“How much chance is there that Dr. Devarest might have made calls from time to time and not entered them in that book?” He shook his head. “No chance whatever—not unless it was done deliberately. Devarest was nuts on system. He had everything systematized. Why do you ask?”
“It occurs to me that he might have made a call on the night he died that wasn’t listed in his book.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He might have called on someone who knew something about what had been taken from the safe.”
“You mean the jewels?”
“No, something other than the jewels. The call might have come to him as though it were a patient calling for a doctor. Dr. Devarest would have answered it on that assumption.” Once more Gelderfield closed his eyes. “It’s an interesting possibility,” he said, “but I don’t think—well, you may be right.”
“You wouldn’t know of any way to help me find out?” He shook his head.
I said, “There’s some possibility Nollie Starr might help me there.” He gave that matter grave consideration, then nodded, said, “You may be on the track of something.” I said, “Mrs. Devarest feels that the two calls which are listed in his notebook couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with ” He interrupted me by nodding his head vehemently. “I know all about both cases,” he said. “I’ve taken those patients over since Dr. Devarest’s death. There’s not a possibility.”
“Then he must have made some visit that he didn’t enter in his book.” Gelderfield said, “That’s hardly possible either.”
“Well, I’m going to keep plugging away.” Abruptly, Dr. Gelderfield’s hand shot out across the door of the car and gripped mine. “I’m afraid I’ve been a little prejudiced against private investigators,” he said, “but I realize now that you have brains and are using them. Call on me for anything I can do to help.” It was a sudden change of front. Watching him whisk his car away from the kerb, I flexed my hand to make sure the knuckles weren’t crushed. “You didn’t need to be so damn enthusiastic about it,” I said to the departing licence plate on his automobile. “I might want to use that hand again some time.”
Chapter XII
IN the darkness we made a group as we stood around in front of the garage. Dr. Gelderfield had placed Mrs. Devarest in a wheel chair and covered her with robes. Bertha Cool, looking hard and competent, surveyed the group with a keen, hard eye.
Mrs. Devarest had invited Corbin Harmley—or he had tactfully invited himself—I never quite found out which. Probably Mrs.. Devarest herself wouldn’t have known. Harmley had that deft tact by which he could get exactly what he wanted, and yet have it seem that the suggestion came from the other man.
Mrs. Croy had insisted on Forrest Timkan being present. Why, I don’t know, except that I had an idea she thought I was about to perpetrate some legal skulduggery. I’d been in communication with the insurance company, and they’d sent their adjuster, a man by the name of Parker Alfman. I had a pretty shrewd idea he was also an attorney, although he was careful to masquerade as merely a representative of the company.
The weather bureau had given me the go-ahead sign. Conditions were just right for a santana. An area of unusually high barometric pressure existed in the vicinity of Winnemucca. Relatively low pressure existed off the lower part of the California coast. It was the theory of the weather bureau that these terrific winds were partially gravitational in origin, that vast masses of air collected over the interior, that the pressure tended to heat and dehydrate the air, that it started flowing along well-defined channels, gathering momentum and suffering a further loss of moisture as it swept across the arid desert region. At eight o’clock the weather man had telephoned that a terrific wind had passed through the Cajon Pass, was blowing with great intensity out through the Cucamonga district, and could be expected to hit the lower points with as much force as had been the case the night Dr. Devarest died.
You could feel the east wind in the air. People were nervous and jumpy. My skin felt dry to the touch. The membranes of my nose seemed to have been dried out in an oven. The air was unusually calm and still. Overhead, stars blazed down steadily, seeming so close that one could have knocked them out of the sky with a twenty-two rifle.
Timkan said, “I’m afraid your wind isn’t going to materialize after all. Most of the time it takes a jump and misses here entirely.”
