Double or Quits

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “Yes. That pink silk scarf.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is it yours?” He hesitated a minute, then said, “No.”

  “Whose is it?” He did a little thinking, then said, “I don’t know as that’s any of your business.”

  “It might be.” He laughed suddenly and said, “Forget it. Don’t try pushing me around.”

  “I’m not pushing you around. I want to know whose scarf it is.”

  “I don’t know whether it’s Mrs. Devarest’s or Mrs. Croy’s I found it in the car when I was cleaning up. I intended to ask about it. I took it upstairs, and then in the excitement of what happened, I clean forgot about it. I’ll find out which one it belongs to. Now then, you know damn near everything about me.”

  “I suppose the rugs were in here when you moved in?”

  “What’s that got to do with it?”

  “They were, weren’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “That Navajo rug came in later?”

  “Yes.” I nodded toward the windows. “Looks as though they’d had curtains on them at one time.” He didn’t say anything.

  “When were the Venetian blinds put in? About three months ago?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Can you tell me exactly how long ago?” He thought for a while, then said, “Four months.” I said, “Well now, let’s see. You found that scarf when you were cleaning the car, intended to ask about it, and then the excitement incident to Dr. Devarest’s death wiped it out of your mind.” He didn’t answer that one, but after I kept waiting, nodded his head slowly.

  “Then you must have found the scarf the day the jewels were stolen or the day after.”

  “The day after.”

  “That was the day Dr. Devarest died?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you have all day off or just the night?”

  “Just the evening.”

  “When did you find the scarf, in the morning or afternoon?”

  “What are you driving at?”

  “If you’d found it in the morning,” I explained, “you’d have asked questions about it. You’d hardly have brought it up here with you unless you’d found it about the time you quit work. You didn’t want to take it into the house and ask questions then, because you probably had a date, and didn’t want to be late.” He thought that over for a while, then said, “Well, yes.”

  “Therefore, you must have found it—say around five o’clock.”

  “Somewhere around there.”

  “Did you have dinner in the house that night?”

  “Yes.”

  “You eat with the servants in the kitchen?”

  “Yes.” I said, “Let’s take a look at that scarf. It may be important.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “One of the women had the car out the day after the gems were stolen. You weren’t acting as chauffeur on that trip, otherwise you’d have remembered which one had been wearing the scarf. You found the scarf and didn’t know which of the two women it belonged to. Therefore, it must have been left in the car on a trip made probably late that afternoon. It was a trip you didn’t know about. Otherwise, you’d have known which one of the women had been using the car and had the maid simply return it to whichever one it belonged. The fact that you didn’t ask the maid about it indicates that you had an idea in the back of your mind whoever was driving the car didn’t want the other woman to know she’d taken the trip. What was it—a date with someone?”

  “You figure out a hell of a lot of stuff from nothing at all, don’t you?”

  “Not from nothing at all—from a scarf.” He said, “You’re doing a lot of mind reading from it.” I said, “That’s right. Why didn’t you think the woman who owned the scarf would want the other woman to know she’d been using the car?”

  “I tell you I didn’t think any of that stuff out. I found it just before I knocked off. I carried it up here and forgot about it.”

  “You said the reason you forgot about making inquiries was the excitement over Dr. Devarest’s death.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You didn’t work on the car after you’d had dinner Wednesday night. Dr. Devarest didn’t die until late Wednesday.” He said, “You guessed it the first time, buddy. I had a date. I was cutting things pretty fine. I beat it right after dinner to keep this date. Now, does that explain it?” I said, “Yes, there were three women: Mrs. Devarest, Mrs. Croy, and Nollie Starr. That couldn’t have been Nollie Starr’s scarf, could it?”

  “No.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Well, not entirely.” I said, “Let’s look at the scarf.” He didn’t move right away, but, after a moment, got up out of the chair with that loose-jointed, graceful, easy motion, and walked into the bedroom. After he’d got started, I followed along behind. He went into the closet, and I moved over toward the dressing-table. My thumb and finger pinched into the hairbrush on the dressing-table, and brought out several hairs. I twisted them around my forefinger, and pushed them down into my vest pocket. He came out of the closet with the scarf. I moved over and took it from his hands, and stood under the light, studying it. After a few moments I handed it back to him.

  “Nothing on it to indicate which woman it belongs to,” he said, feeling me out. He shoved the scarf down into the side pocket of his coat.

  I said, “It’s Jeannette’s—the maid.” He couldn’t keep the expression out of his face.“It’s hers,” I said patiently.

  “What makes you think so?”

  “The colour wouldn’t have gone with Mrs. Devarest’s complexion. It’s of too cheap material to have been bought by Mrs. Croy. You yourself said Nollie Starr was out. That leaves Jeannette. Also the perfume on it is the same scent she uses.”

  “Trying to get my goat?” he asked angrily.

