“You love him?”
“Mr. Mason, why are you prying into my private affairs this way?”
“Because I want to find out something about you and about some of the things that are going on.”
She said, “Mr. Hollister is a gentleman. I care for him very deeply. I certainly respect him. He’s a speculator who deals in oil properties. He’ll take business trips for a week or two at a time, then he’ll be back here in the city for perhaps — oh, sometimes as long as a month.”
“And when he’s gone, you start playing around with Arthur Colson?”
“Why, Mister Mason!”
“Well?” Mason asked.
She shook her head, and said, “No, it’s not that way. Arthur’s just a business partner, but why are you so curious?”
“Because I want to find out. I have to know what’s going on.”
“Why?”
“Because I think it concerns me, and I think there may be more to this than you know about — or else you’re trying to slip a fast one over on me.”
“Why, Mister Mason! I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve acted in the most mysterious manner ever since you came in here this morning. I... I would like very much to have you negotiate this alimony matter with my ex-husband, Willard Barton, but I’m not going to permit you to make a lot of nasty insinuations just because I want you to do that for me. Of course, naturally, I respect you.”
“All right,” Mason said. “Under those circumstances tell me more about Arthur Colson.”
“What about him?”
“I want to know all about him. Not the business part, the other.”
“Heavens, he’s just a friend. He’s more a friend of Anita’s than he is of mine.”
“Who’s Anita?”
“Anita Jordon, a girl that I know.”
“Describe her.”
“She’s small, with very dark eyes, and nice dark hair. She likes to dress smartly and — you’d like her. She’s just as cute as can be.”
“All right. Now we’ve talked about everything else, let’s come back to the question, and talk about Arthur Colson.”
“What about him?”
“How long have you known him?”
“Not very long. He... he’s an inventor. Sort of the dreamy, studious type. We have difficulty getting him to relax and do any — well, any playing around. He likes to read. He’ll spend nights in research work at the library, reading. Then he’ll go home and make plans and pound away on his typewriter.”
“What does he invent?”
“Oh, lots of little gadgets. He’s made money out of some of them.”
“What sort of gadgets?”
“Well, right now he’s working on something in connection with infra-red rays. Before that, he worked out a device that opens and closes doors and does things like that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It works with invisible light, what I think they call a black light. A beam runs across the room and as soon as some object crosses that beam it closes a circuit and does things — oh, for instance, like making electrical contacts so that the minute you walk into the house the electric stove clicks on and starts cooking, the radio turns on, and lights come on, and... I don’t know, Mr. Mason, I think it’s just a gadget. So many of his things are scientifically fine, but impractical when you want to work with them.”
“And what’s your interest in him?”
“It’s just as I told you. I’m financing him.”
“And why did you put up money for his inventions?”
“Because I think it’s good business.”
“And he’s here until after midnight at times?”
“Well, sometimes when Mr. Hollister isn’t here, and I... oh, Arthur gets blue and lonely. You see, he makes it a rule to take only one day a week for relaxation. I’m trying to get him to take his evenings off. He’s definitely not the type that knows how to play. He’s dreamy and abstract, and sometimes he can be something of a bore.”
“But he likes Anita Jordon?”
“Yes.”
“And she likes him?”
“I guess so. Anita’s — well, Anita’s selfish in a way. You know, she wants security. I think she’d like very much to have someone marry her and settle down. I’ve tried to tell her that marriage doesn’t mean security, but you can’t argue with a girl about a thing like that.”
“No,” Mason said, “you can’t. Now, suppose you quit lying, Lucille, and tell me who bought this gun for you.”
“I think you’re attaching a perfectly exaggerated importance to that gun, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said, “When a woman takes a bath and has a gun on a stool right beside the bathtub, I feel that she’s the one who’s attaching an exaggerated importance to the weapon.”
“Someone has sworn he’s going to kill me. Arthur is afraid and I’m afraid.”
“Who’s that someone?”
“You wouldn’t know him.”
“You can’t be certain,” Mason said. “I know lots of people. What’s his name?”
“His name is Pitkin — Hartwell L. Pitkin. He’s a tough, coarse, uncouth individual. I made a mistake and married him when I was just a kid. I was only eighteen at the time, not old enough to have any sense about men. He had batted around and I felt he was a man of the world who could give me everything I wanted. I’d lived more or less of an isolated existence in a small town and...”
“How long did you live together?”
“Between two and three years.”
“Then what?”
“Then I ran away.”
“What do you mean, you ran away?”
“Just that.”
“Did you get a divorce?”
“Eventually, but at the time I left him, I just ran away.”
“With someone?” Mason asked.
“You’re terribly direct, aren’t you, Mr. Mason?”
“Were you with someone?” Mason repeated.
“Yes,” she said, meeting his eyes.
“So what happened?” Mason asked.
“Hartwell swore that he’d follow us, find us and kill us both. He couldn’t find me. He never did. I changed my name and then I got a divorce in Reno and...”
“And what happened to the man you ran away with?”
“He was killed in the war. I loved him.”
“And then what?”
“He left me some insurance and — well, I married Willard Barton.”
“All right, now tell me about Hartwell Pitkin.”
“He... he’s found out I’m in the city. Not the address yet.”
“He’s here in the city?”
“Yes.”
“Where? What’s he doing?”
“He’s working for a man by the name of Stephen Argyle. He lives at 938 West Casino Boulevard. He doesn’t know that I know where he is, but I found that out — and the worst of it is, Mr. Mason, that Ross Hollister and this man, Argyle, belong to the same club, play cards together and all that.
“Now you can see my predicament. Even if I should marry Ross Hollister it wouldn’t really solve anything. You can imagine how a a man like Ross would feel if he realized he’d married the ex-wife of his friend’s chauffeur. It would humiliate Ross, and his friends would laugh at him... and Hartwell Pitkin is crazy jealous.
“Oh, Mr. Mason, it’s a mess!”
“Now,” Mason said, “I am beginning to understand.”
“What do you mean by that?”
Mason gently but firmly pushed her toward the door of the bedroom. “Get some clothes on, Lucille. We’re going places.”
“Mr. Mason, why are you so... so grim?”
“Because you’ve been trying to slip something over.”
“I have not!”
“Did you get all this furniture as spoils from your last marriage?”
“Don’t be silly. It’s a furnished apartment.”