“I know,” I said, “but tonight the meteorological conditions are just right to give us a wind such as we had the night Dr. Devarest died.” Parker Alfman, a big-boned, arrogant past master of cynicism, looked up to where the garage door had been balanced, at a point where the lower end was just about as high as a man’s head. “I don’t see what you expect to prove anyway,” he said. “I’ve come along to watch what you’re doing, but that’s all. Even if the door blows down, it isn’t going to mean anything to me—or to my company.” I said patiently, “On the night Dr. Devarest died, the rope was caught, just the way it is now. If the door had been fully raised, you couldn’t have lowered it from the inside. The outside control is worked by a lever. A person could have stood outside the door, and closed it. Obviously, Dr. Devarest didn’t go outside of the garage, close the door, then walk back in, and start to work on the motor.”
“How do you know he didn’t?”
“It isn’t probable.”
“It’s probable to me.” I said, “Forty thousand bucks warps your judgment. Twelve men in a jury box would be more reasonable.” He said angrily, “That forty thousand dollars has nothing to do with it. The insurance company pays its losses. If we owe that money, we want to pay it. If we don’t, we can’t pay it. The law wouldn’t let us.”
“I know. I’ve heard that line so many times I know it by heart.”
“It’s true.”
“It probably is.”
“Well, what do you think happened?”
“Dr. Devarest raised the garage door, not all the way up, just about the height it is now, so his car could just slide under it. He knew the rope was tangled over the top of the door.”
“That doesn’t sound probable. How do you know he didn’t fix the rope the way it is now?”
“Because the chauffeur noticed it had become tangled on - that crosspiece earlier in the evening. He was going to get a stepladder and fix it—but he had a date.”
“All right. The door was like this. Dr. Devarest drove in. Then what happened?”
“He had something he wanted to adjust on his motor.”
“What?”
“A loose fan belt.”
“The fan belt wasn’t loose.”
“He’d adjusted it.”
“With the motor running, I suppose?”
“No. He turned the motor off while he made the repair, then he started it to see if the belt was all right. He probably was a little careless about the fumes, because he thought the garage door was open.”
“And how did the garage door get shut?” Just then, and before I could answer the question, the wind swooped down. A sudden, terrific first gust whipped around the house, rustling the dry fronds of palm trees into clattering activity, making a roaring sound as it swept around neighbouring houses.
We waited. The door shivered and teetered.
I said, “Just watch it now.” There was a lull after the first blast of wind, then a second gust hit us. Mrs. Croy knifed the flat of her hand against her skirt, clamped the skirt firmly between her knees to hold it in place, raised her hands to her hair, fully conscious of the alluring outlines of her figure as the wind pressed her garments up against her. The illuminating of the two lights in the eaves of the garage cast weird, grotesque shadows which moved restlessly, bracing themselves against the onslaught of the wind.
Alfman said, “I can’t give you much for your theory, Lam. It doesn’t hold water. The door’s teetering, but that’s all.” A third blast of wind hit us. The door swayed slowly, started to move.
I said, “Okay, just take a look at this.”
The door suddenly slammed up, leaving the garage wide open.
Alfman laughed.
I said, “The door could have been balanced just a little 1 farther down.”
“Not if he’d driven the car into the garage,” Alfman said.
I pulled a lever which brought the door back down. When it was where I could reach up and grab the end, I released my grip on the lever mechanism, and moved it down a little farther. “It sticks in a place right in here,” I said.
“Sure, it does. But you can’t drive a car in the garage with the door in that position.” I said, “We’ll discuss that later. Let’s see what the wind 1 does first.” We didn’t need to wait long for an answer. The wind was blowing more regularly now, not quite such sharp, sudden gusts, but a wall of air that had plenty of force behind it.
The door teetered back and forth, then started downward. As it descended, it hit the sill with a hard jar.
Forrest Timkan said belligerently, “All right, Alfman, what’s wrong with that?” Alfman said, “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with it. He couldn’t have driven the car through the door with the door in that position. Even if he had, he’d have heard the door hit.”
“He might have been preoccupied ‘ with what he was doing.”
