The Case of the Lonely Heiress

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “Where’s the phone?” he asked.

  Marilyn Marlow indicated the telephone.

  “You picked up the receiver and dialed my number. Did you call anyone else?”

  “No.”

  Mason said, “That telephone call puts us in a spot.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Mason said, “At twenty minutes to twelve I called this number. Someone was here. Someone evidently who didn’t want the phone to keep on ringing and ringing. The receiver was gently lifted off the cradle and …”

  “Why, that’s right,” Marilyn Marlow interrupted. “When I came here, the receiver was lying beside the telephone. It had been left off the cradle. I had to put it back and then wait for a minute for the line to come back in service.”

  Mason nodded, said, “The person who lifted the receiver was probably the murderer. We caught him in the middle of what he was doing, and the continued ringing of the telephone either made him nervous or else he was afraid it would attract attention, so he took the receiver off the hook. His fingerprints will be on the receiver. The hell of it is, yours will be on there too.”

  “Well, what’s wrong with that? I’ll tell the police exactly what happened and …”

  “That’s what we’re coming to,” Mason said. “We may not want to tell the police exactly what happened.”

  “Why not?”

  Mason said, “You probably have never stopped to figure it out, but it was considerably to your advantage to have Rose Keeling out of the way.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Mason said, “Rose Keeling was a subscribing witness to that will. She was threatening to change her testimony. As long as she was alive, she could do it. Now that she is dead, she can’t do it. You can use the testimony that was given by her at the time she went on the stand when the will was being admitted to probate. Do you understand that?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long have you understood it?”

  “Well—Mr. Caddo was the first one to point it out to me clearly.”

  “Do you mean he suggested that it might be to your advantage to have Rose Keeling put out of the way?”

  “Heavens, no! He only said that if Rose Keeling could be made to skip out, it would help.”

  Mason’s eyes were boring steadily into those of Marilyn Marlow. “You knew that Rose Keeling was going to be really difficult to keep in line?”

  “Yes, I knew it. I told you that.”

  “And you also told Caddo?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “In other words, Caddo got under your skin. pretty much. You talked quite a bit about your affairs.”

  She started making nervous patterns on her dress with her left forefinger. “I guess I told Caddo too much.”

  “How did you happen to spill everything to him?”

  “I didn’t. He has that insinuating way with him. He had found out quite a lot, surmised a lot more, and he had that sort of—well, that sort of take-it-for-granted attitude that’s rather hard to deal with. He’d assume things and sometimes it was hard to differentiate between what I told him and what he’d just taken for granted on his own.”

  “You’d told him quite a bit, however?”

  “Well, one way and another, he’d found out quite a bit about the situation.”

  Mason said, “I telephoned you and told’ you Mrs. Caddo was on the warpath.”

  She nodded.

  “You were to warn Rose Keeling.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you did so?”

  “Not right away.”

  “Why not?”

  “Something happened that—well, the situation became complicated.”

  Mason said, “For the love of Mike, snap out of it! You’ve told a lot of this stuff to a perfect stranger who came along and handed you a good line, and now you’re trying to get reticent with your own lawyer. Get your cards on the table.”

  She said, “The situation changed immediately.”

  “What changed it?”

  “A letter.”

  “Who wrote it?”

  “Rose.”

  “Where is it?”

  She opened her purse, took out an envelope and handed it to Mason.

  Mason looked at the canceled stamp, at the pen-and-ink address, at the postmark which showed an imprint of 7:30 P.M. of the day before.

  “When did you get this?”

  “This morning. It was in the morning mail.”

  Mason pulled note paper out of the envelope and read the pen-and-ink letter signed by Rose Keeling.

  When he had finished reading it, he read it aloud for the benefit of Della Street:

  “Dear Marilyn:

  “I don’t like to write this letter. Your mother and I were close friends. I would do anything for her, but I can’t perjure myself. The plain truth of the matter is that my testimony when I got on the witness stand the first time was false. I tried to fix things so I could help your mother. Actually, I was out of the room at the time that will was signed, if it ever was signed. I’ve tried to tell you about this in a nice way, so I could break it to you easy, but you thought I had my hand out and wanted some money or something. Nothing could have been farther from my thoughts. I was very friendly with your mother and I let that friendship distort my testimony when I was on the witness stand, and my conscience has been bothering me ever since. I have tried to break it to you easy, but I can’t; so now I’m breaking it to you the hard way. Sincerely yours,

  “Rose.

  “You got that letter this morning?” Mason asked Marilyn.

  She nodded.

  “You had it when I telephoned you?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t tell me about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  She said, “I felt certain it was—well, that Rose had made hints before and that I hadn’t done anything about it, and now she was trying to jar me into doing something. I knew that if I told you about it, you’d be very ethical and tell me I couldn’t pay her a cent.”

  “But you intended to make some promise to pay her?”

