The Case of the Backward Mule

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “No.”

  “And you say my husband’s alive?”

  “Very much alive.”

  She whirled to Clane. “What the devil were you trying to do?” she demanded.

  Clane, at a loss for an answer, sat silent.

  “No,” Inspector Malloy said calmly, “your husband didn’t take Edward Harold down the peninsula and put him in an auto court. You did that.”

  She looked at the police inspector with the defiance of a trapped animal.

  “But now,” Malloy said, “I’ve got to find out why you hid and why your husband went down the peninsula a good half to three-quarters of an hour in advance of your trip. Couldn’t have been because you stayed behind to kill George Gloster, could it?”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “That package of groceries that we found down there in the room at the warehouse where Edward Harold had been concealed. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Malloy’s eyes were kindly but insistent. “Your grocer,” he said, “tells a different story.”

  Colour rushed to her face, then faded from it. Twice she tried to speak, but no words came out.

  “So,” Inspector Malloy went on, “unless you make some satisfactory explanation, we’re going to have to hold you for investigation, which is just about the same in this instance as dumping a murder charge in your lap, Mrs Taonon.”

  She smiled at him. “Dump a murder charge in my lap,” she said, “and it will bounce right back and hit you in the face.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  TWO OFFICERS BROUGHT IN Ricardo Taonon. For a moment he stood in the doorway motionless with surprise, watchful, wary, his mind probing the situation. Evidently he had not been apprised of the fact that police were there interrogating his wife, or that Terry Clane, Chu Kee and Sou Ha were also there, held in a species of unofficial custody.

  Taonon stood there in the doorway for the fractional part of a second, and in that brief period of time adjusted himself to the situation as he saw it. He was slender, dark, high of cheekbone, with just a slight slant to his eyes. And there was about him the reaction so characteristic of the Japanese, of smiling broadly when he found himself cornered. While he had always claimed a Chinese-Italian ancestry, rumour had it that his mother had been a young Japanese girl who had met a suave Italian on the Street of the Wild Chicken in Shanghai.

  Daphne Taonon gave her husband his conventional lead. “My darling!” she exclaimed, and moved towards him, face tilted.

  Taonon stepped forward to take her in his arms, and the period during which they clung in a passionate embrace gave her an opportunity for one swiftly whispered word.

  Then Daphne moved back from the embrace. “Darling,” she said, “do you know what they told me? They told me you were dead. And do you know what this man Clane said? He said that had killed you for the insurance.”

  For a brief moment there was a flicker of dark anger on Taonon”s face, and then he threw back his head and laughed, that nervous, staccato Japanese laughter. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Mr Clane’s vaunted powers of concentration seem to have led him far afield.”

  Malloy said “I guess I’ll do the questioning. Come over here and sit down. Where have you been, Taonon?”

  “I took a little trip.”

  “Went down the peninsula, headed for Salinas, registered in an auto court under an assumed name, and hid out for a while, didn’t you?”

  “Frankly,” Taonon said, “I’m given to fits of nervous depression. When I have those, I want to get away from everyone. I want to be quiet. I want to be undisturbed. I don’t want to think any business and I don’t want to have anyone talk any business to me.”

  “So you got a telephone call from George Gloster and suddenly decided you wanted to go on one of these trips of retirement. Is that right?”

  “I fail to see the significance of connecting up the two events,” Taonon said with dignity. “You might as well say “So you opened the bathroom door and suddenly decided you wanted to get away on one of those trips”.”

  “But you did get a call from Gloster?”

  Taonon hesitated.

  “Come, come,” Malloy said. “You did get a call from Gloster. We know that.”

  “All right,” Taonon said, “I got a call from Gloster.”

  “And he told you he was at the warehouse?”

  “If it’s any of your business, yes.”

  “It’s plenty of my business,” Malloy said. “You went down to the warehouse to see him?”

  “I did.”

  “What time?”

  “I don’t know. It was around ten-thirty, I guess, when I arrived.”

  “And Gloster was there?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You talked with him?”

