The Case of the Curious Bride пм-4

by Эрл Стенли Гарднер

  Montaine nodded eagerly and said, "Now you've got the point. That's right!"

  "Now then," Mason went on, "have you any reason to think any one was keeping a casual eye on the garage?"

  "Why, no. Not that I know of."

  "But your wife evidently thought some one might be looking at the garage—a night watchman perhaps."

  "No. I think it was to keep me from looking out of the window and seeing the door was open."

  "But you were supposed to have been drugged."

  "Yes… I guess so."

  "Then she must have been careful to close the door for another reason."

  "I guess that's right. I hadn't thought of it in that way."

  Mason asked thoughtfully, "How do the doors slide?"

  "There are two tracks, one just outside of the other. Either door can slide all the way back and forth across the entire front of the garage. In that way, either car can be taken out. That is, you can take out the car on the left by sliding both doors to the right, or the car on the right by sliding both doors to the left. Then, when you close the garage, you simply leave one door on the left, slide the other back to the right and lock it with a padlock."

  Perry Mason's fingers tapped the key which lay on his desk. "And this is your key to the padlock?"

  "Yes."

  Mason indicated the newspaper photograph. "And this is your wife's key?"

  "Yes."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because there are only three keys. One of them I keep in the desk, one of them in my key container, and the other is in my wife's key container."

  "And you have looked in the desk, to make sure that the third key isn't missing?"

  "Yes."

  "All right, go on. What happened after your wife closed the garage door?"

  "She backed her car out, just as I've told you. Then she closed the garage door."

  "Did she," asked Perry Mason, "lock the garage door?"

  "Yes… No, I guess she didn't… no, she couldn't have."

  "The point I'm getting at," Mason said with slow emphasis, "is that if she dropped her keys while she was out, she couldn't have unlocked the garage door when she returned. I take it she did return, since you say she is home now."

  "That's right. She couldn't have locked the garage door."

  "What happened after she left?"

  "I tried to dress," Montaine said, "so that I could follow her. I wanted to know where she was going. As soon as she left the room, I started getting into my clothes, but I couldn't make it. She had driven away before I had my shoes on."

  "Did you make any effort to follow her?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I knew I couldn't catch up with her."

  "So you waited up until she came in?"

  "No, I got back into bed."

  "What time did she come back?"

  "Some time after two thirty, and before three o'clock."

  "Did she open the garage doors then?"

  "Yes, she opened them and drove her car in."

  "Then did she close them?"

  "She tried to."

  "But she didn't?"

  "No."

  "Why?"

  "Well, sometimes when the doors are slid back, the brace on the inside of one of the doors catches on the bumper of the other car in the garage. When that happens you have to lift the doors back away from the bumper."

  "The doors caught this time?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't she lift them away?"

  "She wasn't strong enough."

  "So she left the garage door open?"

  "Yes."

  "How did you know all this? You were lying in bed, weren't you?"

  "But I could hear her tugging at the door. And then, when I went out to look this morning, I saw what had happened."

  "All right, go on."

  "I lay in bed, pretending to be asleep."

  "When she came in?"

  "Yes."

  "Why didn't you confront her as she came in the room and ask her where the hell she'd been?"

  "I don't know. I was afraid she'd tell me."

  "Afraid she'd tell you what?"

  "Afraid she'd tell me something that would—would —"

  Perry Mason stared steadily at the reddishbrown eyes. "You'd better," he said slowly, "finish that sentence."

  Montaine took a deep breath. "If," he said, "your wife went out at one thirty in the morning, and…"

  "I'm a bachelor," Perry Mason said, "so leave me out of it. Tell me the facts."

  Montaine fidgeted on the edge of the chair, pushed his hair back with his spread fingers. "My wife," he said, "is rather mysterious, rather secretive. I think she acquired that habit from the fact that she's been supporting herself and wasn't accountable to any one. She isn't the type to volunteer explanations."

