The Case of the Backward Mule

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “Well, I stepped back out of the room and started to switch the lights off. Then I realized that I would have to notify the police, and that I was in a very peculiar position when it came to notifying the police. I hardly wished to go out looking for a telephone.”

  “Of course you knew you shouldn’t touch anything, Mr Clane.”

  “Of course. I understood that as a general proposition,” Clane said. “But I also knew that I would be supposed to notify the police immediately of finding the body of a murdered man this way, and I didn’t want to leave the place.”

  “Well, I can see your point. There’s a good deal in that. Yes, I can see the point. You felt that there might be quite a delay in getting to a telephone.”

  “And,” Clane went on dryly, “in case there should be a watchman around, I didn’t want to be placed in the position of having someone seeing me switch out the lights and leave a building in which there was a body of a freshly murdered man.”

  “A freshly murdered man? Then you thought the shooting had just been done, Mr Clane?”

  “I didn’t know. I assumed that it might have been.”

  “Well, yes, I can see your point. Yes, it might have been very embarrassing if someone had seen you leaving the building and then before you got to a telephone a discovery had been made, and people would have said “That Mr Clane now, he must have been the last man to see Gloster alive.” Yes, yes, I can see your point. Very embarrassing position for you to be put in, Mr Clane. So you went right over to the telephone and called the police.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And asked for Homicide?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, now that seems to cover the situation. By the way, did you notice this cot over here that has the blankets on it and the canned goods? And the waste-basket with the empty cans? You must have if you were prowling around enough to have noticed a bullet.”

  “I wasn’t prowling around,” Clane said.

  “But you did notice the bullet?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s rather a small object.”

  “It had ploughed up a fresh sliver there in the woodwork. Naturally I noticed it. It was right by the telephone.”

  “That’s right, that’s right,” Malloy said apologetically. “I’d forgotten about that, Mr Clane. You’ll pardon me for what I said about prowling around. Of course, you went over to use the telephone and naturally noticed that fresh sliver there. Of course you would, I should have realized that. It’s natural that you would have noticed it. But let’s get back to this cot and the canned goods and the cooking utensils. You noticed those?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, naturally you would have. A man who is trained to notice details like a bullet certainly would have noticed a whole stack of canned goods. I was just wasting your time and mine asking the question. Now what impression did that make on you, Mr Clane?”

  Clane said “I assumed that someone had been living here.”

  “Someone. Now did you have any idea who that someone might have been?”

  “No.”

  “Well now, you know, It’s a very peculiar thing, Mr Clane, but here’s Edward Harold, who murdered one of the members of this here Chinese art company, and he’s just as apt as not to have taken some keys from the body of the man he murdered. Keys, let us say, which would fit the warehouse. Did that ever occur to you?”

  “No.”

  “And, of course, the way we’ve been watching things—the hotels and rooming houses and apartment houses—and getting reports from any new transient that showed up, it almost stands to reason that this man Harold had to be hiding somewhere in a place just about like this, doesn’t it?”

  Clane said “I’m afraid, Inspector, that the ideas of an amateur would be of no value to you on a case of this kind. It’s rather late, and I’d like to tell you what I saw and then get back to bed. I’ve had a strenuous day. I don’t feel very much like speculating on what might or might not have happened.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Inspector Malloy said. “I understand exactly how you feel, Mr Clane, but what I’m trying to get at is whether perhaps the thought didn’t flash through your mind that this man Harold had been hiding here?”

  “I see nothing to indicate to me that the man who was living here was Edward Harold. After all, Inspector, you must remember that I don’t know Edward Harold. I’ve never met him.”

  “You haven’t?”

  “No.”

  “Well, well, well, That’s a new angle. That’s something I hadn’t considered. Interesting too, the way you get around. You arrive here from China and the first thing you know you’re all mixed up in this murder case. Well, well, let’s see. You want to get home, and I’ll just ask you a few more routine questions. Now you’re certain that you didn’t know that Harold was here when you came to call and you didn’t come to call on Harold instead of this man Gloster?”

  “I have told you,” Clane said with dignity, “that Gloster telephoned to me. He was the one who suggested that I meet him at this address.”

  “That’s right, That’s right. And you’re certain you came alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “There wasn’t a woman in that taxicab with you?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Well now, That’s strange, that is indeed. You didn’t carry anything with you that belonged to a woman, did you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Malloy suddenly turned to one of the men and said “Let me have that bag.”

  The man handed him a woman’s black handbag.

  One look at it and Clane realized that it was Cynthia Renton’s handbag. The purse she had been carrying with her that evening.

  “Now here’s a handbag or purse, whichever you want to call it,” Inspector Malloy went on, “that seems to have been brought here by a woman. The driving licence in there is in the name of Cynthia Renton, and there’s 2,500 dollars in twenty-dollar notes. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  Clane shook his head.

  “You didn’t bring it with you?”

  Again Clane shook his head.

  “About what time would you say that you arrived here?” Malloy asked.

