The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

Chapter 10

Mason gave Edna Hammer lowvoiced instructions in a corner of the patio. “No matter what happens,” he said, “no one must know anything about this Santa Barbara angle of the case.” He looked at his watch and went on, “We’ve got to hold your Uncle Peter absolutely in the clear for at least two hours and a half.”

“You mean they’ll want to bring him back?”

“They’ll want to question him.”

“Will they want to bring him back?”

“Probably.”

“What will I tell them?”

“Tell them that you don’t know where he is.”

“I’m going to tell them that I spent the night in Santa Barbara and came back on the bus.”

Mason squinted his eyes, and said, “I wouldn’t advise you to do it.”

“But I’m going to do it.”

“They’ll check up on you.”

“They won’t have any reason to check up on me. But what will you tell them about Uncle Pete?”

“I,” Mason said, “won’t tell them a damn thing.”

“Won’t they make trouble for you?”

“They may try to.”

“When will they question me?”

He looked at his watch again. “Almost any minute now. They’re examining the room and the body. Duncan’s bursting with a desire to spill some information. I don’t know what it is. Probably it’s something that’s only about half as important as he thinks it is. Both he and Maddox hate your Uncle Pete and they hate me. We can’t tell just exactly what they’ll do nor how far that hatred will take them.”

“They wouldn’t commit perjury, would they?”

“I wouldn’t put it past either one of them. Maddox is a crook. I think Duncan is a pettifogger. They were both trying to shake your uncle down. I stood in the way of that and naturally they resent it.”

“But what can they do?”

“I don’t know. That remains to be seen. In the meantime I want to put in a telephone call. You hold the fort.”

“Okay. But remember I came here in a taxicab after spending the night in Santa Barbara.”

“Don’t tell them where you spent the night,” he warned. “Refuse to do that until after you’ve consulted me.

“Will that make trouble?” she asked.

“Plenty,” he told her, “but anything you can do is going to make trouble. Tell them that where you spent the night doesn’t have the faintest bearing on the murder case but does concern your uncle’s business affairs. But remember this, sooner or later they’re going to put you under oath and then you’ve got to tell the truth.”

“Why?”

“Because they’ll prosecute you for perjury if you don’t.”

“Oh, dear… I’m not going to tell them anything.”

“All right,” he said cheerfully, “don’t tell them anything.”

“But you won’t give me away?”

“Listen,” he said, “any information that they get out of me you can put in your eye. I’m going to telephone.” He went to the soundproof telephone closet and called Della Street. “Della,” he said, when he heard her voice on the line, “something’s happened out here. Get Paul Drake to pick up a couple of good men and come out. They probably won’t let him in, but he can hang around and find out as much as he can. Have you heard anything from Santa Barbara?”

“Yes. Jackson telephoned just a few minutes ago. He said he and Mr. Harris took turns watching Doris Kent’s house all night; and she didn’t go out anywhere, but Jackson has something he wants to tell you personally. He says he doesn’t want to tell it over the telephone.”

“Why not?”

“He said that it was filled with dynamite.”

“Who’s watching the house now?”

“I think Mr. Harris is. Jackson said that he kept on duty until some time before midnight, when Harris relieved him, and that Harris wants to be relieved.”

“Tell you what you do, Della. I think Drake’s agency has a man up in Santa Barbara. Tell Paul to get some photographs of Mrs. Kent, and a good description of her. Then he can contact Harris and take over the job of watching. I want to know when she leaves the house, and, if possible, where she goes. Tell Jackson to get that final decree just as quickly as he can. Tell him to keep you advised by telephone. I’ll get the information from you. Have you got that straight?”

“Yes,” she said. “What happened out there?”

“A carving knife got stained,” he said.

There was a moment of silence during which only the sound of the buzzing wires came to his ears. Then she said, “I see.”

“Good girl,” Mason told her, and slipped the receiver back on the hook. He left the closet and found Edna Hammer in the hallway.