  "That still doesn't tell me anything."

  "She was," Montaine said, "that is, she really is… What I mean to say is… well, she's very friendly with a doctor—a physician who does quite a bit of operative work at the Sunnyside Hospital."

  "What's his name?"

  "Doctor Millsap—Doctor Claude Millsap."

  "And you thought she went to meet this Doctor Millsap?" Montaine nodded, shook his head, then nodded again.

  "And you were afraid to question her because you didn't want to have your suspicions confirmed?"

  "I was afraid to ask her at the time, yes."

  "Then what happened?"

  "Then this morning I realized what must have happened."

  "When did you realize what must have happened?"

  "When I saw the paper."

  "When did you see the paper?"

  "About an hour ago."

  "Where?"

  "In a little allnight restaurant, where I stopped to get some breakfast."

  "You hadn't had breakfast before that?"

  "Yes, I got up early this morning. I didn't know just what time it was. I made some coffee and drank three or four cups of it. Then I went for a long walk, and stopped in at the restaurant on the way back. That was when I saw the newspaper."

  "Did your wife know you had gone?"

  "Yes, she got up when I was making the coffee."

  "Did she say anything?"

  "She asked me how I'd slept."

  "What did you tell her?"

  "I told her I'd slept so soundly I hadn't heard a thing all night; that I hadn't even rolled over in bed."

  "Did she make any statements?"

  "Yes, she said she'd slept very well, herself; that it must have been the chocolate that made us sleep so soundly. She said she went to bed and didn't know anything from the time her head hit the pillow until she woke up."

  "And did your wife sleep well—after she came in?" Mason asked.

  "No. She took something, a hypodermic I think it was. She's a nurse, you know. I heard her in the bathroom, moving around, opening the medicine chest. Even then she didn't sleep. She did a lot of twisting and turning."

  "How did she look this morning?"

  "She looked like the very devil."

  "But she told you she'd slept well?"

  "Yes."

  "And you didn't question her statement?"

  "No."

  "Did you make any comment whatever?"

  "No."

  "And you made the coffee as soon as you got up?"

  Montaine lowered his eyes. "It sounds bad when I tell it," he said, "but it was really the most natural thing in the world. I looked around, of course, when I got up, and I saw my wife's purse lying on the dressingroom table. She was lying quietly then, drugged, you know. I opened it and looked inside."

  "Why?"

  "I thought I might find some clew."

  "Clew to what?"

  "To where she'd been."

  "But you didn't ask her because you were afraid she'd tell you," Mason said.

  "By that time," Montaine blurted, "I was in an awful mental state. You don't know anything
about the agonies I suffered during the still hours of the night. Remember that I had to pretend that I was drugged. I couldn't turn and twist in the bed. I just had to lie in the one position without moving. It was agony. I heard the clock strike every hour, and…"

  "What did you find in her purse?" Mason asked.

  "I found a telegram addressed to R. Montaine at one twentyeight East Pelton Avenue. The telegram was signed 'Gregory' and said, 'Awaiting your final answer five o'clock today extreme limit. "

  "You didn't take the telegram?"

  "No, I put it back in her purse. But I haven't told you all about it yet."

  "Tell me all about it then. Get started. I don't want to have to drag it out of you a bit at a time."

  "There was a name and address penciled on the telegram. It was Gregory Moxley, three sixteen Norwalk Avenue."

  "The name and address of the man who was killed," Mason said thoughtfully. Montaine nodded his head in quick acquiescence. "Did you," Mason asked, "notice whether her keys were in her purse at the time?"

  "No, I didn't. You see, at that time there was nothing to make me notice that particularly. I found the telegram, and, as soon as I read it, I thought that I understood why she'd gone out."

  "Then it wasn't Doctor Millsap that she went to meet?"

  "Yes, I think it was Millsap, but I didn't think so at the time."

  "What makes you think it was Millsap?"

