The Case of the Curious Bride (7 page)

"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 all-night 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 dressing-room 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 twenty-eight East Pelton Avenue. The telegram was signed 'Gregory' and said, 'Awaiting your final answer five o'clock to-day 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 self-righteousness. "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 self-righteous determination.

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."

The lawyer let his smile become a grin.

"Well," she said in a voice that trickled effortlessly from the end of a glib tongue, "what is it?"

"I'm looking," said Perry Mason, "for Mrs. Montaine."

"She lives next door." Mason nodded, waiting. "Did you try over there?"

"You know I did. You were staring out at me from behind the curtain."

"Well, what if I was? I've got a right to look out of my own window, haven't I? Look here, my man, this is my house bought and paid for…"

Perry Mason laughed. "No offense," he said. "I'm trying to save time, that's all. You're a woman with an observing disposition. You saw me over at Montaine's. I'm wondering if, perhaps, you didn't see Mrs. Montaine when she left?"

"What's it to you if I did?"

"I'm very anxious to get in touch with her."

"You're a friend of hers?"

"Yes."

"Ain't her husband home?"

Perry Mason shook his head.

"Hmm," said the woman. "Must have gone out this morning a lot earlier than usual. I didn't see him, so I thought he was still in bed. They've got money, so he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to."

"Mrs. Montaine?" asked Perry Mason. "How about her?"

"She was his nurse. She married him for his money. She went away in a taxicab about half an hour ago, maybe a little less."

"How much baggage?" Perry Mason asked.

"Just a light bag," she said, "but there was an expressman came about an hour ago and got a trunk."

"You mean a transfer man?" asked Perry Mason.

"No, it was the express company."

"You don't know when she'll be back?"

"No. They don't confide their plans to me. The way they look at me, I'm just poor folks. You see, my son bought this house and didn't have it all paid for. That was when times were good. He had some kind of a life insurance loan that paid off the house when he died. That was the way Charles was, always kind and thoughtful. Most boys wouldn't have thought of their pa and ma and taken out insurance…"

Perry Mason bowed. "Thank you," he said, "very much. I think you've given me just the information that I want."

"If she comes back, who should I say called?" asked the woman.

"She won't be back," Perry Mason said.

The woman followed him to the edge of the porch. "You mean won't ever be back?" she asked. Perry Mason said nothing but strode rapidly to the sidewalk. "They say his folks don't approve of the match. What's her husband going to do if his father cuts him off without a cent?" the woman called after him.

Mason lengthened his strides, turned, smiled, raised his hat and rounded the corner. He caught a cab at the boulevard. "Municipal Airport," he said. The driver snapped the car into motion. "If," said the lawyer, "there are any fines, I'll pay them." The cab driver grinned, nursed his car into speed, slipped in and out of traffic along the boulevard with deft skill.

"This is as fast as the bus goes?" asked Perry Mason.

"When I'm driving it, it is."

"There's a good tip if you get me there in a rush, buddy."

"I'll get you there just as fast as it's safe to drive," the cab driver rejoined. "I've got a wife and kids and a job…"

He broke off as he slammed his foot on the brake pedal, twisted the steering wheel sharply, as a light sedan whizzed around a corner. "There you are," he called back over his shoulder, "that's what happens when you try to make time, and they don't give us any breaks in the home office. The cab driver is always wrong. We've got to drive our car, and we've got to drive the other fellow's car for him, too. When we get in a smash, we're laid off, and… Say, buddy, do you know you've got a tail?"

Perry Mason straightened to rigid attention. "Don't look around," warned the cab driver. "He's commencing to crowd up on us. It's a Ford coupe. I noticed it a ways back, just after you got in, and I didn't think anything of it, but he's been sticking pretty close to us all through the traffic."

Perry Mason raised his eyes and tried to see the road behind him in the rear-view mirror. "Wait a minute," the cab driver said, "and I'll give you a break."

He took advantage of a clear stretch in the traffic to raise his hand and adjust his mirror so that Perry Mason could watch the stream of traffic in the road behind him.

"You watch the rear. I'll keep an eye on the front," the driver told him.

Perry Mason's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Boy," he said, "you need a quick eye to spot that fellow."

"Oh, shucks," the cab driver protested, "that's nothing. I have to see what's going on in this racket, or the wife and kids would starve to death. You've got to have eyes in the back of your head. That's all I'm good for, driving a cab, but that's one thing I am good for."

Perry Mason said slowly, "A Ford coupe with a dented fender on the right. Two men in it… Tell you what you do, you swing to the left at the next corner and figure-eight around a couple of blocks. Let's just make it sure."

"They'll figure we've spotted them if you figure-eight," the driver said.

"I don't care what they figure," Perry Mason rejoined. "I want to smoke them out in the open. If they don't follow us they're going to lose us. If they do follow us, we'll stop and ask them what it's all about."

"Nobody that's likely to start throwing lead around, is it?" the driver inquired apprehensively.

"Nothing like that," Mason said. "They might be private dicks, that's all."

"Trouble with the wife?" the driver inquired.

"As you so aptly remarked," Perry Mason said, "you're an excellent cab driver. That is one of the things that you are good at. In fact, I believe you said that was the one thing you were good at."

The driver grinned. "Okay, chief," he said, "I'll mind my own business. I was just being sociable. Hang on. Here we go to the left."

