The Case of the Dubious Bridegroom

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “So you got off at Drake’s office, and then what?”

  “Walked up two flights of stairs, went out to the landing on the fire escape, crawled down and took up my position. I looked for the gun, and it was gone. That frightened me.”

  “Go on,” Mason said. “Let’s have the rest of it. I think I know now why you’re talking so glibly.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “Never mind,” Mason said. “Go ahead.”

  “That last sounded like a crack.”

  “I guess it was,” Mason told her, “but go ahead. Let’s have your story first.”

  “Well,” she said, “I was prepared for what might happen. This time I was bundled up against wind and rain. I even had on what we call in Idaho my ‘long-handled underwear,’ and I had a heavy sweater and a leather coat over the sweater, and a ski cap—oh, I was all dolled up for a long wait. I’d taken those extra clothes in with me in a bundle.”

  “And you stayed there all night?”

  “All night.”

  “Didn’t you think it was a little unlikely anyone would come in after—oh, say, one or two o’clock in the morning?”

  She said, “I wasn’t taking any chances, Mr. Mason. That stockholders’ meeting is at two o’clock this afternoon. I’m going to be there and I’m going to protect my mother’s interests. And I’m here to tell you there’s something very funny going on in that company. The whole thing is crooked.”

  “What makes you think so?”

  She said, “That man, that secretary and treasurer, I think his name is Denby—he was in the office all night doing things.”

  Mason’s eyes showed interest. “What sort of things?”

  “I don’t think I should tell you all this, Mr. Mason. After all, I don’t know just what your position might be. You might—for all I know, you might be representing somebody on the other side.”

  Mason said, “Nevertheless, you’re talking. You’ve already said enough. Let’s find out what actually happened. Just what did Denby do?”

  She said, “For one thing, he did a lot of dictating. I thought at first it was only a little overtime work, but he sat there and dictated eighteen records to the Dictaphone dictating machine that he has by his desk. And I was kicking myself for being a sap—feeling that I was just stranded out there on the fire escape while this poor loyal company official was trying to catch up on the work that needed to be done before the stockholders’ meeting—and then I began to get suspicious.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he started going through files, taking out papers and putting them in a brief case, and it was the way he acted, his manner. It was like that of an absconding cashier. And then he opened the safe and took out some more papers and put those in his brief case. Then he started going over the books and making notes of figures from different pages and—well, just the way he acted, Mr. Mason, it made me suspicious.”

  “How long was he there?” Mason asked.

  “He was there when I arrived, and he stayed there the whole blessed night, Mr. Mason, and I mean the whole blessed night. He kept up a steady stream of dictation.

  “When it began to get daylight, there I was, plastered out there on the fire escape. I felt terribly conspicuous. People could see me from the other buildings. So I—well, I just climbed up the fire escape and walked up and down the corridors of the building, trying to get warmed up. Then I wrapped my extra clothes up in a bundle and about the time the elevator started running regularly, so that I wouldn’t be too conspicuous, I took the stairs down to the floor by Drake’s office, pressed the buzzer and when the cage came up for me I got in, went down and came home. I took a hot bath and swigged a lot of coffee and guess I managed two or three hours’ sleep. But I was so worried about that stockholders’ meeting today I—well, I set the alarm clock early. I’ve got to go up there and do something to protect mother’s interests.”

  “You mentioned Idaho,” Mason said. “Do you live in Idaho?”

  “I have lived there.”

  “Worked there?”

  She said, “Mr. Mason why do you want to pry into all of my private affairs?”

  Mason laughed, “You slapped my face. That gives me some rights.”

  She said, “All right, if you want to know the truth, I’ve worked around quite a bit in Idaho. I’m a girl who likes adventure and variety. I’ve—I’ve worked in mining camps and I’ve worked in gambling places.”

  “Do they have gambling in Idaho?

  “No more,” she said, “but they did up until a few years ago. They had it in the mountain districts, all sorts of gambling—roulette, crap games and things of that sort. I have a knack of being rather cool and collected and seeing what’s going on and yet I—well, I have what they call a pleasing personality, and they tell me I’m easy on the eyes.”

  Abruptly she moved over, to sit on the arm of Mason’s chair, smiling down at him. “And I know a grand guy when I see one,” she said softly. “I guess working in those gambling places is what gives a girl an opportunity to know human nature. You get so you can size people up.

  “And you’re all right, Mr. Mason. You’re just a darn good scout. Of course, being in gambling places that way, people feel that if—well, if a girl works in those places they can make passes at her, and it used to make me so damned mad when people would take liberties with me simply because I was trying to hold down a very exacting job—and believe me, Mr. Mason, those jobs are exacting.

  “Well, that’s why I felt so angry when you said you were going to search me. And then you were so nice about it. I—really owe you something for that.”

  She smiled at him, placed her hand on his shoulder, bent down so her face was close to his and said, “You know, really …”

  She was interrupted by the banging of peremptory knuckles on the door.

  She jumped off the arm of Mason’s chair, pulled her robe smoothly around her.

  Knuckles again pounded on the door.

  Virginia Bynum looked at Mason with dismay in her eyes.

