“Why?” Mason asked.
“Because he knew Nadine was illegitimate and he knew that when that came out Locke’s family wouldn’t stand for it. I think perhaps in the long run the old codger was trying to do Nadine a good turn. He knew that she had come here, that she was making friends and... I guess he didn’t want that old family skeleton to come out.”
“Did Nadine know she was illegitimate?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Was Mosher Higley her father?”
Newburn hesitated a moment, then said, “No.”
“All right,” Mason said. “Go on. Tell me your story.”
“Damn it, I hate to do this,” Newburn said.
“You’ve made that very manifest,” Mason told him.
“All right,” Newburn blurted, “when I learned that Nadine was in trouble and I learned that she’d made that confession, I — You see, Mosher Higley was dead, and, while Cap’n Hugo was there in the house, the actual title to the house was vested in us under Higley’s will. Sue and I were there quite a bit and—”
“Go on,” Mason said. “I don’t know how much time we’ve got. You’ve squirmed and twisted and wiggled — now for heaven’s sake tell me the truth. You’ve started, so cut out the preliminaries and get to the point.”
“All right,” Newburn said. “I knew that she was supposed to have told the doctor while she was under the influence of dope something about having given Mosher Higley some cyanide tablets. I don’t know how much she told him under the dope or how much came later, but I understood she’d simply taken the remaining tablets and afterwards she’d cut open shotgun shells and thrown both of them in the lake and... well, I picked up a partially filled bottle of those chemical sweetening tablets there at the house, dumped in some shot, drove out and threw the bottle in Twomby’s Lake.
“Then I left word that I had to see Nadine at the earliest possible moment. I tried several times to get in touch with her but my wife was keeping an eagle eye on me. I did get word to Nadine to call me the very first chance she had. She called two or three times and since Sue was there, I stalled it off as a wrong number. It wasn’t until my wife went out to see you that I had my chance to contact Nadine.”
“When did you throw this bottle in the lake?” Mason asked.
“Last night.”
“No one saw you?”
“No one.”
“No fingerprints?”
“I was very careful to avoid leaving any fingerprints on the bottle.”
“Where did you get the bottle and the tablets?”
“We use that same sugar substitute. My wife watches her calories very closely. In fact, it was through talking with her that Mosher Higley discovered this sugar substitute.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said.
“Well, I naturally had to get hold of Nadine and tell her that everything was all right, that she didn’t need to worry, to let them go ahead and search for the bottle, and when they found it they’d find there was nothing but harmless pills in it. That would kill her confession.”
“You told her that?”
“Yes.”
“And what happened?”
“Then I found out that the police had already recovered the bottle and the heat was off. Damn it, Mason, if you ever repeat this to anyone, if... but that’s the story.”
“All right,” Mason said. “I’ll give you the rest of the story. The police made another search. They found a second bottle. It was filled with cyanide tablets and shot. The heat’s back on. They’re looking for Nadine. When they find her they’ll arrest her and charge her with murder. The police think I’m responsible for the bottle that was tossed out in the lake with the harmless tablets in it.”
“My God, Mason,” Newburn said, “if the story of what I did comes out it will ruin my marriage. Sue will divorce me like that.” Newburn snapped his fingers in front of Mason’s face.
“The police are going to interview you,” Mason said. “What are you going to tell them?”
“I’m going to lie to them. I’ll tell them something. I’ll work up a story.”
“You can’t do it,” Mason said.
Newburn, suddenly angry, said, “Damn it, Mason, you talked me into telling the truth by telling me I couldn’t do it I... I don’t have to tell them that. I—”
“You can’t get away with it,” Mason said. “You—”
“Now just a minute,” Newburn interrupted. “You’re Nadine’s lawyer. You’re in this thing. You say the police think you tossed that bottle out there. Well—”
“Go on,” Mason said. “Follow that line of thinking to its logical conclusion and you’ll have your neck in a noose.”
“The hell with you,” Newburn said. “You’re advising me for your own interests. If the police think you tossed that other bottle out there, that... that takes me off the spot. They’d rather have something on you than on me.”
“And you’d like it that way?” Mason asked.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Newburn said. “My wife is a congenial companion. On the whole I’m happy. She’s just inherited some property that’s lousy with oil. You’re looking out for your interests. I’m going to start looking out for my interests.”
Newburn started walking toward the front door of the clubhouse.
“Just a minute,” Mason said. “You—”
“To hell with you,” Newburn told him. “I’ll get a lawyer of my own.”
He jerked open the door, went inside and slammed it shut.
Mason hesitated for a moment, then slowly walked down the steps to the car where Della Street was waiting.
“Well?” Della Street asked.
“Now,” Mason told her, “I wish I’d had a witness.”
“What did he say?” she asked.
Mason started the motor and spun the car into a U-turn.
“The last thing he said was all that counts,” he told her.
“And that was?”
“That I could go to hell, and that he was getting a lawyer to represent him.”
“Well,” Della Street asked, “what does he have to conceal?”
Mason said, “He’s the one who fixed up the bottle with the sugar substitute tablets and threw it out in Twomby’s Lake last night.”
“Chief!” she exclaimed, her voice triumphant “He admitted it?”
“He did to me. It’s the last time he’ll ever admit it,” Mason said. “He’ll get a lawyer and he’ll He like hell on the witness stand.”
“So what do we do?” she asked.
“Now,” Mason said, “we can eat.”
Della Street thought over the full significance of what had happened, then, after a moment, said dejectedly, “Now I don’t want to eat.”
Chapter Twelve
It was nearly midnight. Della Street, dark circles under her eyes, sat at her desk watching Mason apprehensively.
Mason was pacing the office floor. He had been pacing the floor with rhythmic regularity ever since their return from a cheerless dinner, into which two cocktails had failed to inject any warmth. Della Street had hardly touched her steak and Mason had eaten with the abstract disinterest of a condemned man partaking of his last meal.
Mason stopped his pacing. “Go on home, Della.”
She shook her head. “Not until we hear.”
Mason looked at his watch. “It’s a quarter of twelve. The police have been staked out at John Locke’s apartment all evening. By ten-thirty they began to suspect that he’d given them the slip. By eleven-thirty they were sure of it. They’re taking steps as of now.”
“What sort of steps?” Della Street asked.
“Look at it the way the police will,” Mason said. “They’ll know Nadine is missing, that John Locke is missing. They’ll suspect that John Locke might be a witness against her. They’ll begin to take measures to see that his testimony is protected.”