  "I'm coming to that."

  "For God's sake, go ahead and come to it, then."

  "After my wife went out, I was in agony. I finally decided to call Doctor Millsap and let him know that I knew of his friendship with my wife."

  "What good would that have done?"

  "I don't know."

  "Anyway, you called Doctor Millsap?"

  "Yes."

  "What time?"

  "Around two o'clock."

  "What happened?"

  "I could hear the ringing noise of the telephone, and then, after a while, a Japanese servant answered the telephone. I told him I must speak with Doctor Millsap at once, that I was desperately ill."

  "Did you give him your name?"

  "No."

  "What did the Jap say?"

  "He said Doctor Millsap was out on a call."

  "Did you leave word for the Doctor to call when he came back?"

  "No, I hung up the telephone. I didn't want him to know who was calling."

  Mason shook his head, took a deep breath. "Would you kindly tell me," he said, "why the devil you didn't have the matter out with your wife? Why you didn't confront her when she returned to the house? Why you didn't ask her what she meant when she handed you the drugged chocolate? Why you didn't…"

  The young man drew himself up with dignity. "Because," he said, "I am a Montaine. We don't do things that way."

  "What way?"

  "We don't brawl. There are more dignified ways of settling those matters."

  "Well," Mason said wearily, "you saw the newspaper this morning, and then what happened?"

  "Then I realized what Rhoda… what my wife must have done."

  "What?"

  "She must have gone to meet Moxley. Doctor Millsap must have been there. There was a fight. Doctor Millsap murdered Moxley. My wife was mixed up in it in some way. She was in the room at the time. Her key container was left there. The police will trace it to her. She'll try to shield Millsap."

  "What makes you think so?"

  "I feel positive that she will."

  "Did you say anything to your wife about the garage doors being open?"

  "Yes," Montaine said; "from the kitchen window it's possible to look over to the garage. I called her attention to the garage doors when I was making the coffee."

  "What did she say?"

  "She said she didn't know anything about it at first, and then, later on, she said she 'remembered' that she had left her purse in her car and had locked up the garage. She said that just before she went to bed she remembered it and went out to get the purse."

  "How did she get in if she didn't have her keys?"

  "That's what I asked her," Montaine said. "You see, she's rather forgetful about her purse. She's left it around two or three times. Once she lost over a hundred dollars. And she keeps her keys in her purse. So I asked her how it happened she could have opened the door if her purse was locked in the car?"

  "What did she say?"

  "She said she got the extra key out of the desk."

  "Did she seem to be lying?"

  "No, she looked me straight in the eye and said it very convincingly."

  Mason made drumming noises on the edge of his desk with the tips of his fingers. "Exactly what is it," he asked, "that you want me to do?"

  "I want you to represent my wife," Montaine said. "I want you to promise me that you'll see to it she doesn't get herself into this thing trying to shield Doctor Millsap. That's first. The second thing I want is for you to protect my father."

  "Your father?"

  "Yes."

  "How does he come into it?"

  "It will kill him if our name is involved in a murder case. I want you to keep the Montaine name out of it just as much as possible. I want you to keep him… er… in the background."

  "That," Mason said, "is rather a large order. What else is it you want me to do?"

  "I want you to assist in prosecuting Millsap if it should turn out that he's guilty."

  "Suppose the prosecution of Millsap should involve your wife?"

  "Then, of course, you'd have to see that he wasn't prosecuted."

  Mason stared steadily at Carl Montaine. "There's a pretty good chance," he said, with slow emphasis, "that the police may not know anything about this garage key. They'll check down the list of persons owning Plymouth and Chevrolet cars. But if they should find your name, go to your garage and find that there wasn't any padlock on it or find a different padlock, they might not even question you or your wife."

  Montaine drew himself up once more. "The police," he said, "are going to know about it."

  "What makes you so positive?" Mason inquired.

