“She wanted to ask me a lot of questions. I didn’t have time to answer them, so I hung up.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to call you.”
“You mean you called her first?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re supposed to notify the police immediately, at a time like this.”
“That’s why I only took a second or two to give her the information that Rose Keeling had been murdered, and then hung up.”
Tragg said, “It’s a damn good thing you’ve got Della Street with you.”
“Isn’t it?”
“What did you want with Rose Keeling?”
“I wanted to see her about the will. I wanted to get a statement.”
“About what?”
“Her testimony in the will case.”
“What about it?”
“I wanted to check with her, that’s all.”
“Ever met her?”
“No.”
“Why the sudden rush to get her statement?”
“No sudden rush. I’d been putting it off.”
“Know what her testimony would have been?”
“Sure. She’d already testified when the will was admitted to probate. Now there’s going to be a contest after probate. I was just checking up as a matter of routine, to see if there were any new angles that hadn’t been covered in her previous testimony. I wanted to get the general background.”
Tragg stroked the angle of his jaw with the tips of his fingers. “The more I think of it, Mason, the more I think I’ll just keep you and Della Street out of circulation for a while.” He turned to one of the plainclothes officers and said, “Take Mason and Della Street downstairs and put them in a police car. Keep them there until I tell you to let them go. Be sure they don’t do any telephoning, don’t have any communication with anyone else, and don’t let them do any whispering. If they want to talk with each other, listen in on what they have to say.”
Mason said, “That’s a damn outrage, Tragg. I’m busy; I’ve work to do!”
“I know you have,” Tragg said soothingly, “but I want to make certain the work you have to do doesn’t interfere with the work I have to do.”
“And how long do we have to stay in custody?” Mason asked.
“Until we finish our investigation here.”
“When will that be?”
“When I feel that I’ve found out all there is to know.”
Chapter 11
Mason and Della Street sat in the rear seat of the big police sedan. The chunky, uniformed cop who occupied the front seat had enormous shoulders, a thick neck, heavy forehead, small, deep-set eyes, a huge chin and a battered nose that had apparently been flattened and left largely to its own devices, so far as healing was concerned.
Mason leaned over to Della Street, said in a low voice, “Della, there’s one thing...”
“No whispering!” the officer growled.
“I was merely giving some instructions to my secretary.”
“Keep your voice up when you do! I’m supposed to listen in.”
“I don’t think anyone has any right to tell me what tone of voice I should talk in, or what instructions I should give to my secretary.”
The officer merely held open the door on the left side of the car, got out, opened the door at the back, climbed in and pushed Mason over to one side of the car and said, “Get over, Buddy. I’ll sit between you. The ‘Loot’ said you weren’t to do any whispering, and when Tragg says you’re not to do any whispering, as far as I’m concerned, you’re not to whisper!”
Mason said, “Tragg has no right to order anything of that sort.”
“Okay. Have it your way. I don’t aim to stop you from doing anything that’s legal, so go right ahead and whisper. You can whisper across me. Whisper all you want.”
They sat in silence for several seconds. Then Mason said, “The verbal IQ of our esteemed contemporary of the governmental enforcement staff seems to be limited to the vernacular.”
“And so?” Della Street asked.
Mason, watching the officer’s expressionless countenance, said, “We might try polysyllabic circumlocution. The elimination of one of the subscribers to a clause of formal attestation enhances the importance of the remaining member of the trio who were present at the time of testamentary execution.”
“Now, what the hell!” the officer protested.
“Necessitating any remedial measures on our part?” Della Street inquired.
“Not necessarily remedial,” Mason said, “but precautionary.”
“In what way?”
“In view of the chirography transmitted yesterday, it might be well to ascertain specific details from the survivor of those present at the ceremonies incident to legalizing the cause of the testamentary controversy; and in the event I should be unavoidably detained, you might be able to expedite matters in that direction prior to interrogations by...”
“Say, bust it up. Bust it up!” the officer said. “What the hell’s the idea? Want me to get tough?”
“You certainly can’t put gags in our mouths, simply because Tragg wants us held for a while as material witnesses.”
“How the hell do I know what he wants you held as?” the officer asked. “I can sure as hell clap the bracelets on you, Mr. Mason, and handcuff you right around the pillar on that porch. And if you’re thinking of getting away from here any time soon, it’s going to make it a lot easier if I told the ‘Loot’ you weren’t trying to slip anything over. If I tell him you tried to foul me up with dictionary chatter, you’ll be here a long time.”
“Yes,” Della Street said, “I suppose that has its points, and, anyhow, on that one matter I see no need for additional clarification.”
“Who are you talking to? Me?” the officer asked.
Della Street nodded.
“Well, when you want to sing to me, make it a straight solo. Don’t warble, just sing.”
Della Street laughed. “Pardon me, I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“Nothing.”
Della Street turned to Mason. “Possibly a matter of emergency might result in a portion of the clerical force incident to the transaction of your business being liberated for the purpose of...”
“Oh, nuts!” the officer said. “You folks keep asking for it! Now, shut up. Another word out of either one of you and I’ll separate you so you won’t have a chance to talk.”
He climbed back into the front of the car, pressed the button which brought in the car police radio and said, “Car ninety-one car ninety-one. Ring Lieutenant Tragg. Tell him the two birds I’m holding at his orders insist on singing funny tunes. What does he want to do about it?”
“Car ninety-one,” a voice asked, “relaying a message to Lieutenant Tragg?”
“That’s right. You know where he is. There’s a phone there. Get him.”
Mason said, “After all, our conversation was merely a...”
“Shut up!”
Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, of course, if that’s the way you...”
“I said shut up, and meant it!”
Mason winked at Della Street, lapsed into silence.
The officer swung around in the seat, his beady, deep-set eyes regarding them in sullen appraisal.
A few moments later the door of the flat where Rose Keeling had been murdered opened and Lieutenant Tragg hurried across the porch and down to the car. “What’s the trouble?” he asked.
The officer gestured with his thumb. “These two birds keep on singing,” he said. “I broke up the whispering, and then they started a lot of dictionary stuff, back and forth, stuff that was over my head.”
“All right, Mason,” Tragg said. “I thought you could take a hint. I see you can’t. Get out!”
“But, Lieutenant, I was merely...”