“Everything okay?” she asked. He nodded. “You’re fixing things so Uncle Peter can get married?” she asked.

“I want to do the best I can for my client,” he told her.

The eyes which regarded him were filled with shrewd appraisal. “You’re a clever lawyer, aren’t you?”

“Meaning what?” he asked.

“Meaning,” she said, “that I happen to know it’s the law of this state that a wife can’t testify against her husband. If Uncle Pete and Lucille Mays are married, then she couldn’t testify to anything against him, could she?”

Perry Mason raised his eyebrows. “I don’t know what she could testify to… Here comes Sergeant Holcomb now.”

“Tell me,” she said, grasping Perry Mason’s wrist with cold fingers, “are you going to stand by Uncle Pete?”

“I always stand by a client.”

“How far?”

“If,” he said, “your Uncle Pete committed a coldblooded, deliberate murder, I’m going to tell him to plead guilty or get some other lawyer. If he killed a man while he was sleepwalking I’m going to go the limit for him. Does that satisfy you?”

“But suppose he did commit a coldblooded, deliberate murder, as you call it?”

“Then he can either plead guilty or get some other attorney to represent him.”

“Who’s going to decide whether he committed a coldblooded murder?”

“I am.”

“But you’re not going to decide hastily. You won’t jump at conclusions? Promise me you won’t.”

“I never do,” he said grinning. “Good morning, Sergeant Holcomb.”

Sergeant Holcomb, who had been striding down the corridor toward them, looked from Perry Mason to Edna Hammer. His eyes were glittering with suspicion. “It looks very much,” he said, “as though you’re instructing this young woman what to say.”

“So often appearances are deceptive, Sergeant,” Perry Mason said suavely. “Miss Hammer, permit me to present Sergeant Holcomb.”

The sergeant paid not the slightest attention to the introduction. “How does it happen you’re here?” he asked Perry Mason.

“I’m negotiating an agreement between a chap by the name of Maddox, and Mr. Peter Kent.”

“And where’s Peter Kent?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“It would be betraying the confidence of a client.”

“Bosh and nonsense!”

Mason bowed and said, “That’s the way you feel about it, Sergeant. I feel that it would be betraying a professional confidence. That means, of course, it’s merely another one of those differences of opinion we have so frequently.”

“And after you’ve said that,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “then what?”

“After that, I’m quite finished.”

“I still don’t know where Kent is.”

“Doubtless,” Mason said, “there are other sources of information available to you.”

Holcomb swung to Edna Hammer, “You’re his niece?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s your uncle now?”

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

Holcomb’s face darkened with rage. “I’ve sent for Sam Blaine, the deputy district attorney. You two come into the living room.” Sergeant Holcomb turned on his heel and strode down the long corridor toward the living room.

“You,” Perry Mason told Edna Hammer, “had better tell them the truth.”

“I can’t.”

He shrugged his shoulder, placed his hand under her elbow, walked down to the living room with her. They found the others assembled, a solemn, hushed group. Sergeant Holcomb looked at his watch, said, “Sam Blaine, the deputy district attorney, should be here any minute. I want to ask a few questions. Who’s the dead man?”

Duncan, raising his voice, said, “I’m an attorney. I think I can be of some help to you in this. I have some very valuable information.”

“Who’s the dead man?” Holcomb asked.

“He’s Phil Rease, a halfbrother of Peter Kent,” Maddox answered.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Frank B. Maddox. I’m Mr. Kent’s business partner, the President of the Maddox Manufacturing Company of Chicago.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Straightening out some business matters with Mr. Kent, and this is Mr. Duncan, my attorney.”

“You’re the one Mason was dealing with?” Holcomb asked.

“Mr. Mason,” Duncan observed pompously, “represented Mr. Kent. He was here last night, and he spent the night in this house. He had a doctor with him. Dr. Kelton, I believe the name was.”

Holcomb turned to Mason, asked, “Where’s Kelton?”

