The Case of the Careless Kitten

by The Case of the Careless Kitten (retail) (epub)

  “They mean nothing to me,” Mason announced promptly.

  “How about you, Shore?” Lieutenant Tragg asked.

  Shore craned his neck, frowning thoughtfully.

  Mason said, “He can’t see very well from that position, Lieutenant. Suppose I get out, so he can look at them more closely.”

  “All right,” Tragg said, “but don’t touch any of the articles.”

  “Is it in order to ask where you got them?” Mason inquired.

  “They were done up in this handkerchief in a little bundle such as you see here, and were on the seat of the automobile beside the body.”

  “Indeed,” Mason said, squirming around so that he could get out of the front door without brushing against any of the articles. “It’s all right to touch the handkerchief, isn’t it, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes. We won’t get any fingerprints from the cloth.”

  Mason fingered the handkerchief. “Good grade of linen,” he said. “A man’s handkerchief. Touch of rather a peculiar color, isn’t there, Lieutenant?”

  “There may be.”

  As Mason slid out of the door, Gerald Shore, leaning over, exclaimed, “Why, that’s my brother’s watch!”

  “You mean Franklin Shore?” Lieutenant Tragg’s manner was tense.

  “Yes,” Gerald said, his voice showing his excitement. “That’s his watch all right, and I believe . . . yes, that’s his fountain pen!”

  “The initials ‘FBS’ are engraved on it,” Tragg said dryly. “It made me think perhaps it might have been your brother’s.”

  “It is. It’s his.”

  “How about the pencil?”

  “I’m not certain about the pencil.”

  “Or the billfold and card case?”

  “I can’t help you there.”

  “The knife?”

  Gerald shook his head. “But that’s his watch all right.”

  “Is the watch running?” Mason asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mason said, “Perhaps we could manipulate the handkerchief so we could look at the face of the watch.”

  “It’s a plain, open-faced watch,” Tragg said. “But you’ll notice there’s a scroll on the back of the watch, a scroll made by the initials ‘FBS.’ ”

  “Highly interesting,” Mason said. “We might look at the face of the watch to see whether it has any added significance.”

  The lawyer picked up the handkerchief, moved it around so that the watch slowly turned over.

  Mason glanced significantly at Della Street, closed one eye in a quick wink. Della Street promptly lowered her hands to the catch of her purse.

  Mason said, “That’s interesting. A Waltham watch. There’s something written on the dial. What is it? . . .” He bent over the handkerchief. “Hold that spotlight there just a moment if you will, Lieutenant.”

  “It’s a trade name and description of the watch,” Tragg said.

  Mason bent over it. “That’s right. The printing is rather fine. The word ‘Waltham’ is printed in a straight line, and down below it in a curve is ‘Vanguard 23 Jewels.’ Notice this, Lieutenant. There’s a winding indicator on the top, right by the figure twelve. It indicates when the watch has been wound up and when it’s run down. There are twenty-four hours on the dial and you can tell roughly from the position of the hand how long since it’s been wound—about six hours in this case. Rather interesting—don’t you think?”

  Tragg said, “Yes. It indicates that the watch was fully wound up about six hours ago—although I can’t see that the point has any particular significance.”

  Mason consulted his own watch. “It’s about ten-thirty,” he remarked, thoughtfully. “That would indicate the watch was wound up around four-thirty or five o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Exactly,” Tragg said. “But you’ll pardon me, Mason, if I don’t get very excited over it. Somehow or other, I’ve always noticed that when you start pointing out clues, it isn’t because you’re so anxious to have me become interested in the things you’re mentioning as to keep me from becoming interested about some other thing which you carefully avoid mentioning.”

  Helen Kendal grimaced over her shoulder at Della Street and in a loud stage whisper observed, “I’m glad I’m not Lieutenant Tragg’s wife!”

  Mason looked at Helen appreciatively. She was coming on fast. “The lieutenant isn’t married,” he told her.

  “Mr. Mason, I’m not at all surprised. Are you?”