  “No, just telling you facts.” I walked back to the sitting-room and sat down again. He went over to his chair, started to sit down, then changed his mind and stood there, waiting for me to go.

  I ground out the stub of my cigarette. He looked at his watch. I said casually, “Did you get a raw deal—when they sent you up?”

  “I’ll say I did. I ” He stopped and stood staring at me. His face was twisted with anger. “Damn you,” he said. “You and your snooping God-damned questions! You ”

  “Never mind that,” I told him. “I knew you’d been sent up the way you acted over those fingerprints. Sit down and tell me about it.” He walked completely around the chair before he sat down. “What about it?” He said, “All right, so what? I was sent up. It didn’t amount to much.”

  “What was it for?”

  “Cheque-kiting. Every time I’d get crocked, I’d go crazy. I’d give cheques. They didn’t amount to much; ten, fifteen, and twenty-five bucks. Usually there’d be about a hundred dollars’ worth of them. After I’d get sober, the cheques would begin to come in, and they’d bounce. I’d find out who had ‘em and go around and square it.”

  “With money?”

  “I didn’t have any money.”

  “How did you square it?”

  “Oh, various ways.”

  “You paid them back?”

  “Sure. All of them. I made them good. The fellows would put the cheques in the till, and I’d save up my wages until I had enough to cover them, or maybe I’d work ‘em out—if I could.”

  “Without getting drunk in the meantime?” He said, “I’d only go on a binge about once every four or five months. When I did, I made a damn good job of it. I’m like that.”

  “How about the time you were sent up?” He said, “The cheques bounced. The boss fired me for being crocked, and not showing up. It came out of a clear sky.”

  “He hadn’t fired you on any of the other occasions?”

  “No. He’d give me a talking to, and I’d promise to cut it out. This time things were just a little worse than before. I stayed away a little longer.”

  “How long?”

&nbs
p; “About three days.”

  “What was your job?”

  “Chauffeur.”

  “How long did you get?”

  “A year.”

  “How long ago?”

  “A couple of years. That cured me. I haven’t been on a binge since, and I haven’t given any rubber cheques. I didn’t like that year. Now, what are you going to do about it? You go in and spill that stuff to the boss, and I’m bounced out of a job. I won’t get a letter of recommendation. I won’t be able to get another job, and first thing you know, I’ll be back where I started.”

  “Where did you do your stretch?” He shook his head.

  “That’s out. I’ve put all the cards you have a right to see on the table.”

  “What do you stand to lose by telling me about where you did your stretch?” He said, “I did that under my right name. I had to, be- cause that was the moniker that was on the paper. The folks haven’t heard about it. They aren’t going to. My mother thinks I was in China. She’s old. If she knew I’d been in stir, it would take her off. It don’t make a damn bit of difference. That’s why I didn’t want the bulls taking my fingerprints. I took the name of Bayley after I got out. I never use my real name except when I’m writing letters to Mother, and I get those sent to me General Delivery.” I got up, and he followed me to the door. “You going to tell anybody about this?” he asked.

  “Not right away.”

  “Ever?”

  “I don’t know.” He started to close the door. I turned on the step. “One more question.”

  “What?”

  “When you’re up here, can you hear a car running in the garage?”

  “Not if the motor’s idling. The way I keep those cars, it’s darn hard to hear them, even if you’re standing close to them. But I can usually hear it when they start a car down in the garage. That all?” I said, “Yes.” He slammed the door.

  Chapter IX

  I WENT over to the house. Dr. Gelderfield had just left. Mrs. Devarest was “being brave.” She was also very much wrapped up in herself and her symptoms.

  “I simply mustn’t let it get me down,” she told me. “I must look at it from a calm, logical standpoint.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Death is inevitable, you know, Donald—I’m going to start calling you Donald too because everyone else does.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “And you may call me Colette.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Particularly when anyone’s around. You know, you’re supposed to be Nadine’s friend, her—well, her very particular friend.”

  “I understand.”

  “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No.”

  “Well, Dr. Gelderfield says there’s only one thing for me to do, that I must get new interests. He says that death is inevitable, that time is the great healer of wounds. That’s only another way of saying that new experiences wipe out the memories of the old.”

  “Sounds logical.”

  “Doesn’t it? He says some women shut themselves up and mourn and don’t get any new experiences, and it takes them years to get to the point where the wound heals. By that time they may have done themselves some serious injury, mentally. They’ve got the habit of brooding and feeling sorry for themselves. He says the thing for me to do is to take a realistic view and plunge into a life of normal activities so I’ll have new experiences to wipe out the terrible ache.”

  “You agree with him?”