“He had some important cases. He couldn’t wait. Naturally, you can locate him at any time you desire.”

Maddox volunteered a statement. “This man, Mason,” he said, “Dr. Kelton, and Miss Hammer knew that some one had been murdered. They didn’t know who it was. They were prowling around looking us over this morning. They thought I was the one that had the knife stuck in me.”

“How did you know someone was murdered, Mason?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.

Mason’s eyes widened. “I didn’t.”

The door opened, and Arthur Coulter, the butler, showed a dapper young man, with eye glasses from which dangled a long, black ribbon, into the room. “Here’s Sam Blaine,” Sergeant Holcomb said. “He’ll take charge of things.”

Blaine, freshly shaven, his tan shoes glittering, his white linen gleaming, smiled inclusively, and said, “Just a minute while I get posted.” He led Sergeant Holcomb off to a corner where the two conversed for several moments in low tones. When they had finished, Blaine returned, drew up a chair at the head of the table, opened his brief case, produced a notebook and said, “Did any of you hear anything suspicious during the night?”

Duncan cleared his throat importantly. “I’d like to make a statement,” he said, “I think I can tell you exactly what happened.”

“Who are you?” Blaine asked.

“John J. Duncan, a lawyer.”

“Go ahead,” Blaine invited.

“Shortly after midnight last night I was wakened by someone walking past the French windows. It was moonlight. The shadow fell across me. I am a very light sleeper. I think the person was barefooted.”

“What did you do?”

“I had a glimpse of this person walking past my room. There’s a cement porch in front of the French windows. I jumped to my feet and ran to the windows. It was full moon. I saw someone sleepwalking.”

“How do you know this person was sleepwalking?” Blaine asked.

“From the manner in which the person was attired, and the peculiar walk. The figure wore a nightgown. The head was thrown back. I knew instantly it was a sleepwalker.”

“Was it a man or a woman?”

“Er—Er—well, you see, it was moonlight and…”

“Never mind answering that question now,” Blaine said hastily, “what did this person do?”

“Walked across the patio, fumbled around with one of the coffee tables for a minute and raised the lid. Then the figure disappeared through a door in the north side of the patio—a door which enters a corridor.”

“You saw this?”

“Very clearly.”

“How do you fix the time?”

“By the clock which was by my bed.”

“What time was it?”

“Quarter after twelve o’clock. I couldn’t get back to sleep for a long time.”

Blaine asked Edna, “Are you Miss Edna Hammer?”

“Yes.”

“What do you know about this?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you see anyone enter your room last night?”

“No.”

“Was your door locked or unlocked?”

“Locked. I’m nervous at night. Almost a month ago I had a new spring lock put on my bedroom door. I have the only key to it.”

“Did you know someone had been murdered this morning?”

“Certainly not.”

“Did you leave your room last night?”

She hesitated and said, “Where I was last night doesn’t have any bearing on the matter.”

Blaine asked, “Where is Peter Kent?”

“Ask Perry Mason,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “he seems to know.”

Mason said, “My client, Mr. Kent, is absent on a business matter which has nothing whatever to do with the present situation.”

“When did he leave?”

“I can’t answer that question without betraying the confidence of a client.”

“When’s he coming back?”

“I think I can promise that he’ll return either late tonight or early tomorrow morning.”

“Where is he now? This is a serious business, Mason. Don’t try to stall. We want to question your client.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said nothing.

“Look here,” Blaine threatened, “if you don’t dig up your client now, we’re going to find out where he is and drag him in.”

“Go ahead,” Mason remarked, “drag him in.”

“Who knows where he is?” Blaine asked.

For a moment there was silence, then Maddox said, “I happen to know that Mr. Jerry Harris, Miss Edna Hammer, and Miss Helen Warrington, Mr. Kent’s secretary, all left last night upon a mysterious errand. I think they went to Santa Barbara. There’s a chance Mr. Kent went with them.”

