“Why... I hardly know how to answer that question.”
“A lawyer,” Mason observed, “would ask you to answer it ‘yes’ or ‘no.’”
“Why, I suppose every sister helps out her brother from time to time. She’d be a poor sister if she didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Mason agreed. “That brings us to the question of what you mean by ‘from time to time.’”
“Why, whenever a man finds himself in a pinch, or when there’s an emergency.”
“Has your brother ever given anything to you for your support?” Mason asked.
“No, I was thrown out on the world when I was a child. I had to earn my own way.”
“But you’ve helped out your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Often?”
“Occasionally.”
“In the form of loans?”
“I suppose so, yes.”
“How much of those loans have been repaid?”
“Why... I don’t know... You don’t consider your brother the same way you would a stranger. I... I don’t keep any account of it.”
“How much money have you given him in all?”
“I don’t know. I tell you I never kept track of it.”
“As much as a thousand dollars?”
“I guess so, yes.”
“Two thousand?”
“Perhaps.”
“Three?”
“Really, Mr. Mason, I don’t see the object of this.”
“Four?”
“But, Mr. Mason... ”
“Five?”
She straightened indignantly, and said, “What difference does it make?”
Mason said, “If he goes on the witness stand, a judge is quite apt to rule that it’s proper cross-examination as showing the extent of his interest. Was it as much as six?”
Her eyes, blinking rapidly, showed indignation. “It may have been.”
“As much as ten?”
“I don’t know.”
“Of this amount,” Mason asked, “has he ever repaid a dime?”
“I couldn’t tell you.”
Mason gently shook the dice together in his cupped hands. She watched him as if fascinated. He rolled them out with a long, sweeping gesture.
“For Heaven’s sake!” she snapped out. “Stop rolling those dice!”
“What’s the matter?” Perry asked, putting the dice down on the desk. “Don’t you like the bones?”
“No—. Yes,” she said. “Oh, I don’t know, you just make me nervous.”
Mason said, “Now, let me ask you another question. Did you ever hear of the Conway Appliance Company?”
“The name is familiar. Oh, I know. That was the name on the check. Alden gave the check to L. C. Conway.”
“That’s right,” Mason said. “The company specializes in the sale of crooked crap dice — like this pair — and includes, as a ‘premium,’ a lottery ticket. The company was originally operated by L. C. Conway. Then, a few days ago, it was apparently sold to a man named Serle — Guy T. Serle, who has moved the business to 209 East Ranchester Avenue. Does any of that mean anything to you?”
“Not a thing.”
Mason said, “Look here, Miss Milicant, I’m going to be frank with you. Here’s a description of L. C. Conway — approximately fifty-five, five feet ten inches, weight around one hundred and eighty, heavy features, partially bald with black hair coming to a peak near the center of his head. Has a slight limp. Does that description mean anything to you?”
She met his eyes. “Is it supposed to?”
“I thought it might.”
“The description,” she said abruptly, “fits my brother,” and Mason noticed that her hands were gripping the arms of the chair.
Mason said, “So it does,” as though the idea had just occurred to him. “Are you trying to suggest to me that your brother and L. C. Conway are one and the same?”
She said, “I thought you were the one who was trying to suggest that to me.”
Mason said, “I think you’d better check up on your brother and the possibility that he is the L. C. Conway who got that twenty thousand dollar check from Alden Leeds.”
Her face was white enough so that the patches of orange rouge ceased to blend with her natural color. “He couldn’t have done that,” she said slowly, “simply couldn’t — not after all I’ve done for him. It would be a terrible, a wicked thing to do.”
Mason said carelessly, “I believe Leeds made the bulk of his fortune from a gold strike up in the Yukon, did he not?”
“I’ve heard him say something like that.”
“Must be a great country,” Mason said.
“That was years ago,” she pointed out.
“Ever been up there?” the lawyer inquired.
She met his eyes steadily, and said, “No.”
“How about John?” Mason inquired. “I wonder if he was ever up in the Klondike or the Yukon?”
Again she met his eyes, and again, in the same positive voice, said, “No.”
Mason smiled to signify that the interview was over. “Thanks a lot,” he said.
For the moment, she made no move to leave. “Could you... would you... tell me just how it was you happened to suspect John of being L. C. Conway?”
Mason’s smile was both affable and evasive. “I thought,” he said, “the suggestion came from you. I read you Conway’s description, that was all.”
She recognized the note of dismissal in his voice and came to her feet.
“Does Phyllis know anything about this?” she asked.
“No one knows, outside of my office staff and those who are working with me.”
Ten minutes after Emily Milicant had left, Della Street announced that Ned Barkler was in the office.
Mason told her to bring him in, and, a few seconds later, was shaking hands with the calmly competent, completely unperturbed prospector.
“Hello,” Barkler said, his pipe clamped between his teeth. “Ain’t seen Phyllis, have you?”
“No,” Mason said. “I think she’s out at the house.”
“Nope. She ain’t there.”
“Perhaps she went to the bank. Were you out at the house?”
Barkler sat down, pushed the tobacco down into the bowl of his pipe with a horny forefinger, and said, “Some cops were out at the house messing around with fingerprints and stuff. They tried to shake me down, and I told them where they got off.”
“Alden Leeds’ study was ransacked,” Mason said.
“Uh-huh,” Barkler agreed.
Mason, eyeing the man curiously, said, “How did you happen to locate Alden Leeds?”
“Where?”
“At the sanitarium.”
A network of little wrinkles appeared around Barkler’s amused eyes. He took the pipe from his mouth to chuckle softly. Mason, sizing up his man, made no effort to crowd him, but tilting back in his swivel chair, lit another cigarette and waited.
After a few moments, Barkler went on, “That crowd sure must‘a thought Alden was getting simple. Christ Almighty, Alden’s been through things those stay-at-home bastards never even dreamt of — and taken them all in his stride. Why, he was in a mutiny one time... well, no... I guess he wasn’t either.”
“Leeds got in touch with you?” Mason prompted.
“Uh-huh, there was a couple of heavy rubber bands holding the curtains together in the bathroom. Alden slipped them off, tied them together, and then tied the ends to the iron bars on the window. He wrote a note asking whoever found it to ring me up and tell me where he was. Then he wrapped a little piece of soap in the paper to give it weight...” Barkler broke off to chuckle. His chuckling started a fit of coughing. His pipe went out, and he scratched a match to light it again.
“It worked?” Mason asked.
“Worked!” Barkler said. “I’ll say it worked... Heh, heh, heh... A guy walked past out in the street, and Alden turned loose his slingshot, and darned if he didn’t hit the guy right in the leg. The guy was sore for a minute, but he looked up and seen Alden in the window of the sanitarium. Alden made signs to him, so he picked up the note and read it and waved his hand to show that he understood. Guess he thought Alden was a nut all right, but he figured it wouldn’t do no harm to let me know where he was.”