  “No, Miss Kendal, I’m not,” Mason replied gravely. “They tell me that once . . . All right, Tragg, all right. Carry on.”

  “That’s his fountain pen all right,” Gerald Shore said. “I remember now that he was very fond of it.”

  “Carried it in his pocket all the time?” Lieutenant Tragg asked.

  “Yes.”

  Mason slid out of the car, peered over the back of the seat to make certain that Della Street had interpreted his signal correctly.

  She had her shorthand notebook on her knees and was taking down the conversation.

  Mason took a pencil and notebook from his pocket and scribbled a series of figures.

  Lieutenant Tragg said, “Quite obviously, that is the body of Henry Leech. There’s a driving license in his pocket. It shows that it was issued to Henry Leech who resides at the Castle Gate Hotel. Evidently, he must have been a permanent tenant there. There are also some other cards in the wallet. It’s Leech all right.”

  Gerald Shore said excitedly, “Look here, Lieutenant, this man was going to take us to my brother. I think you can appreciate the extreme importance of clearing up that old mystery.”

  Lieutenant Tragg nodded.

  “If my brother is alive and well, that is a matter of the greatest importance. It might even overshadow the murder of this man. I feel that you should lose no time in running down every available clue.”

  Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “Now, why should that overshadow a murder?”

  Shore said, “I’m speaking as a lawyer.”

  Tragg retorted, “Exactly. And I’m speaking as a detective.”

  Shore glanced at Mason; then turned hastily away. “My brother was a man of some importance. I take it this man Leech who lived at a questionable, second-rate hotel was not.”

  “Keep talking,” Tragg said. “You haven’t said anything—yet.”

  Shore went on rapidly, “Well, there might be a lot of difference in the legal situation. You see—well, I think you’ll understand what I mean.”

  Tragg thought for a moment, then snapped a question. “A will?”

  “I wasn’t referring to that.”

  “You had it in mind?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “But it’s an angle?”

  “Yes,” Shore admitted reluctantly. “It’s an angle.”

  Mason intervened with a suggestion. “Look here, Lieutenant, don’t you think under the circumstances, we’re entitled to see everything that was in the pockets of the dead man?”

  Tragg shook his head emphatically. “I’m handling this investigation on my own, Mason. You’re entitled to see nothing.”

  “At least,” Mason said, “we should be permitted to go with you to Henry Leech’s room in the Castle Gate Hotel and see what you uncover there in a search. After all, this is Gerald Shore’s brother we’re looking for, and Shore should have some rights in the matter.”

  Gerald Shore said hastily, “As far as I’m concerned, I have unlimited confidence in Lieutenant Tragg’s ability. I don’t want to do anything which would interfere. However, if there’s anything I can do to help, I want to place myself and every bit of my time and ability at the lieutenant’s disposal.”

  Tragg nodded absently. “I’ll call on you when I need anything.”

  Mason said, “Tragg, I want to go to the Castle Gate Hotel with you. I want to see what’s in this man’s room.”

  Lieutenant Tragg shook his head in a gesture of finality. “No, Mason, I’m going to run this investigation in my own
way without any suggestions or interference.”

  “But you’re going there now,” Mason insisted. “At least, we can follow along and . . .”

  “Nope,” Tragg said. “You’re all done. Your car’s parked down by Hollywood Boulevard, Mason. Go on down and get in it and go about your business. I’ll let you know in case I want anything. I’ll leave a man here with this body. I want a fingerprint man to go over every inch of the car. Okay, Floyd, let’s get started. And remember, Mason, I don’t want you to try following me. You stay away from the Castle Gate Hotel until I’ve completed my investigation. Good night.”

  Lieutenant Tragg gathered up the handkerchief and once more tied the corners together, making a compact bundle of it.

  Mason slid back into the front seat. “Well, counselor,” he remarked to Shore, “I guess Tragg doesn’t want any of our assistance. You might drive me back to where I’ve left my car parked. And,” he added in a lower voice, “get started before the lieutenant changes his mind.”