  Clane looked at his watch. “Well, let’s see. I would say that I arrived here—oh, around midnight. Perhaps four or five minutes before twelve.”

  “That’s your best guess?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t see anything of a woman here?”

  “No.”

  “Now, you know this Cynthia Renton?”

  “Yes.”

  “Quite well?”

  “Yes.”

  “A very close friend of yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were going with her? You were pretty much wrapped up in her when you were here last, weren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re quite certain she wasn’t here visiting this Edward Harold and she asked you to come and see her and she was the one who telephoned and not George Gloster?”

  “I’ve answered that several times.”

  “I know you have, Mr Clane, and you’ll pardon me for asking it again, but I want to be absolutely sure that there couldn’t have been any mistake. It was Gloster who telephoned you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know Gloster?”

  “Yes.”

  “You talked with him?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the last time you saw him before the murder?”

  “Earlier this evening.”

  “Earlier this evening? Well, well, well! Now isn’t that something? It just goes to show what happens when we bring out all these little details. Now what was the occasion of meeting him that time, Mr Clane?”

  “I had an appointment with Mr Gloster, Stacey Nevis, and a man by the name of Ricardo Taonon. Taonon didn’t show up. I met the other two.”

  “Indeed, and why did you meet them?”r />
  “I had a business matter to discuss with them.”

  “Now aren’t those the men who are the partners in this here Oriental art company?”

  “You mean the Eastern Art Import and Trading Company?”

  “That’s it. I’m always getting these business names mixed up. My memory isn’t as good as it once was. But aren’t those the men who are partners in that company?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “And you wanted to see them?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had an appointment with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you saw this man Gloster and Nevis?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where?

  “At an office of Stacey Nevis.”

  “And you talked with these men?”

  “Yes.”

  “For about how long?”

  “Oh, ten or fifteen minutes.”

  “Well, now, isn’t that interesting? And then the next rattle out of the box Mr Gloster telephoned you at some unusual hour of the night. What time would you say it was?”

  “Oh, about eleven—perhaps ten minutes past.”

  “And Gloster asked you to come down here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you came right away?”

  “Not right away,” Clane said, sensing the trap. “I told him that I would be down shortly, and I dressed. I was lounging around in a dressing-gown and pyjamas.”

  “I see, I see. You told him you’d be down. You didn’t tell him just how soon?”

  “No.”

  “You told him perhaps right away?”

  “I may have given him that impression,” Clane said, aware of the fact it was quite possible the police had had his line tapped and knew all about that conversation.

  “But you didn’t get here right away.”

  “No.”

  “You say you got here around twelve?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you found a cruising taxicab very shortly after you’d left your place?”

  “Yes.”

  “And came here right away in it?”

  “Yes.”

  Inspector Malloy abruptly pushed out his hand, grabbed Clane’s hand once more in a bone-crushing grip and pumped his arm up and down. “Thank you ever so much, Mr Clane. Thank you very much indeed. You’ve been a real help, you really have. You have no idea how much help You’ve given me. I don’t think you fully appreciate how much you’ve helped me out. And I won’t detain you any longer. I know you’re sleepy, I know you’ve had a hard day. Freddy, will you take Mr Clane home? Drive him right to his apartment. He’ll give you the address and you drive him there by the shortest route. Get him home just as soon as you can. And good night, Mr Clane. That is, good morning. I hope you sleep tight.”

  “Thank you,” Clane said.

  Inspector Malloy started back for the warehouse. Freddy took Clane’s arm, and with official thoroughness piloted him over towards the police car.

  “Thank you,” Clane said.

  At the door of the warehouse Inspector Malloy called out as though it had been only an afterthought “By the way, Freddy, take a look at the trip mileage, will you? Find out just exactly how far it is from here to Mr Clane’s apartment down to a tenth of a mile, and drive slowly, don’t use the siren, keep within the legal limits. Drive just about the way you would if you were a taxi driver, and make a note of just how far it is and just how long it takes you to drive it. Good night, Mr Clane -that is, good morning, and thank you very, very much.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TERRY CLANE, TRYING THE BATHROOM DOOR the next morning, found it locked. And then, to his surprise, a feminine voice called out cheerfully “Just a moment.”

  Before Clane had entirely recovered from the effect of that shock, he heard the bolt turn on the inside and Cynthia Renton, wearing a pair of his pyjamas and carrying a toothbrush in her hand, smiled cheerfully at him, said “Good morning,” and walked on past as casually as though she had been sharing his apartment for untold years.

  “Hey!” Clane called. “What’s the big idea?”

  She paused, looked back over her shoulder with surprise. She said “I’m indebted to you for one toothbrush. Lucky for me that you were just moving in and Yat T’oy had bought all new supplies. He found a toothbrush for me without any trouble.”

  “How long have you been here?” Clane asked.

  Her eyes widened. “Why, ever since last night.”

  “What time last night?”

  “I came here when you were waiting for the police at the warehouse.”