  "Because," Montaine said, "I am going to tell them. It is my duty. I don't care if she is my wife, I can't conceal facts. I can't stand between her and the law."

  "Suppose she's innocent?"

  "Of course, she's innocent," Montaine flared. "That's what I'm telling you. It's this man, Millsap, that's guilty. You can put two and two together. She was out. He was out. Moxley was murdered. She'll try to protect him. He'll sell her out. The police must be notified and…"

  "Look here, Montaine," Mason interrupted, "you're jealous. That makes your mental perspective cockeyed. You'd better forget Millsap. Go to your wife. Get her explanation. Don't say a word to the police until…"

  Montaine got to his feet, stood very dignified and very reserved, his heroic manner marred somewhat by the mop of hair which was slumped down over his forehead. "The very thing Millsap would want," he said. "He has primed my wife with a lot of lies. She'd try to keep me from notifying the police. Then when the police did discover about the keys where would I be? No, Counselor, my mind is made up; I must maintain my integrity. I will be firm with my wife, firm but sympathetic. To Millsap I shall be an avenging fury."

  "For God's sake," Mason exploded, "quit that damned posing and come down to earth. You've sympathized with yourself so much that you've gone goofy and built up a mock heroic attitude…"

  Montaine interrupted, his face flushed. "That will do," he said with the forceful dignity of one who is saturated with selfrighteousness. "My mind is made up, Counselor. I am going to notify the police. I feel it is for the best interests of all concerned that I do so. Millsap can dominate my wife. He can't dominate the police."

  "You'd better go easy on that Millsap business," Mason warned. "You haven't a thing against him."

  "He was out—at the very time the murder was being committed."

  "He may have been out on a call. If you insist on telling the police about
your wife, that's one thing. But you start spilling stuff about Millsap and you'll find yourself in a jam."

  "Very well," Montaine agreed, "I will think over what you say. In the meantime you will represent my wife. You may send me a bill for your services. And please don't forget about my father. I want you to protect him in every way you can."

  "I can't divide my allegiance," Mason said grimly. "I'll represent your wife first. If Millsap gets in the way, he'll be smashed. I don't see where your father needs any protection. But if I'm going to represent your wife I'm not going to have my hands tied. What's more, I'm going to make your father come across with some coin. This business about 'sending a bill' doesn't sound good to me."

  Montaine said slowly, "Of course, I can see how you feel… My wife must come first… that's the way I want it."

  "Before your father?" asked Mason.

  Montaine lowered his eyes, said very faintly, "If it comes to that, yes."

  "Well, it won't come to that. Your father isn't mixed up in it. But he does control the purse strings. I'm going to make him pay me for what I do."

  "He won't. He hates Rhoda. I'll get the money somewhere, somehow. He won't pay a cent."

  "When are you going to notify the police?" Mason asked, changing the subject abruptly.

  "Now."

  "Over the telephone?"

  "No. I'm going to see them personally."

  Montaine turned toward the door, then, suddenly remembering something, spun about and approached Mason's desk with outstretched palm. "My key, Counselor," he said. "I almost forgot that."

  Perry Mason heaved a sigh, picked up the key from the desk and reluctantly dropped it into Montaine's palm. "I wish," he said, "you'd hold off doing anything until…" But Montaine marched to the corridor door, his manner oozing selfrighteous determination.

  Chapter 7

  Perry Mason frowningly consulted his wristwatch jobbed on impatient thumb against the bell button. After the third ring he turned away from the door and looked at the houses on either side. He saw the surreptitious motion of lace curtains in the adjoining house. Mason gave the bell one more try, then, when he heard no response, crossed directly to the house where he had detected the flicker of interest back of the curtain.

  His ring was followed almost immediately by the sound of clumping steps. The door opened and a fleshy woman stared at him with glittering, curious eyes. "You ain't a peddler?" she asked. Mason shook his head. "And if you were one of those college boys getting magazine subscriptions, you wouldn't wear a hat."