  “Why, what do you mean?” Shore asked, stepping on the starter.

  Mason said, in a low voice, “If I hadn’t apparently been so eager to have him let us accompany him to the Castle Gate Hotel, he might have insisted on it.”

  Shore turned to Mason defiantly. “Well,” he asked, “what’s wrong with that?”

  “Something else has happened that I thought we might want to investigate before the police stepped in. Matilda Shore is in the Exeter Hospital. She’s been poisoned.”

  “Good God!” Shore exclaimed, swinging the car into a quick turn. “Helen, did you hear that?”

  “I heard it,” Helen said calmly.

  “Easy, easy,” Mason warned Shore. “Don’t make it seem that you’re too anxious to get away. Drive along rather slowly until after the police car passes you. And that won’t be long. That fellow Floyd drives like the devil.”

  They had gone about three hundred yards when they saw the red spotlights on the police car blossom into ruddy brilliance, heard the sound of gears meshing, and then the big car came roaring up behind them.

  “Pull over,” Mason said, “and let’s hope he doesn’t think things over and change his mind.”

  The police car didn’t even hesitate, but went screaming on by, swaying into the first down turn of the long, winding grade.

  Mason settled back in the seat. “All right,” he said to Gerald Shore, “put her in second gear and turn her loose.”

  9

  MATILDA SHORE, propped up in the hospital bed, surveyed her visitors, her eyes showing her anger.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  “Why,” Gerald Shore explained, “we heard you were ill, and naturally wanted to see if there was anything we could do.”

  “Who told you?”

  “Mr. Mason learned about it.”

  She turned to Mason. “How?” she demanded.

  Mason bowed. “Just casually.”

  Gerald Shore put in hastily, “We had to see you, Matilda. Some things have happened which you should know about.”

  “I’ve been sick. I don’t want visitors. How did you know where I was? Why did you bring these people?”

  Gerald Shore said, “Perry Mason, the lawyer, and Della Street, his secretary, are interested in certain matters which are important to you.”

  Matilda Shore swung her big head on its thick neck, surveyed Perry Mason, and said, “Humph!”

  “How did you know where I was?” she asked after a moment.

  Helen Kendal said, “Komo was very much alarmed about you. He said you’d been poisoned, that you acted just like the kitten. You told him to drive you to a hospital.”

  “Why, the little slant-eyed hypocrite,” Matilda Shore said. “I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

  “He did,” Mason said, “until after he learned that we knew all about it. I am the one who found out about what had happened. I didn’t talk with Komo. Your niece talked with him after I had told her where you were.”

  “How did you find out?”

  Mason merely smiled. “I must protect my sources of information.”

  Heaving herself up to a more erect sitting position, Matilda Shore said, “And will you kindly tell me why my whereabouts and my physical condition should be any of your business?”

  “But, Matilda,” Gerald interrupted to explain. “There’s something about which you have to know. We simply had to reach you.”

  “Well, what is it? Stop beating around the bush.”

  Gerald said, “Franklin is alive.”

  “That’s no news to me, Gerald Shore. Of course, he’s alive! I’ve always known he was alive. Ran off with a trollop and left me to twiddle my thumbs. I suppose this means you’ve heard from him.”

  “You shouldn’t condemn him too hastily, Aunt Matilda,” Helen Kendal said in a voice which failed to carry the least conviction.

  “No fool like an old fool,” Matilda grumbled. “Man who was almost sixty running off with a woman half his age.”

  Mason turned to Gerald Shore. “Perhaps you’d better tell her how it happens you know he’s alive.”

  “He telephoned us this afternoon—rather, he telephoned Helen.”

  The bedsprings heaved as Matilda twisted her big body around. She opened a drawer in the table near the bed, took out a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles, adjusted them to her nose, and looked at her niece as though she were examining a bug through a microscope.

  “So—he telephoned—you. Afraid of me, I suppose.”

  The door opened. A nurse glided into the room, her starched uniform giving forth a businesslike rustle. “You mustn’t excite the patient,” she warned. “She really isn’t supposed to have visitors. You can only stay a few minutes.”

