The D.A. Breaks a Seal

3

Sylvia Martin and the sheriff insisted on putting Doug Selby on the other side of the table where they could both look at him. Their luncheon booth was almost directly across from the booth where a blonde woman was slowly and thoughtfully eating a very light lunch.

“She certainly doesn’t belong in Madison City,” Brandon said.

“I’ll say she doesn’t,” Sylvia Martin said. “And I can tell you just about all there is to know about her from a woman’s viewpoint. You strip her of those trappings and she wouldn’t be so breath-taking. But that scenery cost lots of money, boys. That fur is worth around fifteen hundred dollars. Notice the diamond on her right hand and the earrings. That complexion is worked over by experts every day. That figure is carefully kept in line by diet and exercise, the lines are skillfully brought out by clothes that weren’t just picked up any old place. She puts in more time, more thought and more effort on that body of hers than the average woman puts in on looking for her husband, keeping her house, raising a family of children, putting up fruit in season, and doing work for church socials, Red Cross drives, Community Chests and...”

“Stop it,” Brandon interrupted laughingly. “You make me dizzy.”

“I mean it — every word of it,” Sylvia said. “That woman’s body is her career.”

Brandon thought that over. “That’s a delicate way of expressing it.”

“I don’t mean it in any way except just what I said. She puts in her time and effort thinking of herself. And when a woman has invested so much time and energy in preserving her appearance, she usually wants to... oh, oh!”

Sylvia Martin was seated where she could see the door, and as she stopped with a little exclamation, Brandon asked, “What is it, Sylvia?”

“Old A.B.C,” she said. “My hunch was right.”

Carr entered the restaurant casually, as though merely in search of a vacant booth where he could have lunch. He strolled along with that calm, impressive dignity which is associated with conscious power, then suddenly his eyes lit on the gardenia corsage and he stopped.

For a moment the blonde didn’t look up. When she did, there was only mild interest in her eyes.

Then Carr took two steps forward, bent solicitously over the table and said something in a low voice.

The blonde smiled, gave him her hand.

Carr sat down. He said nothing for a matter of two or three seconds, during which the woman opposite sized him up with the calmly calculating expression of a prospective purchaser appraising property which has been offered for sale.

Sylvia Martin said, “There goes my nice theory.”

“What theory?” Brandon asked.

“About the people who wear white gardenias and with whom Carr is keeping such a mysterious rendezvous. I had been telling Doug at the train that they were all alike — at least in their general station in life — people who had been pushed around, beaten down and now this hothouse flower enters the picture. Life never pushed that woman around!”

Some psychic sensitivity made Carr turn quickly, catching Sylvia Martin’s eyes regarding him with ill-concealed interest. Selby suddenly laughed. “Caught in the act, Sylvia.”

She had jerked her eyes away and now started talking vivaciously about nothing in particular.

Selby shook his head. “You’re not fooling him any, Sylvia.” Nor was she.

For a moment Carr hesitated, then, in his richly resonant voice, said to his companion, “Excuse me a moment, please.” With every semblance of cordial friendship, he arose and approached the other booth.

“Good morning, Miss Martin,” he said, “and Sheriff Brandon. How are you? I don’t see you very often these days.”

He turned to Doug Selby, apparently seeing only a man in uniform and wishing to include him in the conversation with a smile.

Suddenly, recognition came to his eyes. “Why, Doug Selby!” he exclaimed. “Pardon me, Major Selby. This is indeed a pleasure!”

His hand shot forward.

Doug got to his feet, gripped Carr’s muscular hand.

The criminal lawyer was somewhere in the fifties, big-boned, lean, magnetic, his wavy hair touched with gray, eyebrows inclined to be bushy, but his face with its high cheekbones, firm jaw and clean-cut features, was unmistakably stamped with character and ability. “Are you back for good?” he asked.

“Just a furlough,” Selby told him. “Thought I’d stop over and see how the county was coming along.”

“We miss you,” Carr said gravely, and his face had become an expressionless mask. It was as though Selby’s presence in Madison City constituted a major complication which Carr wanted to consider carefully, and his face, schooled by years of experience, had automatically disassociated itself from the man’s thoughts.

“You’re still practicing?” Sylvia asked.

Carr made a deprecatory gesture that had behind it both grace and dignity. “Nothing to speak of. I’m trying to retire. I want to spend my time in your delightful community enjoying the friendly atmosphere... But, of course...” He finished the sentence with just the faintest shrug of his shoulders.

Selby’s eyes twinkled at the adroit way the old lawyer had avoided the question without seeming to be other than frank and friendly.

“I presume,” Sylvia Martin said, glancing surreptitiously at the blonde in the opposite booth, who was watching the progress of the conversation with the same calm appraisal with which she had studied old A.B.C, “many of your clients from the city don’t like to have you retire.”

“You flatter me,” Carr said.

“And therefore follow you here with their problems.”

Abruptly Carr threw back his head and laughed, a deeply rich, resonant laugh. “Such commendable loyalty to your employers, Miss Martin,” he said. “And when you see them, will you convey my compliments and tell them that whenever A.B.C. has a story to release for publication he most certainly will bear in mind The Madison City Clarion. And now if you will excuse me. But it certainly was a pleasure to see you, Major. And now that you’re no longer in office, I trust our association may be a little — well, shall we say less formal?”

“I’m afraid there won’t be much association,” Selby said. “I’m leaving for San Francisco in a few days.”

This time Carr’s face betrayed itself. The information quite evidently meant something to the criminal lawyer. The lines of the features didn’t change, but the eyes did. They lit up with a sudden interest which was instantly veiled by a conscious effort.

“And from there?” Carr asked courteously.

“South Pacific, probably.”

Carr said almost sadly, “Any time you wish really to capitalize upon your legal ability, Counselor, you won’t have any trouble finding satisfactory connections... I presume there would be no interest to you in considering an association in the city with an older man?”

His eyes regarded Selby gravely.

“I’m afraid not. I like this place.”

“I can’t blame you, Major. I can’t blame you in the least. I like it myself. I only wish I could find some younger man who had your keen insight into the law... However, this is hardly the time or the place — if you’ll excuse me. I certainly hope I get to see you again, Major.”

And Carr, bowing gravely, crossed back to rejoin his companion.

“That,” Sylvia Martin said, “was a very courteous rebuke. I feel as though I’d been mentally spanked for staring across at something that’s none of my business.”

“You have,” Selby said. “We all have, and it was done very nicely. How old is she, Sylvia?”

“Past thirty.”

“Heavens, no!” Brandon exclaimed. “She can’t be past twenty-seven.”

“Notice her hands — and her eyes,” Sylvia insisted.

“Let’s not,” Selby laughed. “At least, let’s not get caught at it.”

Sylvia swung around so her shoulder furnished a screen. “You’re right, Doug. Let’s talk about something else. They’re going out! That simplifies things. Now tell us about yourself, Doug.”