  “I don’t get it,” Clane said.

  She said “Well, go in and take your shower and we’ll discuss it over breakfast,” and she went slip-slopping away down the corridor in a pair of Terry Clane’s slippers which were several sizes too large.

  Irritated, Clane summoned Yat T’oy.

  Yat T’oy’s explanation was ready and his face was as bland as the surface of a lake on a calm evening. “Missy say she come spend night. I think you send.”

  Clane said angrily “When it comes to certain people, you seem to take a great deal for granted.”

  “No savvy,” Yat T’oy said, his face not changing expression by so much as a flicker of a muscle, but his eyes twinkling with hidden amusement.

  Clane pushed his way into the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

  Cynthia was bubbling with good humour at breakfast. “Dear, dear, Owl, don’t tell me that you had a woman spending the night with you and didn’t know it! And for heaven”s sake, don’t try to tell that to the police.”

  “The police,” Clane said, “will probably tell it to me. Suppose you answer a few questions.”

  Her innocence was wide-eyed, her manner demure. “Why, certainly, Terry. Anything you ask.”

  “Just how did you get in here?”

  “Why, I walked in.”

  “I know. But just what caused you to honour me?”

  “Well,” she said. “I was out there in the warehouse when you discovered the body and called to me, and I had previously put my purse down on the edge of a packing-case. I left it there when I joined you in the doorway of the office and … well, what I saw in there just completely took my mind off it until after I had got in my car and driven away. And then I didn’t dare to go back. I knew that you’d called the police. I felt there was a good chance you might find my purse and hide it.”

  Clane said “I didn’t even see it. I went outside and waited for the police.”

  “Well,” she said, “there I was. I had a five-dollar note in the top of my stocking for mad money and that was all. Everything else was in the purse.”

  “Including a big wad of money?” Clane asked.

  “Oh sure. You know how it is. I thought I might be sort of on the dodge for a while. Or how do that say it in the underworld, Owl? I guess It’s on the lam—That’s what I mean. If I’m going to be a fugitive from justice, I must brush up on my underworld slang.”

  “So you’d drawn all this money out of the bank?”

  “Some out of the bank, some out of an emergency fund that I keep in my safe for things I might need in a hurry.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “I came to see you, Owl. I wanted to borrow some money. I was in a spot. Well, I left the car I was driving in the private garage where I’d been keeping it. You may have noticed that It’s not my car. It belongs to a friend who loaned it to me.

  “I took a cab and came here. Yat T’oy let me in. I waited for you, but while I was waiting, Yat T’oy scouted around to see that the coast was clear. Well, Owl it wasn’t.”

  “After I arrived and before you came home, a whole flock of plain-clothes men came driving up. I guess the only word for it is “debouched”. Anyhow, they scattered all around the neighbourhood so that could keep a watch on the flat. And there I was.

  “Yat T’oy reported to me and we decided we’d better sleep on it.”

&n
bsp; “They’ll search this place, then.”

  “They have already. As soon as Yat T’oy told me about them I felt certain that’d make some excuse, so I went out to the back service porch and hid in the broom closet. Sure enough, a man came up with the janitor to inspect a leak in the gas pipes. They prowled all around and then left. Yat T’oy came and got me—and here I am.”

  “How long do you think you can get away with this—staying here?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that I can’t leave. I’m trapped here. Honest, Owl, I didn’t plan it that way. I just wanted a loan and to talk with you and see if you’d found my purse or if the police had. And then after I got here, the police—how is it we say it in the underworld?—oh yes, they “sewed the place up”.”

  “It’s a mess,” Clane said.

  “I know. But it’s nice, isn’t it, Owl?”

  “What?”

  “Being a fugitive from justice this way. It’s a sort of a battle, matching your wits with the police.”

  Clane said “Snap out of it, Cynthia. You can’t kid your way out of this mess.”

  “Sometimes,” she said, “I dunk you’re right. But at least I can try, and it’s lots of fun trying.”

  “Behind that mask of facetious indifference,” Clane said, “you’re frightened. You know it and I know it. Why keep up the pretence? Why not give me the lowdown?”

  “I guess I’m keeping your morale up,” she said airily. “But you can see how nice it is, Terry. The police are looking for me all over the city, I haven’t any money and they have my purse and driving licence. Damn them, they even have my lipstick. And that hurts. You don’t realize what it means to be a woman and have no pockets, only a purse. And then lose that purse. Tell me, Owl, were you ever alone on the cold streets of a hostile city with the police looking for you and the fog making your nose run and you didn’t have a handkerchief?”

  Clane grinned. “You make it sound inviting. What are your plans?”

  “Why, I’m going to stay with you for a while, of course. The police have got everything else sewed up and this is the only place left.”

  “They’ll find you here.”

  “I don’t think so. They”re going to keep a watch on your apartment night and day from now on. They’ll know everyone who comes and goes. But it won’t ever occur to them that I got here first. Particularly after that inspection of the gas leak.“