  Matilda glared at her. “I’m all right. Please leave us alone.”

  “But the doctor . . .”

  Matilda Shore motioned imperiously toward the door.

  The nurse hesitated a moment. “I’ll have to notify the doctor,” she murmured, then withdrew.

  Matilda swung back to Helen Kendal. “So he telephoned you, and you didn’t say a word about it. That’s gratitude. For ten years I devote myself to your—”

  Gerald Shore spoke hastily, “You see, Matilda, she thought she might be dealing with an impostor, and she didn’t want to disturb you with the news until she had made certain.”

  “Why did he telephone her?” Matilda demanded.

  “That’s just it,” Gerald said placatingly. “Everything indicated that we were dealing, not with Franklin, but with some impostor who wanted to impose upon the family. We thought it would be better to establish a preliminary contact before telling you anything about it.”

  “I’m not a child.”

  “I understand, Matilda, but we thought it was better this way.”

  “Humph!”

  Helen Kendal said, “He told me particularly that I couldn’t see him unless I followed his instructions to the letter.”

  “Did you see him?” Matilda asked, peering through her spectacles at her niece.

  “No, we didn’t. A man by the name of Leech was to lead us to him—and something happened so that Leech couldn’t do it.”

  Matilda Shore said, “It was Franklin all right. Sounds just like him—trying to sneak in the back way—wants to get hold of Helen, play up to her, get her sympathies aroused, and get her to intercede with me. Tell him to stop hiding behind a woman’s skirts and come out in the open and meet me. I’ll tell him a thing or two. I’ll file suit for divorce the minute he shows his face. I’ve been waiting ten years for this.”

  Mason said, “I trust your poisoning wasn’t serious, Mrs. Shore.”

  She rolled her eyes toward him, said, “Poisoning is always serious.”

  “How did it happen?” Gerald asked.

  “Got hold of the wrong bottle, that’s all. Had some heart medicine and some sleeping tablets in the medicine cupboard. Had a bottle of stout before I went to bed. Then went to get som
e sleeping tablets. Got the wrong bottle.”

  “When did you suspect it was the wrong bottle?” Mason asked.

  “Had a little spasm,” she replied. “Rang for Komo, told him to get out the car, to notify my doctor, and get me up to the hospital. Had enough presence of mind to drink a lot of mustard water and to get rid of as much of the stuff as I could. Told the doctor about how I’d gone to the medicine cabinet in the dark to take some sleeping medicine after I’d had my stout, told him I’d got the wrong bottle by mistake. Not certain he believes me. Anyhow, he got busy and fixed me up. I’m all right now. Want you to keep your mouth shut about that poisoning. I don’t want to have the police interfering in my business. Now then, I want to find Franklin. Let’s get him out into the open.”

  Mason said, “Has it ever occurred to you, Mrs. Shore, that there might be some connection between the return of your husband and the two instances of poisoning which have occurred in your household?”

  “Two?” she asked.

  “The kitten and you.”

  Matilda Shore studied him for the space of several seconds, then said, “Fiddle-sticks! I got the wrong bottle, that’s all.”

  “I’m asking you if the idea has occurred to you that the drink was poisoned.”

  “Bosh! I tell you I got the wrong bottle.”

  “Don’t you think you owe it to yourself to do something about it?”

  “What should I do?”

  Mason said, “At least, you should take steps to prevent a recurrence. If someone has made an attempt on your life, you certainly should do something about it.”

  “You mean the police?”

  “Why not?”

  “The police!” she exclaimed scornfully. “I’m not going to have them messing in my life and giving out a lot more stuff to the newspapers. That’s what always happens. You call in the police to protect you, and some idiot who wants to see his picture in the paper rushes out to the reporters and tells them the whole story. I won’t have it. Besides, I just made a mistake.”

  Mason said, “Unfortunately, Mrs. Shore, after what’s happened tonight, there is going to be a lot of publicity.”