The Case of the Lonely Heiress

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  Endicott burst out, “I consider this damned impertinent!”

  “So do I,” Niles said.

  “I don’t,” Palmer Endicott said calmly. “If we’re going to put our cards on the table, let’s put them all on the table. Rose Keeling was murdered today. Ralph was with her. He received a check from her, and he went to the bank and presented that check to have it certified. Under the circumstances, he’s going to have to account for every minute of his time, and if he can’t do it right now, I, for one, want to know it.”

  Ralph Endicott turned to him irritably. “What are you trying to do?” he said. “Casting insinuations?”

  “I’m not casting any insinuations,” Palmer said calmly, his eyes still fixed on his folded hands, his outward demeanor one of extreme placidity, “I’m merely checking. I want to know, myself, just as much as Mason does.”

  “My own brother!” Ralph snorted.

  “And doing you a great favor,” Palmer said.

  “Yes,” Ralph said sarcastically, “I know just how much of a favor you want to do me.” He drew his index finger in a circular cutting motion across the front of his throat.

  Niles said hastily, “Come, come, gentlemen, remember that Mr. Mason is here, and that Mr. Mason is representing adverse interests. Frankly, I see no reason for letting him question your word or indulge in any crossexamination.”

  Palmer Endicott pushed back his chair, said, “You folks can do whatever you want to, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m going to find out about that fingerprint, and I’m going to find out about it right now.”

  “Ralph isn’t trying to keep anything from you, Palmer,” Lorraine Parsons said acidly. “It’s merely that we object to discussing family affairs in front of this … this lawyer.”

  Palmer Endicott said, “The trouble with Ralph is he thinks he’s too smart. He’s always gilding the lily and painting the rose. If he’d only learn to confine himself to the evidence and tell the simple truth, we’d all be better off. If it hadn’t been for that time he tried to dress things up and make the evidence look better ten years ago, we wouldn’t have been dependent upon inheriting under our brother’s will. We could have been independently rich and …”

  “Palmer!” Lorraine snapped. “We won’t go into that.”

  “I was merely mentioning …”

  “Well, don’t.”

  Palmer walked into the next room, said, “Well, there’s an ink pad in the writing desk. Can you make fingerprints from an ordinary rubber stamp ink pad, Mr. Mason?”

  “I think so,” Mason said.

  Ralph Endicott said, “This is all foolishness.”

  Niles shifted his position uneasily in his chair. “I don’t approve of …”

  Palmer Endicott returned to the room, carrying an ink pad and a sheet of paper. “Here you are,” he said to Ralph Endicott, holding the paper out in front of him.

  “A blank sheet of paper and an ink pad. Let’s see your fingerprints.”

  Ralph Endicott said angrily, “You’re crazy, Palmer.”

  “Crazy like a fox,” Palmer said. “Come on over here and take your fingerprints.”

  He moved over to a small table at the far corner of the room, put down the sheet of paper and inked pad, said, “I’ll be getting a drink while you’re doing it.”

  “Do I have to?” Ralph Endicott asked the lawyer.

  “I would say not,” Niles said.

  Palmer Endicott, standing in the door of the butler’s pantry, said quietly and forcefully, “Go over to that table and put your prints on that paper. Do you all want Scotch and soda?”

  Mrs. Parsons said, “I think Scotch and soda would suit us all, Palmer, but I don’t think Mr. Mason would be comfortable drinking with us.”

  Ralph Endicott walked over to the small table, inked his fingers and sullenly pressed them down on the sheet of paper.

  Palmer Endicott, standing in the doorway, said, “Never let it be said that the Endicotts were remiss in hospitality. Scotch and soda, Mr. Mason?”

  “Please,” the lawyer said.

  Palmer Endicott left the room.

  Ralph Endicott, having finished with the prints of his right hand, placed his left hand on the pad and transferred a set of fingerprints to the paper. He waved the paper in the air so that the prints would dry, then brought it over to the table and placed it in front of Mason. His face was sullen.