  “I didn’t know exactly what I did intend to do. You see, Mr. Mason, that letter is a lie. She was in the room when that will was signed. The testimony she gave when she was on the witness stand was the absolute truth. My mother told me so, and Ethel Furlong told me so. Ethel is a square-shooter. She has a good, clear memory, and she recalls everything that happened just as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Mr. Endicott was lying there on the bed and …”

  “We’ll talk about that when we’ve got more time,” Mason interrupted. “What I want to do right now is reconstruct your time schedule for this morning.”

  “Well, I got this letter and I didn’t know what to do about it. You see, the thing would have been different if I’d thought there was any possibility the letter told the truth, but I simply knew that it didn’t. Then you telephoned me about Mrs. Caddo and I was rather noncommittal. I felt for a minute it would be a mighty good thing if Dolores Caddo did go over to see Rose and make a scene. I thought something like that might give Rose Keeling something else to think about.”

  “But you had this letter when I telephoned you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did you do after I telephoned you?”

  “I thought things over for a while. Then I decided to ring Rose up. I got her on the phone and told her I wanted to talk with her. I was planning to tell her over the phone about Mrs. Caddo, but her manner wasn’t at all like that letter. She had been crying and she said, ‘Marilyn dear, please come over here right away. Please!’”

  “What did you do?”

  “I jumped in my car and came over here.”

  “And what happened then?”

  “Rose said, ‘Marilyn, I want to talk with you but I want to get my nerves quieted first. Will you please drive out to the tennis courts and play a couple of sets of tennis, and then we’ll talk.’ Well, I told her
I would, but that I’d have to go back to my apartment and get my tennis things and that I thought I’d bring my playsuit along and change here.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “She gave me a key and told me I should walk right in when I returned. She said she had been giving me a raw deal, but things were going to be different now.”

  “Well, I went out, drove to my apartment, stopping to do my grocery shopping on the way, got my tennis things and drove back here. When I got here I found the door downstairs was open an inch or two so I didn’t need the key. I came up here—and found this. I called you almost at once.”

  “Did you drive directly here from your apartment?”

  “No. I went to my bank first.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  She said, “I didn’t know just what was coming, Mr. Mason. I suppose I was foolish, but I thought that if Rose was trying to hold out for a little money, I might—well, I might give her some.

  “You know, Mr. Endicott gave mother some jewelry before his death. Most of it was stuff that had been in the family for a while, but some of them were more modern pieces. Mother had sold a few of those pieces to get a little money to carry on with, and I’d inherited that money when she died. It was in a joint account, but there isn’t much left. I was going to need financial help if I did anything with Rose. I went to the bank and asked them if I could get a little money if I needed it.”

  “What did the bank tell you?”

  “They were very nice.”

  “You didn’t tell them what you wanted the money for?”

  “Not in so many words. I told them I had some expenses coming up in connection with this will contest and in trying to protect my inheritance. The bank explained to me that they couldn’t underwrite my will contest, that it couldn’t gamble on the outcome of that; but that within reasonable limits they would let me have some money, with the understanding that if the will contest didn’t come out right, I’d turn the jewelry over to them as a pledge.”

  “They didn’t ask for jewelry in advance?”

  “No.”

  “How much jewelry is there?”

  “The bank says it’s worth easily seventy-five thousand dollars—the amount that’s left.”

  “How much did your mother sell?”

  “Not much. Five or six thousand dollars’ worth.”

  “What time did you talk with Rose Keeling on the phone?”

  “About eleven-ten.”

  “And then you came here?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time?”

  “Oh, I’d say eleven-twenty-five or so.”

  “What time did you get back here?”

  “Just about four or five minutes before I telephoned you.”

  “And what did you find?”

  “As I said, the door was partly open. I pushed it the rest of the way open, walked in, closed the door and found things just as they are now.”

  “Did you look around any?”

  “Just as far as the bedroom. I called out, ‘Yoo-hoo, Rose,’ and walked back to the bedroom and … you know what I saw. I was sick at my stomach. I backed out and—well, I got to the telephone and called you.”

  Mason said, “Wait here. Don’t move. Don’t touch anything. Keep your gloves on. I’m going to take a look.”

  “Want me?” Della Street asked.

  Mason shook his head and said, “It’s pretty sticky, Della. Evidently it was done with a knife. You sit here. Be careful not to touch anything and keep an eye on Marilyn. See that she doesn’t go to pieces.”

  Marilyn said, “I’ll be all right now, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason retraced his steps down the corridor into the bedroom, taking care not to touch anything, and de-touring the pool of crimson which was still welling out from the nude, white body which lay on the floor, partially on its side, the arms flung outward, as though in that last plunge Rose Keeling had tried to break the force of the fall as she hit the floor.

  There were two suitcases which had been packed with great care. They were open on the floor near the dresser. Some folded clothes had been placed on top of the dresser. On the bed lingerie and stockings were neatly laid out. On the floor, beneath the bed, rumpled into a ball, was a street dress, the bottom part of the garment now soaked with blood.

