did he not?”

“I’ve heard him say something like that.”

“Must be a great country,” Mason said.

“That was years ago,” she pointed out.

“Ever been up there?” the lawyer inquired.

She met his eyes steadily, and said, “No.”

“How about John?” Mason inquired. “I wonder if he was ever up in the Klondike or the Yukon?”

Again she met his eyes, and again, in the same positive voice, said, “No.”

Mason smiled to signify that the interview was over. “Thanks a lot,” he said.

For the moment, she made no move to leave. “Could you... would you... tell me just how it was you happened to suspect John of being L. C. Conway?”

Mason’s smile was both affable and evasive. “I thought,” he said, “the suggestion came from you. I read you Conway’s description, that was all.”

She recognized the note of dismissal in his voice and came to her feet.

“Does Phyllis know anything about this?” she asked.

“No one knows, outside of my office staff and those who are working with me.”

Ten minutes after Emily Milicant had left, Della Street announced that Ned Barkler was in the office.

Mason told her to bring him in, and, a few seconds later, was shaking hands with the calmly competent, completely unperturbed prospector.

“Hello,” Barkler said, his pipe clamped between his teeth. “Ain’t seen Phyllis, have you?”

“No,” Mason said. “I think she’s out at the house.”

“Nope. She ain’t there.”

“Perhaps she went to the bank. Were you out at the house?”

Barkler sat down, pushed the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with a horny forefinger, and said, “Some cops were out at the house messing around with fingerprints and stuff. They tried to shake me down, and I told them where they got off.”

“Alden Leeds’ study was ransacked,” Mason said.

“Uh-huh,” Barkler agreed.

Mason, eyeing the man curiously, said, “How did you happen to locate Alden Leeds?”

“Where?”

“At the sanitarium.”

A network of little wrinkles appeared around Barkler’s amused eyes. He took the pipe from his mouth to chuckle softly. Mason, sizing up his man, made no effort to crowd him, but tilting back in his swivel chair, lit another cigarette and waited.

After a few moments, Barkler went on, “That crowd sure must‘a thought Alden was getting simple. Christ Almighty, Alden’s been through things those stay-at-home bastards never even dreamt of — and taken them all in his stride. Why, he was in a mutiny one time... well, no... I guess he wasn’t either.”

“Leeds got in touch with you?” Mason prompted.

“Uh-huh, there was a couple of heavy rubber bands holding the curtains together in the bathroom. Alden slipped them off, tied them together, and then tied the ends to the iron bars on the window. He wrote a note asking whoever found it to ring me up and tell me where he was. Then he wrapped a little piece of soap in the paper to give it weight...” Barkler broke off to chuckle. His chuckling started a fit of coughing. His pipe went out, and he scratched a match to light it again.

“It worked?” Mason asked.

“Worked!” Barkler said. “I’ll say it worked... Heh, heh, heh... A guy walked past out in the street, and Alden turned loose his slingshot, and darned if he didn’t hit the guy right in the leg. The guy was sore for a minute, but he looked up and seen Alden in the window of the sanitarium. Alden made signs to him, so he picked up the note and read it and waved his hand to show that he understood. Guess he thought Alden was a nut all right, but he figured it wouldn’t do no harm to let me know where he was.”

Mason said, “Didn’t you know that Phyllis was bringing the matter up in court?”

Barkler’s laugh was like the sound of a wind rustling dry leaves. “What the hell does Alden and me want with court?” he asked. “Courts be damned! I strapped on the old persuader, and went down to get him out — figured I might have to get rough. But shucks, they was dead simple. I could have stole them blind.”

Mason grinned. “You knew Leeds up in the Klondike, didn’t you?”

“Tanana,” Barkler corrected.

“All the same, isn’t it?” Mason asked.

“Nope,” Barkler said shortly.

“Must have been a wild country,” Mason ventured.

“It was. A man that couldn’t take care of himself had no business being up in that country.”

“Were you around Dawson?” Mason inquired.

“Yep, all through that country.”

“They had some wild dance halls in Dawson, didn’t they?”

“Depends on what you call wild. A man could get lots of action. I’ve seen wilder places.”

“Know any of the dance hall girls?” Mason inquired.

“Some.”

“Ever know Emily Milicant before she showed up here?” Mason asked.

Barkler didn’t answer the question for several seconds. He puffed at his pipe, his keen, frosty eyes regarding Mason through the white smoke.

“I’m checking out,” he said.

“Why?” Mason asked. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s the matter. I’m just checking out. I don’t like cops — a bunch of damn busybodies, if you ask me, messing around and wanting to take a guy’s fingerprints.”

“Did they want yours?”

“Yep.”

“Get them?”

“Nope.”

“Where,” Mason asked, “is Alden Leeds now?”

“Out attending to some business.”

“Do you know where he is?”

“He’ll show up when he gets ready.”

Mason said, “I’m very anxious to see him. It’s important.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If you see him or if you can get a message to him, will you let me know?”

“Nope.”

“You won’t?”

“Nope. Alden can get in touch with you if he wants to. He wanted me to come in and give you a message.”

“What,” Mason asked, “was the message?”

“He wanted me to tell you that he was all right, and not to worry about him, but to keep right on working just the way you’re doing now.”

Mason said, “He seems to keep pretty well posted.”

Again Barkler chuckled. “He does,” he said. “Alden’s nobody’s fool. Well, let’s see now... Oh, yes, he said to tell you to stall around and get as much time as you could, and to tell Phyllis not to worry.”

“He isn’t going back to his house?” Mason asked.

“Not right away, I don’t think,” Barkler said.

“Why?”

“You’ll have to ask Alden about that.”

“If I don’t know where he is, I can’t ask him,” Mason said, with a smile.

“That’s right,” Barkler agreed seriously. “You can’t.”

He got to his feet, crossed over to the cuspidor, tapped ashes out of his pipe, and said, “Well, I’ll be getting on. Tell Miss Phyllis I’m checking out for a while.”

“You mean you won’t be back for several days?”

Barkler said, “Uh-huh,” and walked across to the exit door.

Mason said, “Just a minute, Barkler, before you leave. If I’m not going to see Alden Leeds, there are some papers which he’ll have to sign. They’re in the outer office. Wait here a minute, and I’ll get them for you.”

Mason strode quickly to the door leading to the outer office. Barkler said, “Don’t be long,” walked back to the leather chair, and sat down.

Gertrude Lade looked up from the telephone desk as Mason approached. “Where’s Della?” he asked.

“Went out with some papers to a handwriting expert.”

Mason said, “Beat it down to Paul Drake’s office. Tell him Ned Barkler is in my office, that he’s leaving right away; to put a tail on him. Hurry.”

Gertrude Lade paused only to ask one question. “Does Mr. Drake know him, or do I describe him?”

“Drake knows him,” Mason said.

She jerked off the headset and started for the door on the run.

Mason paused only long enough to take the Leeds file from the filing case, then walked back to his private office. As he opened the door, he said, “I want you to tell me if...” and broke off into surprised silence as he realized the office was empty.

He jerked open the exit door and sprinted down the corridor to the elevator.

The corridor was deserted.