  Mrs. Parsons said, “I, for one, bitterly resent the aspersions which are being cast upon the family. The Endicotts have at times been impecunious. They have never been dishonorable.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence while Mason studied the fingerprints.

  Palmer Endicott returned from the butler’s pantry with a half bottle of Scotch and glasses containing ice cubes. “How’s it coming?” he asked Mason.

  Mason, comparing the fingerprints, said, “It looks to me like a thumbprint—I think—that’s right. It’s the right thumbprint. They check absolutely.”

  “I’ll take a look for myself,” Niles said, and, crossing over to Mason, peered over the lawyer’s shoulder. At length he nodded. “That’s right,” he said, “they do seem to check.”

  Palmer Endicott poured Scotch into the glasses. He used no jigger for measurement, and it was noticeable that he tried to conserve the Scotch as much as possible. When he splashed soda into the glasses, the resulting mixture was a very faint amber color.

  “I hope you’re satisfied now,” Ralph said.

  Palmer Endicott moved the tray over to offer his sister a drink. “I’m not satisfied. I’m merely convinced. Of course, Ralph,” he went on musingly, “you had no incentive to kill her. You had no motive, as far as I can see. But you sure as hell did have an opportunity.”

  “I did not!” Ralph said indignantly. “She was alive and well when I left her, and I’m willing to bet the autopsy will show she was killed a long time after that.”

  “Do you know the time of death, Mason?” Niles asked.

  Mason said, “I think it was around eleven-forty.”

  “Well, we’ll find out from the police,” Niles said.

  Palmer Endicott, sipping his drink, slowly nodded.

  Mason said, “I notice on this check that when Rose Keeling signs her name, she uses a very soft pen. She writes with a vertical hand and there is a good deal of shading on the strokes.”

  Niles nodded. “I’d noticed that.”

  “But on this carbon copy of the letter, there is none of that.”

  “Naturally not,” Lorraine Parsons said. “That was written with an entirely different pen. Kindly don’t try to confuse the issues, Mr. Mason.”

  Mason smiled affably. “That’s the very point I was getting at, Mrs. Parsons. This note must have been written with a ball-point fountain pen. Otherwise so clear a carbon copy would have been impossible.”

  Mrs. Parsons said acidly, “That is the same handwriting, absolutely the same vertical penmanship as the signature on the check which the bank has certified.”

  Mason grinned. “Don’t misunderstand me. I was merely raising a point.”

  Ralph Endicott turned to Niles. “Well, what do you think of it?” he asked the lawyer.

  Niles said, “I think you have been more than frank with Mr. Mason. I think you have gone out of your way to tell him things that you certainly did not need to tell him.”

  “I want him to get the whole picture,” Ralph said.

  “He certainly should have it now.”

  Mason pushed back his chair. “I think I have it. Thank you.”

  Niles shook hands. Palmer Endicott came around the table to shake hands. Lorraine Parsons bowed a cold good night, and Ralph Endicott merely bowed without offering to shake hands.

  Mason left the place, got in his automobile, drove to the first pay station he could find and called police headquarters.

  Lieutenant Tragg was out.

  “I want to leave a message for him,” Mason said.

  “Okay, we’ll take it.”
>
  “Can you get him on the phone?”

  “I think so. We can put out a radio call for him. What’s on your mind?”

  Mason said, “Tell him that Ralph Endicott presented a check to be certified at the Central Security Bank shortly after ten o’clock today. The check was dated today, was payable to him, and had been signed by Rose Keeling. Is that important?”

  “If that’s true,” the voice at the other end of the line said, “it’s important as hell.”

  “Okay,” Mason said, “it’s true.”

  He hung up and dialed the number of Marilyn Marlow.

  After a moment or two she came to the phone.

  “Are you alone?” Mason asked.

  “No.”

  “Boy friend?”

  “No.”

  “Girl friend?”

  “No.”