The cab lurched into a fast turn, slid down a side street. "Hold everything, buddy, we're making another turn to the left." Once more the cab screamed into a wide turn.

"They went by," Perry Mason said. "Pull in close to the curb and stop for a minute. Let's see if they circle down the other street. I was watching them in the mirror. They slowed down at the intersection. They got there just as we made the second turn to the left. They acted for a minute as though they were going to make the turn, and then they passed it up."

The cab driver turned in his seat, chewed gum with rhythmic monotony as he peered through the window in the rear of the cab. "All the time we stand here, we're losing time," he said. "You going to take a plane?"

"I don't know," Perry Mason said, "I want to get some information."

"Uh huh… They ain't coming down any of these side streets."

"Suppose we run down to another boulevard and try for the airport along it. You could run down to Belvedere, couldn't you?"

"Sure, we could. You're the boss."

"Let's go," Mason said.

The driver straightened back in the seat and readjusted the rear-view mirror. "You won't want this any more, buddy," he told Perry Mason.

The cab once more clashed through its gears and rattled into speed. The lawyer sank back in the cushions. From time to time, he turned to look thoughtfully back at the road behind him. There was no sign of pursuit.

"Any particular place?" asked the cab driver, as the car turned in to the airport.

"The ticket office," Mason told him.

The cab driver nodded his head in a gesture of indication and said, "There's your boy friends."

A Ford coupe with a dented fender was parked beside the curb at the place where signs painted in red announced there was, "No parking."

"Police, eh?" asked the cab driver.

Mason stared curiously. "I don't know, I'm sure."

"They're dicks or they wouldn't park there," the cab driver remarked positively. "You want me to wait, buddy?"

"Yes," Mason said.

"I'll have to drive down there for a parking place."

"Okay. Go down and park. Wait for me."

Perry Mason walked through the door to the lobby of the airport ticket office, took half a dozen quick strides toward the ticket window, then abruptly halted as he caught sight of a brown coat with a brown fur collar. The coat was catching sunlight in a small enclosed space next to a swinging gate. Beyond this gate was a big tri-motored plane glistening in the sunlight. The propellers were clicking over at slow speed. Perry Mason pushed his way through the door. A uniformed official strode toward the gate. A stewardess climbed down from the plane and stood by the steps leading to the fuselage. Perry Mason moved up behind the coated figure. "Don't show any surprise, Rhoda," he said in a low voice.

She seemed to stiffen perceptibly, then slowly turned. Her eyes, dark with apprehension, flashed up at him. There was a quick intake of breath, then she turned away. "You," she said in a voice that would have been inaudible for more than ten feet.

"There are a couple of dicks looking for you," Mason went on in a low voice. "They probably haven't a photograph – just a description. They're watching the people getting aboard the plane. After the plane leaves, they'll search the airport. Go over to that telephone booth. I'll follow you in just a minute."

She slipped unobtrusively from the crowd at the gate, walked with rapidly nervous steps to the telephone booth, entered, and closed the door.

The uniformed attendant slid back the gate. Passengers started to board the plane. Two broad-shouldered men appeared from behind the fuselage, scanned each of the passengers with shrewd appraisal. Perry Mason took advantage of their preoccupation to walk with swift strides to the telephone booth. He jerked open the door. "Drop down to the floor, Rhoda," he said.

"I can't. There isn't room."

"You've got to make room. Turn around facing me. Get your back flat against the wall under the shelf that the telephone's on… That's it… Now double up your knees. That's fine."

Perry Mason managed to pull the door closed, stood at the telephone, his eyes making a swift survey of the lobby of the building. "Now listen," he said, "and get this straight. Those dicks either had a tip that you're taking this plane, or else they're covering all exits out of town – airports, railway stations, bus depots and all of that. I don't know them, but they know me, because they recognized me when I left your house and picked up a taxicab. They figured I was going to join you. They tried to tail me for a while, but I shook them, and they came out here. When they see me here, they'll figure that I was to meet you and give you some last minute instructions before you got on the plane, that you missed the plane and I'm telephoning, trying to locate you. I'll let them know after a while that I've seen them and keep in the telephone booth as though I was trying to hide. Do you get the sketch?"

"Yes," she said, her voice drifting up from the floor in mumbling acquiescence.

"All right, they're starting to look around now," Mason said. "I'll be talking over the telephone."

He removed the receiver from the hook but did not deposit a coin. He held his mouth against the mouthpiece of the telephone and talked rapidly, ostensibly to some party on the other end of the wire, in reality, giving swift instructions to Rhoda Montaine. "You were a little fool to try to get away on a plane," he said. "Flight is an indication of guilt. If they'd caught you boarding that plane with a ticket to some other city, they'd have strengthened the case against you. Now you've got to work things in such a way that they can't prove you were guilty of flight."

"How did you know I was here?" she asked.

"The same way they did," he said. "You left your house with some light articles of baggage. You shipped a trunk by express. If you'd been going on a train, you'd have checked the trunk.

"Now you're going to surrender, but not to the police. You're going to surrender to some newspaper that will get an exclusive story."

"You mean you want me to tell them my story?"

"No," Mason said. "We'll simply let them think you're going to tell them your story. You'll never have a chance."

"Why?"

"Because the detectives will grab you just as soon as you put in an appearance and before you have a chance to talk."

"Then what?"

"Then," he said, "keep silent. Don't tell any one anything. Tell them that you won't talk unless your attorney is present. Do you understand?"