  The knuckles banged once more with heavy insistence.

  “Who … who is it?” Virginia Bynum asked.

  “This is Sergeant Holcomb of Police Homicide. We’re making a checkup. Open up.”

  Virginia Bynum, her face drained of color, moved over to the door, turned the knob and opened it.

  Sergeant Holcomb, pushing his shoulder against the door, shoved her back, entered the room, then stopped short at the sight of Perry Mason.

  Mason said, “Good morning, Sergeant,” then turning to Virginia Bynum, said, “Well, I guess this is where I came in.”

  “Wrong again,” Sergeant Holcomb said, “this is where you go out!”

  Chapter 10

  Paul Drake slid into his favorite position in Mason’s big chair and said, “Well, I’m gradually beginning to get some facts pieced together, Perry. It’s a mess.”

  “What have you found, Paul?”

  Drake said, “This man, Hackley, is going to be a tough nut to crack, Perry. Apparently, the police don’t know anything about him, but to my mind he’s the key factor in the whole situation.”

  “Anything about the time of death?” Mason asked.

  “As nearly as the doctors can tell from a post-mortem examination, which, of course, hasn’t been completed as yet, it happened right around one o’clock. That’s taking body temperature of the corpse when it was found, considering rigor mortis and a few other things. Police are making a tentative guess on the time as one o clock this morning.”

  Mason said, “She left her apartment at ten-nineteen, is that right?”

  “That’s right. Of course, the medical authorities can’t fix the time of death with stop-watch precision. She could have been killed as soon as she got to Oceanside or it could have been an hour later.”

  Mason said, “She had her tank filled with gasoline. A murderer would hardly have killed her and then filled the car with gas. She must have done it, herself.”


  Drake nodded.

  “And because she didn’t get any windshield service, it wasn’t done at a service station.”

  “You think she stopped at his ranch?” Drake asked.

  “I’m virtually certain of it.”

  Drake lit a cigarette, studied the smoke which drifted up from the end of it with thoughtful, contemplative eyes, said slowly, “The police have some theories about the killing, Perry.”

  “What are they?”

  “They don’t think she was killed at the place where the body was found.”

  “No?”

  “No. They think she opened the door and let someone get in. He was driving the car. She was sitting over in the righthand seat. Then this person picked an advantageous moment, whipped a revolver out, shot her in the side of the head, pushed the body over to the far side of the car and then drove it down to the place where the body was found. Then this murderer, whoever he was, got out and, after he’d left the automobile, pulled Ethel Garvin’s body over so that it was behind the steering wheel, making it look as though she’d been shot while she was driving the car.”

  “Wait a minute,” Mason said. “That doesn’t coincide with the facts, Paul. Your man looked around for tracks when he got there and couldn’t find any leaving the automobile. Of course, it wasn’t the best ground in the world for tracking but, nevertheless, he should have been able …”

  “I know,” Drake interrupted, “but get this, Perry. Another car had apparently been parked down at the place where the body was found. When this man drove up with the car containing Ethel Garvin’s body, he was very careful to inch the car into exactly the proper position so that he could open the door of one car and step into the other car. Then he drove away in the other car after pulling the body over behind the steering wheel and dropping the gun.”

  Mason said impatiently, “That’s a goofy way to commit a murder.”

  “Don’t be too certain it wasn’t done just about that way,” Drake said. “The evidence checks, Perry.”

  “What sort of evidence?”

  “Well, to begin with, this getaway car was driven down there and parked.”

  “How can the police tell it was parked?”

  “They can’t be absolutely certain, but that’s what they think. They can see where someone got out of the car and walked across a patch of soft dirt and then over to the highway, but they can’t find where anyone ever walked back to the car.”

  “Go on,” Mason said.

  “Apparently that gun can be traced to Garvin.”

  Mason sat bolt upright in his chair. “What’s that?” he asked.

  Drake said, “The police traced that gun to Frank Bynum. He told them about giving it to his sister, Virginia. The police were right on your heels in getting hold of Virginia. She stalled around for a while and then told them a story about watching the office of the mining company in order to protect her mother’s investment. She even told them about you catching her out there on the fire escape and making her come in. She said that’s when she left the gun. She thought you had seen the gun, so she made a motion as though she was throwing it down in the alley and then she swung around to come down the fire escape, gave you a glimpse of legs and, using her body as a shield, put the gun on the platform of the fire escape. She said she thought she could depend on you to be looking at the legs instead of the gun.”

  “Tut, tut,” Della Street said in mock reproach.

  “I was, too,” Mason admitted. “Go ahead, Paul. Then what happened?”

  “From there on,” Drake said, “the police have an interesting trail. It seems that the next day Garvin entered the office right after he’d consulted you. He walked over to the window and stood there, moodily gazing down into the alley below the window. Then something caught his eye and he said to George L. Denby, the secretary-treasurer, ‘Denby, what the devil’s this out on the fire escape?’”

  “Go ahead,” Mason said. “So far it sounds to me like a scenario.”