  “Police?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason said, “The wind’s going to blow! Within the next hour they’ll have a carbon copy of the letter you destroyed. Don’t deny you received it; say it made you so mad you …”

  Mason heard a peculiar sound at the other end of the line, then a suppressed exclamation.

  The lawyer hesitated a moment, then went on talking casually. “I think the murder case is as good as solved. I find that Ralph Endicott presented a check for certification shortly after ten o’clock. The check was dated today and was signed by Rose Keeling. That should put him in the position of being the last one to see Rose Keeling alive. My advice to you is to co-operate in every way you can with the police, and tell them everything, because I think the murder will be cleared up in a few hours.”

  There was silence at the other end of the line.

  “Are you there?” Mason asked.

  Lieutenant Tragg’s voice, coming over the wire, said, “Well, thank you very much, Counselor, for your advice. I thought perhaps I’d better see what was going on when Miss Marlow had such an attack of monosyllables. I just thought it might be you asking questions.”

  “What the devil are you doing there?” Mason asked.

  “Following my profession,” Tragg said.

  “Well,” Mason told him, “that’s what I’m doing.”

  “So it would seem.”

  “You sound disappointed,” Mason said.

  “Not disappointed. Only startled. It’s such a strange sensation to listen in on a conversation you’re having with a client and hear you suggest that the client should co-operate with the police.”

  “Oh, I always do that,” Mason said breezily. “It’s not often that you hear me, that’s all. Have you been in touch with Headquarters lately?”

  “Why?”

  “I rang up and left a tip for you.”

  “The hell you did!”

  “That’s right. About this check.”

  “Is that on the square?”

  “Sure it is. Hang up and Headquarters will be calling you.”

  Tragg said, “And just in case this is a grandstand, Mason, and you intend to call Headquarters as soon as I’ve hung up, I’ll dial Headquarters right from here and get them on the line and find out if the information is already in there.”

  “It will be,” Mason said. “But what are you doing with Miss Marlow?”

  “Questioning her.”

  “Well, she’ll give you the answers,” Mason said.

  “Yes,” Tragg commented dryly, “I had just about come to the conclusion that she knew all the answers. Remember now, don’t try to call Headquarters, because I’m going to beat you to it.”

  And Tragg hung up.

  Mason dialed his office. Gertie answered the phone.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. “Running a night shift?”

  “Miss Street said things might be moving rather fast tonight, so we thought we’d wait around. She brought in some hot dogs and coffee and we’re just sitting here talking.”

  “Della’s there?”

  “Right here.”

  “Put her on.”

  Della Street came on the phone, said, “Yes, Chief.”

  “Thank heavens you’re there!” Mason told her. “We’ve got to work fast. Get out your form book. Make an application for a writ of habeas corpus for Marilyn Marlow, state that she is being detained by the police without any charge whatever having been placed against her, that her detention is, therefore, unlawful and illegal. Then make out a writ of habeas corpus for a judge to sign and be sure that the writ provides that she can be admitted to bail, pending the hearing on the writ. Have you got that?”

  “Okay, Chief. Gertie and I will hammer it out right away.”

  “That’s fine,” Mason said. “We haven’t a second to waste.”

  “The police have taken Marilyn Marlow?”

  “They are going to,” Mason said.

  “And then what?”

  “Then,” he said, “we run up against a very ticklish, very delicate and personal problem. Ralph Endicott has a carbon copy of a letter which he claims Rose Keeling sent Marilyn Marlow yesterday.”

  “Oh, oh!” Della exclaimed in dismay.

  “Exactly,” Mason told her, and hung up.

  13

  Marilyn Marlow sat under the glare of a pitiless light which threw every fleeting expression on her face into sharp visibility.

  The detectives and officers who sat in a circle around her were vague, indistinct, shadowy objects back of the glare of this light.

  “Can’t you get that light out of my eyes?” she asked.

  “What’s the matter?” Sergeant Holcomb’s sneering voice asked. “Are you afraid to let us see into your eyes?”