“He’d have to have been plenty preoccupied not to have heard the bang of that door,” Alfman said.
I said, “Well, let’s get Dr. Devarest’s car and see whether he could have driven under the door in that position.” We drove the car out. I adjusted the door in such a position that it barely cleared the top of the car. We’d made that adjustment once before. This time, regardless of Alfman’s protests, I fixed it so the top of the incoming car all but grazed the lower edge.
“After all,” Alfman said, “he had to get his car in there, you know.” I pointed to the hairline clearance between the door and the car.
“It wouldn’t have touched.”
“He wouldn’t have tried driving in through such a narrow opening.”
“You mean that he couldn’t?” Alfman thought that over for a moment, then said, “He wouldn’t have done it.” I didn’t say anything more, but ran the car on into the garage, and we stood there waiting for another gust of wind.
With the car out of the way, it looked as though it would have been impossible to have driven the machine through that small an opening. It also looked as though the wind would have been certain to blow the door down.
The wind was blowing now in little gusts, getting ready for another big blast.
Alfman went over to his car, took out a camera with a synchronized flash gun, put in a plate holder, jerked out the slide, and said, “No human being in his right mind would try to drive a car through an opening that small.”
“The car actually went through that opening.”
“Sure, because it’s low slung. You had to coax it along an inch at a time.” Alfman raised his camera. A white flash showed he’d taken the picture. He changed films, put in another flash bulb, walked back to the line of the street, and took another picture.
It was as he was walking toward the garage, carrying the camera in his hand, that another terrific gust of wind swirled around the houses and hit the garage.
The garage door didn’t even teeter this time. It slid smoothly upward so that it was wide open.
Behind me I heard Alfman laugh.
At my side, Bertha Cool said under her breath, “Fry me for an oyster.” Jim Timley said, “All right, folks, the show’s over. I guess we can go home now.” The insurance adjuster said, “I’ve already started,” and put his camera in the back of the car. Dr. Gelderfield leaned over to talk with Mrs. Devarest for a moment.
Timkan raised his voice and said, “Just a moment, everyone.” They stopped to look at him.
Timkan said, “Lam, have you definitely convinced yourself the counterweight on this door hasn’t been tampered with?” I said, “I looked at it just before dark. It’s the same as on the other garage doors.” Alfman got in his car and started the motor.
Dr. Gelderfield turned the wheel chair, started to take Mrs. to the house.
Timkan said, “Well, I didn’t like the way that door acted. I’m going to take a look at that counterweight just to satisfy myself. Show me where it is, Lam.” We walked over toward the garage. Alfman switched on the headlights of his car, started to back out of the driveway, then thought better of it, parked the car and came over to see what we were doing. The wind was blowing steadily now.
I switched on the lights within the garage. Timkan looked up at the door and frowned. “There should be a counterweight,” he said. “There must be.”
“There’s a counterweight on the underside of the door,” I told him, “a thick strip of metal. You can see it hasn’t been tampered with.” Timkan looked around until he found a stepladder. He got up on it and examined the door. “Yes,” he said, “I guess you’re right. Somehow, that door—well, it didn’t do just what I thought it would do.” Alfman said breezily. “I don’t want to go until the party’s over. I don’t want any alibis. How’s the counterweight?” Dr. Gelderfield turned the wheel chair around—waited. “It seems okay,” I told Alfman.
He got back in his car.
Dr. Gelderfield, who had walked over to join us, looked at him, his forehead creased into a scowl. “I wouldn’t trust that man as far as I could throw an elephant by the tail,” he announced.
Bertha Cool, who had walked up to stand behind him, said, “Make it a hippopotamus as far as I’m concerned.” Dr. Gelderfield smiled at her. He’d seemed to take quite an interest in Bertha from the minute he met her. “The trouble is,” he said, “so many of our corporations judge a man’s value by the results that he gets. I suppose it’s perfectly true the insurance corporations are willing to pay just claims, but the adjusters and district managers like to show the head office how much money they can save.” I got up on the stepladder and ran my hand over the part of the door which was concealed up near the top of the garage.