  “Well, it all checks,” Drake said. “Denby went over and looked out of the window and said, ‘My God, Mr. Garvin, it’s a gun!’ Frank Livesey, the president of the corporation, was there, and he came over. The three of them stood looking, and then Livesey got out of the window, onto the fire escape, and picked up the gun. He looked it over and said, ‘It’s fully loaded,’ and handed it to Denby. Denby looked it over, then handed it to Garvin. Garvin did a little detective work. He said, ‘There isn’t a speck of rust on it. If it had been left out there very long it would have been rusty. Someone must have been out on that fire escape with a gun. I wonder who it could have been.’

  “They had some talk back and forth, and Denby wanted to call the police, but Garvin said he’d think the matter over. He didn’t want to have any disadvantageous publicity just before the stockholders’ meeting.”

  “Go ahead,” Mason said. “The thing is really getting interesting now. We have a gun, which subsequently turns out to be a murder weapon, with the prints of three men on it.”

  “All of them legitimately placed there,” Drake said. “But here’s the thing. Livesey was on his way out to get a cup of coffee. He said he’d arrived early that morning to do some work on the records so everything would be ready for the stockholders’ meeting, and Garvin said something to this effect: ‘Livesey, I’m just about ready to leave with my wife on a little trip. I’m going to take a short vacation before that stockholders’ meeting, just get away from business for a little while. My car’s parked down there in front—the big convertible. I wish you’d open the glove compartment and put that gun in there. I want to look it over. It’s certainly a nice weapon.’”

  “Then what?”

  “Livesey went down to get his cup of coffee, looked around to make sure no one was watching him, popped the gun in the glove compartment, went out and got his coffee and came back. They talked for a while, and Garvin left some last-minute instructions. Then he and Denby rode down in the elevator together. I believe, by the way, Perry, these last-minute instructions had to do with having his secretary put through a check for a thousand-dollar retainer to you.

  “So that’s the story of the gun,” Drake said. “Denby remembers riding down in the elevator with Garvin and just as he walked away he saw Garvin check the glove compartment to make certain the gun was there. Then Denby got in his own car and left.

  “The girl would be the one that the police would normally go to work on, but she says she has a perfect alibi, that after she entered your office, you searched her very thoroughly …”

  Della Street gave a low whistle.

  “All kidding aside, Paul, this young woman had been prowling around my office,” Mason said. “For all I knew, she was sneaking down the fire escape, ready to take a pot shot at me as I was lying there, sleeping. I certainly didn’t intend to invite her into the office, then have her pull a gun and start working on me.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Drake said.

  Mason said to Della, “Get Edward Garvin on the phone, Della.”

  Della Street put through the call.

  “How about the time element?” Mason asked. “Have police been checking up on what everyone did, why, where and when?”

  “You mean as to an alibi for the time of the murder?”

  “Yes.”

  “They’ve done a little preliminary checking. Understand, Perry, the police don’t take me into their confidence. I have to pick up what I can from pumping newspaper reporters and getting tips here and there.”

  Mason said, “You always manage to do pretty well, Paul. What are the police doing?”

  “Well, to begin with, they checked on Denby. Denby was up here all night working on the books, dictating some correspondence and getting data ready for the stockholders’ meeting. He says he worked all night. He looks like it. And he had a whole night’s dictation on his secretary’s desk when she arrived this morning. What’s more, this story agrees absolutely with a story he told Livesey when Lives
ey rang him up earlier and before anyone knew that Mrs. Garvin had been murdered. It also agrees with the story that Virginia Bynum told the police a half hour or so later when they located her, by tracing the numbers on the gun. She was watching from her station on the fire escape again last night. They’ve asked her to describe just what she saw, and her story redly gives Denby an alibi. She describes everything he did. Not that the police figure Denby has any motive.”

  “The story Virginia told me and told the police is fantastic—but some fantastic stories are true. What about Livesey?” Mason asked.

  “Livesey’s a bachelor. He was at home in bed. He says, unfortunately, he can’t furnish any alibi because he was sleeping alone and what would the police suggest in the line of preventive measures in the future. The police suggested matrimony.”

  “They would,” Mason said.

  “But, of course, the one the police want to talk with now,” Drake said, “is Garvin. They understand he’s going to be here for the stockholders’ meeting and as far as anyone knows he’s simply out on a second honeymoon with his wife, so the police are planning to come down like a thousand tons of brick when he …”

  “Here’s your call, chief,” Della Street interrupted.

  “Garvin on the line?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason picked up the receiver, said, “Hello, Garvin. Mason talking. I want to ask you some questions. I want you to be very, very careful about your answers.”

  “Good heavens, Mason,” Garvin said, “this is awful! This is terrible! This is the worst thing … Why did you leave this morning? Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  “I thought you didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  “My God, Mason, something like that happens and you simply get up and leave—Mason, I want to come back up there. I want to find out what this thing is all about. I want to …”

  “You stay right there,” Mason said, “and keep your shirt on. Now, don’t worry about that stockholders’ meeting at two o’clock this afternoon. Della has been working over that list of names you gave her, and we have a bunch of staunch and loyal supporters of yours coming in here in person. That will throw all proxies they’ve signed out the window. We’re going to be able to control the stockholders’ meeting all right.”