“ Santa Barbara, eh? What are they doing in Santa Barbara?” Blaine asked.

“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

Blaine turned to Sergeant Holcomb, said in a low voice, “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere this way. We’d better talk with these people one at a time and we’ll want the servants as well. Will you please have everyone leave the room but remain available for questioning?”

Sergeant Holcomb nodded importantly. “The patio,” he announced, “is the proper place. You folks all go out in the patio and don’t start talking among yourselves… Hadn’t we better finish with Perry Mason and keep him away from the rest? He’s representing Kent. We might find out a lot more if we get through with Mason first.”

Blaine said, “Good idea. What do you know about this, Mason?”

Mason waited until the shuffling confusion of moving feet had ceased, then said, “I was negotiating an agreement between Kent and Maddox. For certain reasons, which I won’t bother to discuss at present, it became advisable to postpone the negotiations. I remained here last night. I slept in a room in the upper floor with Dr. Kelton. This morning Peter Kent left on a business trip. I may say that that trip was taken at my suggestion. I have no intention of disclosing his destination. After he left, Miss Hammer called my attention to the fact that the carving knife was missing from the sideboard. I happened to know that Peter Kent had previously walked in his sleep. I believe it is a matter of record that he picked up a carving knife on that occasion.”

“Where’s the record?” Blaine interrupted.

“In a divorce case filed against him by his wife, Doris Sully Kent.”

“Where?”

“In Santa Barbara.”

“Go on. What did you do?”

“I went with Miss Hammer to Mr. Kent’s bedroom. I raised the pillow on his bed and found the knife under his pillow.”

“Under his pillow!” Blaine exclaimed.

Mason nodded coolly. “The knife was, and is now, under the pillow of Peter Kent’s bed. I didn’t touch it. But as soon as I saw it, I suspected what had happened. Therefore, I aroused Dr. Kelton, and, in company with Miss Hammer, we made a round of the guests. We found Mr. Rease lying in bed, the covers up around his neck. Apparently he had been stabbed through the covers. I didn’t make a close investigation. As soon as I found the body I left the room and telephoned police headquarters.”

“Why the devil didn’t you tell Sergeant Holcomb about this before?”

“He wouldn’t let me. He was in examining the body. I tried to go in and he told me to stay out.”

Blaine said to Sergeant Holcomb, “Send a couple of men up to look under that pillow. Don’t let anyone touch that knife until we have a fingerprint man go over the handle… How long have you been here, Sergeant?”

“About ten minutes before I telephoned you,” Holcomb answered.

“And I got here in ten or fifteen minutes,” Blaine said. “That makes less than half an hour… What’s this lawyer’s name… oh, yes, Duncan, I’ll get him and take a look at that coffee table.”

Blaine walked out toward the patio. Sergeant Holcomb called two men and ran up the stairs to Kent’s bedroom. Mason followed Blaine, saw him speak to Duncan. They walked toward the center of the patio. Duncan paused uncertainly, went to one of the coffee tables, shook his head, moved over to the one under which Edna Hammer had placed the coffee cup and saucer. “This the table?” Blaine asked.

“I believe it is.”

“You said the top came up?”

“It seemed to. He raised what looked like the top and then let it drop back with a bang.”

Blaine looked the table over and said, “There seems to be an oblong receptacle under this table top… Wait a minute, here’s a catch.”

He shot the catch and raised the top of the table.

“Nothing in here,” he said, “except a cup and saucer.”

“Nevertheless, this is the place,” Duncan insisted.

Edna Hammer said very casually, “I’ll take the cup and saucer back to the kitchen.”

She reached for it, but Blaine grabbed her wrist. “Wait a minute,” he said, “we’ll find out a little more about that cup and saucer before we take it anywhere. There may be fingerprints on it.”

“But what difference does that make?” she asked.

The voice of the butler from the outskirts of the little group said, “Begging your pardon, sir, but I happen to recognize that cup and saucer… That is, at least I recognize the saucer. You see, it has a peculiar chip out of it. I knocked that chip out this morning.”

