Mattern impulsively shot out his hand. “You’re a square shooter,” he said. “I’ll do that, Mr. Mason. You can count on me for anything.”
The two men shook hands.
Chapter 10
A telegram was lying on Mason’s desk when he entered the office Friday morning, and Della Street informed him that Mrs. Tump was impatiently awaiting his arrival in the outer office.
Mason opened the telegram. It was signed Adelle Hastings, and read:
HAVE CONTACTED PARTY REFERRED TO. NO CAUSE FOR CONCERN OVER ANY DEVELOPMENTS TO DATE. GO RIGHT AHEAD. EVERYTHING OKAY.
Mason thrust the telegram in his pocket, and said to Della Street, “All right. Let’s see what Mrs. Tump wants, and get her out of the way.”
Della Street ushered Mrs. Tump into the inner office. The woman’s grayish-green eyes glittered as she came sailing across the office. Only her lips were smiling.
“Good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said.
“How are you this morning, Mrs. Tump?”
“Very well, thank you. What have you found out?”
“Not a great deal,” Mason admitted, “but I’m making progress.”
“What about that fifty-thousand-dollar stock sale, Mr. Mason?”
Mason said, “I’m going to set that aside.”
“Is the stock worth anything?”
Mason indicated a chair, gave Mrs. Tump a cigarette, took one himself, lit up, and said, “That stock which was delivered to Loftus & Cale represented the private holdings of the president of the company. That should answer your question. I’m going to set the transaction aside on the ground that Tidings was dead before the check was delivered for the stock.”
She studied him with her glittering, hard eyes. “You can do that?”
“Yes.”
“How are you going to prove it?”
“For one thing,” Mason said, “I can prove it by the testimony of the autopsy surgeon — I hope.”
Mrs. Tump said, “Mr. Mason, I want to talk with you frankly.”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m not one to mince words.”
“Let’s have them unminced then,” Mason said with a smile.
She said, “Very well, Mr. Mason. When I wanted you to handle Byrl’s case, you began stalling for time.”
Mason raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.
“Now, of course, Mr. Mason, when we first came to you, you had no way of knowing that Mr. Tidings was dead.”
“Correct,” Mason said.
“Now, as I understand it, if you can prove that Mr. Tidings died somewhere before eleven o’clock on Tuesday morning, it will enable Byrl to get fifty thousand dollars back into the trust fund.”
“Correct.”
“Who will pay that fifty thousand?”
“We’ll proceed against Loftus & Cale,” Mason said. “They’ll have to try and get the money back from Bolus. Because I warned them of what they could expect, they’re taking steps to impound the money.”
“That’s very clever of you, Mr. Mason.”
“Thank you.”
“Mr. Mason, are you representing Adelle Hastings?”
Mason said, cautiously, “In what connection, Mrs. Tump?”
“In any connection.”
“A lawyer has to keep the affairs of his client confidential.”
Mrs. Tump said, “You know what I mean. If she should be accused of murdering Tidings, would you be her lawyer?”
Mason studied his cigarette thoughtfully. “That would be hard to say.”
“Very well,” Mrs. Tump said. “I just want to say one thing, and then I’m through, Mr. Mason. Personally, I think Adelle Hastings is a snob, an arrogant, insulting little snob. She’s done a lot to make things disagreeable for Byrl. I hate her because of that. But I know she isn’t one who would commit murder. I’ll say that for her — although I still hate her.
“Now then, Mr. Mason, suppose she’s accused of that murder. She might depend upon an alibi, and she might want to prove that Tidings died after twelve o’clock Tuesday in order to make her alibi good. Now then, if you tried to help her do that, you’d be working directly against Byrl’s interests because we want to show that Tidings died before eleven o’clock… You understand me, Mr. Mason?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Tump got to her feet. “Very well, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I just wanted to know where you stood. I’m never one to mince words. I don’t care whom you represent, but there’s one thing on which there must be no misunderstanding: Albert Tidings met his death before that stock deal went through… Good morning, Mr. Mason.”
Mason glanced across at Della Street as the door closed behind Mrs. Tump. “That,” he said, “is that… Get your hat and coat, Della. Bring along a notebook. We’re going to call on the woman who holds the other part of that ten-thousand-dollar bill.”
“You know who she is?” Della Street asked in surprise.
“I do now,” Mason said grimly, “—just about three days too late.”
“How did you discover her?”
“By a little head work,” Mason said. “And I should have known a lot sooner. Come on. Let’s go.”
They drove in Mason’s car out through the city, swinging to the northward away from the through boulevard.
“Mrs. Tidings?” Della Street asked, as they started climbing up a twisting road.
Mason nodded.
“But she was in Reno. She left Monday. She couldn’t have been at your office Monday night.”
Mason said patiently, “She’s the only one who’s tried to make her alibi stretch back of Monday night. All the others presented alibis for Tuesday afternoon.”
“Well?” Della Street asked.
“Well,” Mason said. “The answer is obvious. She’s the only one who knew that he was killed Monday night. She couldn’t look ahead into the future, and know that Mattern would try to protect his ten thousand dollars by having Tidings alive on Tuesday morning.”
“That’s all the evidence you have to go on, Chief?” Della Street asked.
“It’s enough,” Mason said grimly. “The minute she told me about leaving for Reno on Monday noon and driving all night, I should have known.”
“And she’s the masked woman?”
“Yes.”
“Do you suppose she’ll deny it?”
“Not now,” Mason said. “I’m only hoping that I can get there before Holcomb figures it out.”
“You think he’ll figure it out?”
“Yes.”
They drove in silence up the winding road. The house in which the body of Albert Tidings had been found glistened white and clean in the sunlight, giving no evidence of the sinister background of gruesome murder which had attached itself to the cozy bungalow.
“Well,” Mason said, “here we go.” He opened the car door, slid out to the pavement, and he and Della Street walked up the short space of cement which stretched from the porch to the street.
Mason pressed his thumb against the bell button.
Almost instantly the door was opened by Mrs. Tidings who was dressed for the street. “Why, good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said. “I thought I recognized you when you got out of the car.”
“Miss Street, Mrs. Tidings,” Mason introduced perfunctorily.
“How do you do?” Mrs. Tidings said to Della Street. “Won’t you come in?”
They entered the house, and Mrs. Tidings indicated chairs. “Cigarette?” she asked of Della Street, opening a humidor.
“Thank you,” Della said, taking one.
“I have one of my own,” Mason said, taking his cigarette case from his pocket.
Mrs. Tidings said, “Things are at sixes and sevens with me. I think you understand how it is. They’re having the funeral this afternoon. It was delayed while the experts were trying to uncover some clue which would point to the murderer… You don’t know what progress they’ve made, do you, Mr. Mason?”