Duryea said, “You lay off Gramps. He just gave me a darn good idea.”
“What?”
“Checking the typewriting on the carbon copy of that letter to see if it really was written on the machine we found on the yacht.”
She sighed. “And here I thought I was doing you a favor. Well, I’ve planted the seed now and Heaven knows what Gramps will do to show that he really is what he calls a ‘heller.’ ”
Chapter 18
Frank Duryea nodded to the three people who entered his office. Jack Elwell took the initiative. He stretched out his hand, and said, “I’m Elwell. Mighty glad to know you. Only too glad to come up here and do anything we can. Stearne was a nice chap, and if we can do anything to help bring his murderer to justice, we want to do it... Ain’t that right, Ned?”
Fielding nodded.
“My partner, Mr. Fielding,” Elwell introduced.
Duryea shook hands.
“My wife,” Fielding said, turning to the young woman at his side.
Duryea bowed again, muttered, “Mrs. Fielding.”
“They were married yesterday,” Elwell explained, grinning. “Little romance in the office going on right under my nose. They flew to Yuma and got spliced. Now, what can we do for you?”
Duryea said, “You control some Ventura County oil leases. You’d given Stearne an option on them. He had until midnight Saturday to exercise that option. Is that right?”
“That’s right. And he never exercised it.”
“His special administratrix did?”
“That’s a question for the lawyers. As far as we’re concerned, we’re in the clear. The option read that he didn’t have any rights whatever in the property after Saturday. The option period wasn’t to be extended by operation of law, by holidays, or by any other cause whatsoever, whether it was anything within the control of either or both of the parties, or something entirely beyond their control, or an act of God. You see, I made an option one time with a fellow, way back when they were declaring holidays in order to give the banks a rest, and I got in a big lawsuit over it. When I drew up this option, I made it cover everything.”
“Then you didn’t get any letter from Stearne accepting the option?”
“Absolutely not.”
“The attorney for the estate says such a letter was mailed.”
Elwell regarded the district attorney with clear-eyed candor. “I’m going to tell you the truth, Mr. Duryea. Stearne intended to mail that letter all right. I think he had it all written and was intending to mail it, but something happened to him before he mailed the letter.”
Duryea said cautiously, “That would, of course, be very important, because it would go a long ways toward fixing the time of death. The copy which Mr. Hazlit showed me bore a notation which I understand is in the handwriting of the deceased, that the original had been dropped in the mail at the post office just before five o’clock. There’s a possibility, of course, that the copy was mailed first, and Stearne’s written notation related to what he intended to do.”
Elwell said, “That’s exactly what happened. He mailed the copy from some box here. He intended to take the original to the post office himself. The reason he didn’t mail it was that he was murdered before five o’clock.”
“You’re sure you didn’t receive any such letter?”
“Absolutely. It wasn’t in the mail. Why, you can ask Martha here — Mrs. Fielding. She’s been with us for a good many years. She’s the one that got the mail on Monday morning.”
Duryea looked at Mrs. Fielding.
She surveyed him with placid eyes and expressionless countenance. “I got to the office Monday morning,” she said. “I looked in the door and the mail was there in the letter chute. There were quite a few letters, and they hadn’t dropped down to the floor. They were still stuck in the chute. That was be-cause there were so many of them.”
Duryea nodded.
“I took them out and looked through them to see what return addresses were on the envelopes. Then I took my paper knife and slit them open, and took out each letter and read it.”
“Why did you do that?” Duryea asked.
“To know whether it was a matter I could handle, like an order, whether the letter went to Mr. Elwell, or to Ned — Mr. Fielding.”
“That’s your usual custom?”
“Uh huh.”
“What do you do with the envelopes?”
“Fasten them to the letters with paper clips. Mr. Elwell told me always to do that...”
Elwell interrupted to say, “That’s my universal business custom. She’s done that ever since she started working for us. I always want the envelope preserved until after I’ve seen the letter.”
Duryea said, “I’m going to ask all of you to make written sworn statements.”
“Sure thing,” Elwell said, “only too glad to do it.”
Martha Fielding said, “If you don’t mind, Mr. Duryea, I’d like to type my own statement. I guess I’ve been a stenographer too long not to feel nervous about things that are dictated. If you’ll let me have a typewriter, I can write it out, and it will save you the trouble of dictating it.”
“Put all the facts in it,” Duryea said.
“Oh, certainly,” she told him, and smiled.
Gramps Wiggins escorted a light-haired, reluctant young woman into Duryea’s outer office. “The district attorney in?” he asked.
Duryea’s secretary said, “He’s engaged. Was he expecting you?”
“Nope, but I gotta see him right away.”
“One of the deputies perhaps could...”
Wiggins said impatiently, “You go tell him that Mr. Wiggins is out here and has to see him right away, that it’s important. You get me, important?”
She left her typewriter, vanished through a door marked PRIVATE, and returned presently to say, “You may go right on in, Mr. Wiggins.”
Gramps took the young woman’s arm and said, “Right this way.”
She muttered something in an undertone, and Gramps said, reassuringly, “Forget it. There ain’t nothin’ to it. Just let me talk with him.”
Duryea was worried. He was beginning to realize that this murder case, in place of clarifying itself, was becoming more and more complicated. If Elwell and Fielding were telling the truth, — if Stearne had been murdered before he had mailed that letter of acceptance, the district attorney had a valuable clue as to the time at which the murder actually had been committed. If, on the other hand, these men were falsifying the evidence so as to make a second sale of the oil leases, Duryea dare not permit himself to be imposed upon. It would be fatal should he attempt to build a case on the strength of their testimony.
“I can give you only a very few minutes,” he said to Gramps, and he placed his watch on the desk.
Gramps nodded. “Got a young woman here that knows something,” he said. “Name’s Rodman — Alta Rodman.”
Methodically, Duryea reached for a memo pad. “Miss or Mrs.?” he inquired, holding his pencil poised.
“Mrs.,” the young woman said.
Gramps motioned Mrs. Rodman to a chair, settled himself, and crossed his legs.
“Well. What is it?” Duryea asked.
“Mrs. Rodman,” Gramps explained, “is workin’ as an usher in a motion picture theater. She’s done some stenographic work, though, an’ she wanted to get on steady if she could as a secretary somewhere. She left her name around with the different employment agencies, an’ she said she was willin’ to go anywhere durin’ the daytime an’ do stenographic work. You see, because she worked nights as an usher, she could have her days free to...”
“I’m afraid I’m not in a position to offer Mrs. Rodman any...” He broke off abruptly as the look on Gramps’ face warned him. “Are you the young woman who went out to the Gypsy Queen Saturday afternoon?” he asked, turning to Mrs. Rodman.