The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

Chapter 7

A small alarm clock throbbed into muffled noise. Mason reached out, switched off the alarm, jumped from bed, and dressed. Dr. Kelton quit snoring for a matter of seconds, then resumed his nasal cadences. Mason put out the light, opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Edna Hammer was standing within a few feet of his door. She was still attired in her negligee. The aroma of freshly made coffee filled the hallway. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

“I sneaked up to tell you I’d unlocked Uncle’s door and to ask you to smuggle me a cup of coffee.”

“Can’t you ring for the butler and have him bring it to your room?”

“No. I don’t dare to. No one must know I didn’t go to Santa Barbara. Uncle Pete would be furious if he thought I’d slipped something over on him. And then I have Helen to consider.”

Mason nodded. “Which is your room?” he asked.

“In the north wing, on the ground floor next to the ‘dobe wall. It opens on the patio.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” he promised. “Your uncle’s up?”

“Oh, yes, he’s been up for half an hour, packing and puttering around.”

A door knob rattled. Edna Hammer gave a startled exclamation and was gone with a flutter of silken garments. Mason walked toward the stairway. Peter Kent, freshly shaved, opened a door, stepped out into the hallway, saw Mason and smiled. “Good morning, Counselor. I hope you slept well. It’s splendid of you to get up to see us off.”

“I always get up to see my clients married,” Mason said, laughing, “but it looks as though I’m going to be the only one. Dr. Kelton’s sound asleep and refuses to budge.”

Peter Kent looked at his watch. “Five o’clock,” he said musingly. “The sun rises about six. We’re to be at the field at five fortyfive. That will give us time for bacon, eggs and toast, but we’ll have to make it snappy.”

He accompanied Mason down the flight of stairs to the big sitting room, where the butler had a cheerful fire going in the fireplace and a table set in front of it. Lucille Mays came toward Peter Kent with outstretched hands, starry eyes. “How did you sleep?” she asked solicitously.

Kent’s eyes met hers. “Wonderfully,” he said, “Counselor Mason inspires confidence. I’m sorry I didn’t consult him earlier.”

Mason returned Lucille Mays’ smile. They seated themselves at the table, had a hurried breakfast. As Kent started upstairs, Mason poured himself another cup of coffee, sugared and creamed it, strolled toward the door, ostensibly to look out into the patio.

Mason waited until they had left the room, then moved quickly down the long corridor. Edna Hammer was waiting for him, the door of her room open. Mason handed her the cup of coffee, said in a whisper, “You didn’t tell me whether you liked sugar or cream, so I took a chance.”

“Just so it’s hot coffee,” she said. “My Lord, I feel all in!”

“Cheer up,” he told her. “It’ll soon be over. We’ll know by ten o’clock, perhaps a little before.”

She took the coffee, thanked him with a smile, slipped into the room and closed the door. Mason returned to the living room. The butler, cleaning up the things, said, “Your cup and saucer, sir?”

Mason made a shrugging gesture. “Set it down somewhere,” he observed, “and can’t remember where. Doubtless it’ll show up. I was looking at some of the paintings in the corridor and then I walked out into the patio for a while.”

“Very good, sir,” the butler said.

“What’s your name?” Mason asked.

“Arthur—Arthur Coulter.”

“You act as chauffeur as well as butler?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What make of car does Mr. Kent have?”

“A Packard sedan and a Ford cabriolet. I’m getting out the sedan this morning. I believe he said you were to drive it.”

“That’s right. You’d better get started, Arthur.”

The butler vanished with the smooth, noiseless efficiency of a welltrained domestic. A moment later, Kent, carrying a suitcase and an overcoat, stood in the doorway, said, You’d better get your coat, Mr. Mason.”

“It’s in the hall,” Mason answered.

He went to the reception hall, found his coat and hat. Almost at once they were joined by Lucille Mays. Kent opened the door. There was the sound of a purring automobile motor. The beams of headlights crept around the curve in the driveway. A shiny Packard sedan slid smoothly to a stop. Coulter climbed from the driver’s seat, opened the car doors, handed in the two light bags. Mason slid in behind the wheel, laughed and said, “There should be one or two more. I feel as if I were chaperoning a honeymoon.”

“You,” Kent told him, “are Cupid.”

“It’s a new role,” Mason said, “but I’ll try to live up to it.” He slid back the shifting lever, eased in the clutch and as the car purred into smooth motion, said, “Let’s go over things now to be sure we have everything straight.”

Kent pulled up one of the folding seats, sat in it and leaned forward so that his head was within a few inches of Mason’s shoulder. “I’m to go directly to the courthouse in Yuma,” he said. “Is that right?”

Mason nodded and for a few moments gave his attention to shifting gears. Then he said, without taking his eyes from the road, “Yes. Hunt up the telephone operator if they have a private switchboard, and, if they don’t, find out who answers the telephone in the clerk’s office. Tell them you’re expecting an important call and make arrangements so it’ll come through without delay. I’ll telephone you as soon as the final decree has been granted.

“After that, you can make headquarters at the Winslow Hotel at Yuma. Wait there. If you don’t hear from me again by six o’clock in the afternoon you can start on a honeymoon, but let me know where I can locate you.”

“You’re going to file action against Maddox?” Kent asked.

Mason’s jaw squared. “I’m going to take that boy down the line,” he promised, “but I think we’ll file the action in Chicago. There’s a matter of venue I want to look up.”

“You’ll let him know that there’ll be no compromise?”

“You can leave Maddox to me,” Mason said grimly, pushing the accelerator down almost to the floorboards.