“Interesting,” I said.
“Isn’t it?”
“Where’s the letter that came by messenger?” I asked.
She opened her purse and handed me an envelope. I looked it over, pulled out my knife, cut the envelope along the edge, then pulled out a sheet of note paper. It was covered with masculine handwriting and was signed “Standley Downer.” It read:
Dear Mr. Lam:
Hello, Sucker!
I understand Hazel has asked you to get her fifty grand back. For your information, Hazel is all finished. I am the one who gave it to her, so now I’m taking it back. She hasn’t a dime left. It serves her right. If you expect her to pay you anything it won’t be in cash.
You’re a businessman. Don’t let her make a sucker out of you the way she tried to make a boob out of me.
I presume she told you she said “yes” in front of an altar. For your information, it was on the back seat of an automobile. She never got me near an altar. Every cent she ever had is money I gave her.
Any story she may have given you about inheriting the money is just so much malarkey. I told her I was giving her this wad of dough. She fell for that line. It was nice while it lasted.
If you feel you can run your business on promises go ahead and be a sucker. The only money she has to eat on is what she borrowed on her equity in the car.
So long, Sucker!
I handed the letter to Elsie. She read it and her eyes widened. “Donald, how did he know about all this?” she asked.
I said, “He might have a pipeline in to police headquarters, he might have a newspaper reporter tipping him off, or Hazel may have a friend in whom she’s confiding who is double-crossing her.”
“Interesting possibilities, aren’t they?” she said.
I nodded. “The guy works fast.”
“What was his object in writing you?” she asked.
“Trying to get me to layoff the case by telling me there wouldn’t be any money for a fee,” I said.
“But, Donald, if they’re not married, doesn’t that leave you in something of a spot? If you find him he’ll tell you to go jump in the lake.”
I said, “After I find him Hazel is supposed to take over. You remember she said she had something on him?”
Elsie thought things over for a moment, then said, “Donald, do you know what I think?”
“What?” I asked.
“That there’s collusion between Hazel and Standley. He assisted in stealing the money from the— Donald, they’re going to get you involved in this money deal and make you some sort of a cat’s-paw.”
“Could be,” I said.
“Donald, it has to be! This letter must have been written not too long after Hazel left your office.”
“It’s possible,” I said.
“Donald, don’t you understand? They’re working hand in glove, trying to trap you in some way.”
“If that’s true, we can’t stop them from being hand and glove,” I said.
“But what do we do?” she asked.
“You sit right here, Mrs. Lam,” I said. “You make up the bed. You ride herd on that telephone. You answer it every time it rings. You tell them that you’re Evelyn’s roommate, that Evelyn is going to call you sometime later on and that you’ll take any messages.”
“How long do I stay here?”
“Until I get back to relieve you,” I said. “Ring up the office. Say you had to leave early on account of a headache. Don’t let the switchboard operator get Bertha on the line.
“Incidentally, there’s an enclosed garage space that goes with this apartment. I’m going down now and take a look in there. You prowl through the wastebasket and see if there’s anything that would give us a clue. I don’t think there is, but you can give it a prowl.”
I headed for the door.
Elsie stood looking at me dubiously.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Afraid?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “It’s just that I’m trying to reconcile my ideas of a honeymoon with you to a dirty wastebasket filled with some other woman’s discarded clothing.”
“That’s the trouble with realization,” I said. “It’s always short of anticipation. You should think of how I feel.”
Chapter 4
The garage was padlocked. Mrs. Charlotte reluctantly gave me the key and told me it was the last key she had and be sure not to lose it. The previous occupant had taken the key with her when she left. She’d turned in the key to the apartment but had kept the key to the garage.
I assured Mrs. Charlotte I’d have a duplicate key made at my own expense and give her back her key.
I drove out to the garage, fitted the key to the padlock, snapped back the hasp and opened the door.
The only ventilation was through a little louvered window in the side wall just below the roof. The place was fairly dark and smelled musty.
I turned on the light.
There was a collection of junk from several previous occupants; an old casing, a jack handle, an ancient hub cap, some empty oil cans, some greasy coveralls, a water-stiffened piece of chamois skin, old and worn, and a brand-new trunk in the middle of the floor.
I examined it carefully. It was of a standard, expensive make and It was securely locked.
I gave the matter thoughtful consideration. The trunk was sitting in the exact center of the floor where anyone entering the garage couldn’t help but see it. Evelyn had left Mrs. Charlotte a note stating she was leaving, that her rent was paid up, that Mrs. Charlotte could re-rent the apartment. She had placed the key to the apartment in the note but she hadn’t returned the key to the garage.
Quite obviously, then, Evelyn intended to give the key to the garage to some person to come and get the trunk and take it to her, or ship it to her. She had given this person the key to the garage and, so there could be no question, had left the trunk in the middle of the floor where it couldn’t possibly be missed.
I left the garage, locked the padlock, jumped in the agency heap and cruised down the street until I came to the first good-looking hardware store I could find.
I bought the very best padlock in the store. It was guaranteed to be unpickable. There were two keys which came with the padlock.
I hurried back to the garage, unlocked the old padlock, made sure the trunk was still there, put the new padlock on the door, drove down the block and called Mrs. Charlotte.
When I had her on the phone I said, “This is Mr. Lam, Mrs. Charlotte. I’m going to have to store some rather valuable papers in the garage and I don’t like the idea of the previous occupant having a key which hasn’t been turned in, so I’m going to put a new padlock on the door. I’m having extra keys made for you.”
“Why, that’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Lam,” she said. “I have a call in for the maid. I’m trying to get the apartment cleaned up before evening.”
“Don’t worry too much about it,” I said. “My wife will get the worst of it out of the way. I’ll be seeing you later.”
“You’ll be in this evening?”
“I’ll probably have to go to San Francisco,” I said. “I’m waiting on a call now, but I’ll let you know. My wife will be there.”
I stopped in at a baggage store, bought myself a trunk of the same make and size as the one in the garage, went to my apartment and packed it full of clothes.
I wrote myself a letter addressing myself as George Biggs Gridley. The letter read:
Dear Mr. Gridley:
I am sorry we didn’t get together in Las Vegas. I couldn’t join you in Los Angeles, but I expect to get in touch with you while you’re at the Golden Gateway Hotel in San Francisco.
Once we get together I think an equitable division of the property can be worked out.