  “I don’t want to, not the way I feel now, but, of course, it’s a physician’s prescription. Medicine isn’t always agreeable to the taste, but if you have confidence in the doctor, you take it.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I just don’t know what to do. Doctors tell me that my trouble is all nervous, that I’m simply too high-strung, that my perceptions are delicate. You wouldn’t think I was one of those nervous, jittery women. That’s because I’ve lived a full, normal life. I haven’t the nervousness that characterizes so many thin, emotionally starved women. I’ve really lived—but you’re not interested in that,” she said, looking at me archly with those pop eyes of hers. “You’re a thinking, reasoning machine that’s interested only in crime puzzles. Mrs. Cool told me that. But she said women went simply crazy over you. Tell me, Donald, have you found that to be the case, or was she simply trying to arouse my curiosity?” I said, “You can’t ever tell about Bertha. She may have been trying to arouse your curiosity.”

  “I guess perhaps it’s your—it’s a preoccupation. It’s not a complete indifference to feminine charms. I’m sure of that.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “You seem to be thinking about your work all the time.”

  “In this business, you can’t afford to go to sleep on the job.”

  “No, I suppose not. But some of the women who have hired you must have been lonely and frightened and wanted to ”

  “They wanted me to do some particular job and get it over with.”

  “Of course, you can’t expect a woman to come right out and tell you. You have to use a certain amount of subtlety.”

  “Perhaps that’s it,” I said. “I’m not subtle. What became of Dr. Devarest’s notebook?”

  “Why, I have it.” I said, “I’m trying to check up on the calls Dr. Devarest made that Wednesday night. I believe there were two calls which he finally decided he’d have to make. There were some patients with whom he talked over the telephone. You gave Dr. Devarest the list of patients who had called during the day. Isn’t there some way by which we can tell which ones he called on, and which ones he handled over the telephone?”

  “Would that have anything to do with the insurance, Donald?”

  “I don’t know. He may have had the missing jewellery in the glove compartment of the automobile ready to restore to you. After he died, someone took it out of the glove compartment.”

  “Is there anything—any evidence that makes it look as though he might have got the jewellery from someone after he left here?”

  “Not that so much as evidence of something else.”

  “What?”

  “One of the rings was still in the case. That would indicate someone had gone through the jewel cases either very hastily or very carelessly.”

  “Why should one be careless in dealing with valuable jewellery?”

  “Because it had only been taken for a blind, and it was intended the jewellery should eventually be returned. Under those circumstances, a person might be careless.”

  “Donald, that’s exactly the theory I told you to avoid. I want to prove that Hilton didn’t have anything to do with taking that jewellery.”

  “I understand; but you asked me why anyone should be careless. That’s it. But there’s another theory.”

  “What is it?”

  “That Dr. Devarest recovered the jewels from the thief. He drove into his garage, fully intending to return the jewellery to you. He had some repairs he wanted to make on the car first. He became overcome with monoxide fumes. S Someone else came into the garage, found him lying there, and thought it might be possible to get the jewellery out of the glove compartment without being discovered.”

  “Donald, that’s the theory I like.”

  “We’ll work on it then.”

  “Do that.”

  “Very well.”

  “Then this person must have known the jewels were in the car?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who could that person have been?”

  “I don’t know—yet.”

  “But you’re working on it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you’ll get the jewels back?” I said, “That’s the smallest part of it.”

  “I don’t think I understand.” I said, “The only key to the glove compartment was the ignition key in the car. The only way you could get the key out of the ignition was to shut the motor off and take the key out.”

  “Well?” I said,
“Therefore, any person who entered the garage and wanted to get the jewels out of the glove compartment would first have to shut off the motor on the car, turn the ignition lock, take the key out, and unlock the glove compartment.”

  “Yes, of course. You’ve explained that.”

  “But,” I said, “the motor was running when we found Dr. Devarest’s body.”

  “You mean, then, whoever did it put the key back in the ignition lock?”

  “Yes, then unlocked the ignition, turned on the motor, and went away and left it running.”

  “Why?”

  “To cover up the evidence of the crime—the fact that he’d taken the jewels.”

  “But doesn’t that make the taking of the jewels the thing of the greatest importance?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t see what you’re getting at.” I said, “If Dr. Devarest drove into the garage, left the motor running, started tinkering with the automobile, and became overcome by the fumes of carbon monoxide, without the interposition of some other act or agency over which he had no control, his death was accidental, but it wasn’t a death by accidental means. He’d set in motion every one of the factors which brought about his death.”

  “That’s what my lawyers have told me. I don’t think it’s just. I don’t think–”

  “But,” I interrupted, “if someone shut off the motor before Dr. Devarest was dead, even if at that time he was lying unconscious on the floor, and then subsequently started the motor, the legal situation becomes very different. Dr. Devarest then met his death by accidental means. The fumes that actually brought about his death were those that were thrown off by the motor after it had been started by someone else.” Her eyes widened. “Donald,” she exclaimed, “how clever! Why, that’s a positive inspiration!”