  “I’m not afraid to let you see into my very mind,” she said indignantly, “but that thing gives me a headache. It’s wearing me out. The glare is like driving at night when you’re tired and meeting an endless string of headlights.”

  “Come, come,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “let’s not talk about the light. Let’s talk about the case. The quicker you tell us about that, the quicker the light will go off.”

  “Those diamonds you’ve got on,” another voice said, “where did they come from?”

  “I’ve told you where they came from. My mother was a nurse. She nursed George P. Endicott for months before he died. He knew he was going, along toward the last, and he gave her the family jewelry. He said there was no one to take over after he was gone.”

  “Except two brothers and a sister.”

  “He cared nothing about them. They never came to see him while he was in the sanitarium. It was only after he died that they became affectionate. Then they moved into his house and took charge of everything they could get their hands on.”

  “Rather vindictive, aren’t you?” Sergeant Holcomb said.

  “I’m simply trying to tell you the truth.”

  “Okay,” a voice from the shadows said, “what about the diamonds?”

  “These were some of the jewels. He gave them to my mother and I inherited them from my mother when she … when she passed away.”

  A voice that was rasping and taunting, a voice which seemed only to make sneering, sarcastic, nasty remarks, came from far back in the shadows, hurtling another accusation at Marilyn Marlow. “Your mother was a nurse. She was nursing Endicott. She had a lot of dough when he kicked the bucket. How do you know she didn’t help ease him out of the picture?”

  Marilyn Marlow started to get up out of the chair. “Are you accusing my mother of murder?” she blazed. “Why, you …”

  A big hand clapped down on her shoulder and pushed her down. “Sit down, sister. Just answer questions. Never mind pouring on the abuse. Now, when did you see Rose Keeling last?”

  “I … I can’t remember just when it was.”

  “Saw her today, didn’t you?”

  “I … I can’t remember just when … I saw her….”

  “Oh, quit stalling. Bring that other dame in, Joe.”

  A door opened. A woman came in who stood as a vague, indistinct object back in th
e very dim shadows beyond the brilliant light.

  “Take a look at her,” a voice said. “Ever seen her before?”

  Marilyn Marlow said, “I can’t see who it is.”

  The sneering voice said, “You ain’t the one we’re talking to. We’re talking to the witness. Ever seen this dame in the chair before? The one under the light?”

  “Why, yes,” a woman’s well-modulated voice said.

  “Okay, okay. Where did you see her?”

  “She’s the woman I was telling you about, the one I described to you, the one I saw coming out of Rose Keeling’s flat, the one …”

  “Hold it, hold it!” the voice cautioned. “Never mind spilling everything in front of the suspect here. But this is the jane you saw, the one you were telling us about previously?”

  “Why, yes. That’s right.”

  “Okay. That’s all. Take her out, Joe.”

  The feminine figure was whisked out of the door.

  “Okay, baby,” the voice said, “come on, let’s come clean. Let’s have it and get it over with.”

  Marilyn Marlow, confused, said, “I tried to see Rose Keeling.”

  “Sure you did. You went to her flat today. Okay, now, tell us what happened. And if you try to lie, that’ll put your pretty neck right in the middle of a hemp loop.”

  “I … I just went there.”

  “Don’t kid us like that. You went inside. This witness saw you coming down the stairs and leaving the place. She’s described the whole business. She just had an idea something might be wrong, and she was keeping an eye on everybody that came and went. We’ve got the whole timetable. Now, you try holding out on us and you’ll be inside looking out. You come clean and explain things satisfactorily and we’ll give you a break. We have to know that you’re on the up-and-up. Now, why didn’t you tell us you went to Rose Keeling’s flat?”

  “I … well, I really didn’t see her.”

  “What do you mean, you didn’t see her?”

  “She …”

  “Yes, go on.”

  Sergeant Holcomb said irritably, “I tell you, we’re not going to get anywhere with the dame! She’s giving us the runaround. We’ve got everything we need on her, everything that happened. We know everybody who came and went, and the time they came and went, thanks to this witness.”