“What time this morning?”

“Shortly after five o’clock.”

“What were you doing with a saucer shortly after five o’clock?”

“Serving breakfast to Mr. Kent, Miss Lucille Mays, and Mr. Mason.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then I brought up the Packard and Mr. Kent, Miss Mays and Mr. Mason drove off. After an hour or so, Mr. Mason returned the car.”

“You don’t know where they went?”

“No, sir, but I think they were going to get married.”

“And what have you to say about this cup and saucer?”

“This saucer, sir, went with the cup out of which Mr. Mason was drinking his coffee. I didn’t have time to replace the chipped saucer. They seemed to be in a bit of a hurry, and Mr. Kent had told me to see that breakfast was ready to serve at twenty minutes past five on the dot. He was most punctual.”

“So you drank out of this saucer, Mason?” Blaine asked.

Mason shook his head and said, “Certainly not.”

“You didn’t?”

“No,” Mason said. “I never drink out of a saucer when I’m visiting.” Blaine flushed and said, “I meant, you had the cup and saucer. If you want to be technical, you drank out of the cup.”

“That’s what the butler says,” Mason said. “Personally I wouldn’t be able to tell one cup from another. I admit that I drank out of a cup this morning.”

“Then what happened?”

“Begging your pardon, sir,” the butler said, “Mr. Mason walked out with the cup and saucer. I couldn’t find it afterwards and asked him what he’d done with it and he said he couldn’t remember; that he thought he’d set it out in the patio some place.”

“At fivetwenty this morning?”

“That would have been approximately fivethirty, or fiveforty.”

“What was he doing out in the patio at fivethirty?”

The butler shrugged his shoulders.

Blaine turned to Mason, and asked, “What were you doing out here at fivethirty?”

“I may have been out here,” Mason said slowly, “but I have no independent recollection of it.”

“Did you put that cup and saucer under the top of the table?”

“I did not.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I think,” Mason said, “you’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Here’s a saucer with a chip out of it, and you’re wasting valuable time inquiring how I happened to drink my coffee and where I was standing when I did it, when the crying need is for a solution of this murder. It isn’t a question of who drank the coffee. The question is who stuck the knife…”

“That’ll do,” Blaine interrupted, “I’m thoroughly capable of carrying on this investigation.” Mason shrugged his shoulders. “It may be well for you to remember,” Blaine said significantly, “that, according to the testimony of this disinterested witness, Mr. Peter Kent, who apparently is your client, deposited something in this receptacle at around midnight. Now then, we find that thing is gone, and in its place a cup and saucer which, concededly, had been in your possession.”

“I haven’t conceded it,” Mason replied. “It may or may not have been the cup and saucer I was using. As I mentioned, cups look alike to me, and Duncan didn’t identify the sleepwalker as Peter Kent, either.”

“It’s the saucer that has the distinctive chip out of it,” Blaine pointed out. Mason shrugged his shoulders, lit a cigarette and smiled. Blaine said, “Very well, Mr. Mason. I think we’ll take your statement in front of the Grand Jury. I know you only too well. We won’t get anywhere by trying to interrogate you when we haven’t any power to make you answer questions. You’re trying to stall things along. You’re just leading us around in a circle.”

“You mean that you’re finished with me?”

“Do you know anything more about the murder?”

“Nothing.”

“Yes, we’re finished with you. When we want you we know where to get you, and,” he added significantly, “we know how to get you with a subpoena.”

Mason bowed and said, “Good morning, everyone.”

He caught Edna Hammer’s eye and saw that she was pleading with him, trying to express some unspoken message. He moved toward her and Blaine interposed. “I said that you could be excused, Mason,” he said. “I think this inquiry will progress a lot faster and a damned sight more efficiently if we examine the witnesses before they have had the benefit of your very valuable suggestions.”

Mason smiled and bowed mockingly. “I wish you luck,” he said.