  Between the figure on the floor and the bathroom was a bath towel which had spots of blood on it. It had been dropped to the floor directly in front of the bathroom door.

  Mason skirted the red pool to look into the bathroom.

  The air was still steamy and moist. Paths of water-trickles were still evident on the mirror where moisture had condensed and run down the glass.

  The bathroom itself contained a medicine chest, clothes hamper, mirror, tooth-brush rack and the conventional bathroom fixtures. There was not so much as a drop of blood in the bathroom.

  Mason turned back to inspect the bedroom once more. A pair of tennis shoes, a tennis racket still in a press, and a can containing three tennis balls were near the closet door. The tennis racket was propped against the wall. The can of tennis balls lay crosswise on the tennis shoes.

  Flecks of white caught Mason’s eye and he leaned over to inspect those flecks more closely.

  They seemed to be ashes which had been dropped from a cigar and had spread out in a little cluster of light ash. Just inside the bedroom door was a place where a cigarette, about one-third smoked, had been dropped to the floor and had gradually burnt itself out, leaving a long streak of ash and a charred place on the floor.

  Mason tiptoed back from the bedroom, looked out into the kitchen and into a dining room. Through that an open door led into a bedroom and another bathroom. This bedroom evidently had not been occupied. There was a disused air to the place, and the white counterpane on the bed was lightly dust-covered.

  Mason returned to the living room.

  Della Street glanced up quickly, then swung her eyes significantly toward Marilyn Marlow.

  Marilyn Marlow was sitting with her gloved hands folded on her lap. Her white face emphasized the patches of orange rouge which were plainly visible against the pallor of her skin.

  Mason said quietly, “Marilyn, are you telling me the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “The whole truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rose Keeling told you she wanted to play tennis?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s quite a tennis player?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is rather a big place for one woman.”

  “She had a friend staying with her up until about two weeks ago. They shared the expense.”

  “Even so, it’s a pretty big place.”

  “Rose had a lease on it. She’s had it for some time. It’s a long-term lease. She got it at a low rental. She can take some woman in with her and charge her almost enough to pay for the whole flat. I know that.”

  “She rents it furnished?”

  “Yes.”

  “She gave you a key to get in with?”

  “Yes.”

  “You used it?”

  “No. I found the door open.”

  “Where’s the key?”

  Marilyn said, “Heavens, I don’t know. I … I guess I laid it on a table here somewhere.”

  Della Street pointed to a little table which held a few magazines, some volumes of phonograph records, and a radio.

  The key glinted near the radio.

  Mason carefully picked up the key, then blew on the table in order to eliminate any possible outline in case a thin, hardly visible layer of dust might have been covering the table. He dropped the key in his vest pocket.

  Marilyn watched him with fascinated eyes.

  Mason said, “Marilyn, if I stick my neck out to help you, can you ride along with me and play, ball?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Can you protect Della and me in case we help you?”

  “Yes. I’ll do anything. Why?”

&nb
sp; Mason said in a low, kindly voice, “You have too much at stake here, Marilyn. That letter you received this morning would absolutely crucify you. It’s unreasonable to believe that Rose Keeling would have written you a letter like that and then acted the way you said she did.”

  “I can’t help it, Mr. Mason. I’m telling you the truth.”

  “I think you are. The point is that no one else would believe it. No jury on this earth would ever believe it. To the police, it would look very much as though you had received that letter, as though you had gone up to see Rose Keeling and had found her packing, found her obdurate, refusing to retract the statements she had made. You knew that if Rose could be kept from changing her testimony, you could use the old testimony she had given when the will was first offered for probate. You knew that if she changed her testimony, your entire inheritance would go out the window. You were in a tough spot. You came to see Rose and found her putting the finishing touches on her packing. She was getting ready to go away. You couldn’t afford to let her go. You killed her, but as an afterthought you put out the tennis things. You knew where she kept them.”

  “Mr. Mason, that’s utterly, absolutely absurd. I would never have done anything like that!”

  “I’m not talking about what you did,” Mason said. “I’m telling you what the police will think you did. Furthermore, the minute that letter is made public, your chance of inheriting property under Endicott’s will is almost nil.”

  “I realize that.”

  “Even if Rose Keeling can’t change her testimony, the contents of that letter spread out in the public press will have the effect of antagonizing everyone against you.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “And your fingerprints are on the telephone receiver. Evidently the prints of the murderer are on there too, because the murderer must have been the one who picked up the telephone receiver and moved it so the phone would quit ringing.”

  She nodded.

  Mason said, “There are times when a lawyer throws the rule book away, when he has to go by hunches. There’s some evidence that makes me believe some other person came here in the sixty minutes between your talk with Rose Keeling on the telephone and the time when you returned. But that evidence is nothing I can bring into court.”

  “Can you tell me what it is?”

  “It’s better that you don’t know.”