“Watch out for spiders,” Bertha said. “That’s a good place for a black widow spider. You’d better put on a glove, Donald Lam.”
“There aren’t any spider webs up here,” I said, running my hand along the smooth side of the door.
Dr. Gelderfield seemed trying to impress Bertha. He said, “You can see the fact that the door is constantly in motion would No, wait a minute. You say there aren’t any cobwebs up there, Lam?” I said, “No, and it strikes me as being just as significant as it does you. Wait a minute.” My fingers, sliding along the door, encountered a piece of metal.
“Let’s have that flashlight,” I said.
Dr. Gelderfield handed it up.
I climbed up on the top rung of the stepladder. By tilting my head to one side, I could just see into the crack. A piece of metal had been clamped on to the door.
“Call the adjuster back,” I said.
Dr. Gelderfield shouted at Alfman, but Alfman had his car started and was backing out of the driveway.
“What’s all the excitement?” Timley asked as Dr. Gelderfield sprinted down the runway.
“A piece of metal on the door up here.”
“Well, what about it?”
“It puts more weight on the back of the door, tends to make the door come back up instead of down.”
“Well, what of it?” I said, “Nothing, except it might save the insurance company forty thousand bucks.”
“An insurance company wouldn’t do anything like that,” Timley said positively.
“The company might not.” I heard steps, and Dr. Gelderfield came bustling back into the garage. “Now then,” he said to Alfman, “we’ve got something else for you to take a picture of.”
“What is it?” Alfman asked.
I’d been doing a little exploring while Gelderfield had gone after the adjuster. “Up here in the door,” I said. “A piece of lead has been fastened on this edge.”
“Nonsense,” Alfman said. “You couldn’t get your hand into a
space that narrow. You couldn’t put in a nail or a screw to save your life.” I said, “You wouldn’t have to. Notice these two bolts on the underside of the door. They don’t seem to serve any purpose.”
“Well?” I said, “Someone bored through the door from this side, put a strip of lead up on that part of the door, worked bolts throughout it, and put nuts on the bolts to hold this in place. It’s been done recently.”
“Since you inspected it at six o’clock?” Dr. Gelderfield asked.
I said, “I won’t swear to it, because I didn’t search this part of the door. I just looked at the counterweight to make certain it hadn’t been tampered with.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Timley asked. “Leave it as it is. The police may be able to get fingerprints.” Dr. Gelderfield said, “I must tell my patient. Good heavens, I’ve left her sitting there in the wheel chair. I ”
“It’s all right,” Bertha said dryly. “When you were chasing after the adjuster, she got up out of the wheel chair and walked over here to see what it was all about; then she went back and became an invalid again.” Dr. Gelderfield said, “She shouldn’t have done that,” and dashed over to the chair.
I got down off the stepladder.
Gelderfield was bent solicitously over Mrs. Devarest, rearranging robes, asking anxious questions.
Alfman said, with every appearance of genuine anger, “This is a hell of a plant. I should have known I’d run into something like this. The whole test sounded so screwy in the first place.”
“Making any insinuations?” I asked.
“You’re damn right,” he said. “You’re trying to make the insurance company the goat in this thing. You want to say to a jury, `Look how the insurance company tried to change the evidence.’ It’s a ham grandstand. You show that the test didn’t work, and the widow is almost gypped out of forty thousand dollars. Then you discover where the crooked adjuster had placed a weight so it would interfere with your test. God damn you private detectives, anyway. You’re all a bunch of crooks and ” Bertha said, “Slap the bastard’s face, lover.” I stepped toward him. “I don’t have any idea who put that counterweight there. I’m not certain that you did. You may have. But I do know damn well I didn’t.” He said sneeringly, “Boloney! You know damn well who put that weight there.”
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