  “Not very long.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t have much to say.”

  “Why did Gloster want you to come down to the warehouse?”

  “He had gone down on some business or other and found evidence that someone had been living there in the warehouse, someone who had evidently got in with a key. He seemed to think that this person might have been Edward Harold. A man had jumped out of the window when Gloster entered. Gloster thought it was Harold. Gloster tried to call Nevis, but Nevis wasn’t at his apartment. He called me. I answered, and came down to see what the trouble was.”

  “Any words?”

  “Frankly I was irritated that Gloster hadn’t called the police. I saw no reason for him to call Nevis and me.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that I knew nothing about it, and didn’t want to know anything about it. I demanded that he call the police. He didn’t want to do it until he had first found out whether this party, whoever he was, had been staying there in the warehouse with the consent of one of the partners.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “So I told him where I thought Nevis could be reached at a poker game.”

  “And what happened?”

  “I don’t know. I walked out. I gave him to understand that if he wasn’t going to call the police, I didn’t want to have any-thing to do with the entire affair.”

  “He was calling Nevis as I went out of the door. I was angry and nervous. I drove around for a few minutes, stopped in at a bar for a brandy, and then decided I didn’t want to inflict myself on my wife so I drove for a couple of hours to steady my nerves, found an auto court that had a vacancy and went to bed.”

  “I see,” Inspector Malloy said dryly. “You drove aimlessly, found an auto court, registered under an assumed name, and were within five miles of the auto court where Edward Harold had also registered under an assumed name.”

  The surprise which showed on Taonon’s face could hardly have been simulated. “What?” he cried.

  “Five miles farther down the road, Edward Harold was staying, also under an assumed name, in an auto court. He must have followed you!”

  “Is this a joker or some weird third degree?”

  “It’s neither,” Malloy said. “It’s the truth, and the woman who drove Harold down to that auto court was your devoted wife. And in case you’re also interested, the person who established Harold there in the warehouse was also your devoted wife.”

  “What are you talking about?” Taonon demanded.

  “The grocer down in the market on the corner says that the groceries supplied to Harold in his hideout were purchased by your wife.”

  Taonon turned to his wife.

  “So,” he said.

  And before anyone divined his purpose, he sent his fist lashing out to crash into the point of her jaw.

  There was a moment of motionless surprise on the part of Inspector Malloy, as he watched the woman’s figure crumple. Then his big hand caught a fistful of Taonon’s shirt, twisted it into a hold that gave him purchase, and shook the Eurasian as a big dog might shake some street
cat.”

  Abruptly, he steadied the man. His free hand slapped Taonon hard across the face. “Resist me,” he begged. “Kick at me. Give me a chance to smash your face in.”

  Taonon, the red imprint of Malloy’s hand on his face, merely grinned his nervous grin.

  “I’m not that easy,” he said.

  Inspector Malloy turned to the officers who had brought Taonon in. “Take them down to Headquarters—both of them. I’ll be right down.”

  “Do you want to take me back into custody?” Clane asked Malloy.

  “Bless you, no,” Malloy said. “I wouldn’t think of it. You’re ever so much more valuable out here running around and playing bird dog. You do flush the damnedest game. How did you know where to go to find Mrs Taonon?”

  “A matter of deduction, I guess.”

  “Well, keep on deducing,” Malloy said. “Go ahead, flush some more of them. The way you’ve been doing, I wouldn’t doubt a bit if the next person you dug up would turn out to be Cynthia Renton. I just have an idea that you’ll lead us to her if we give you a little rope. Go right ahead, Mr Clane.”

  Clane smiled at him. “Good night, Inspector.”

  “Good night, Mr Clane. And do try to get some sleep. I imagine I’ll be seeing you somewhere along the line. And you, young lady, don’t you take in any more washing.”

  “I won’t,” Sou Ha assured him.

  “Of course, if you’re really looking for housework,” Malloy said, “I can give you a job.”

  “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” Sou Ha promised.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CYNTHIA RENTON RUSHED TOWARDS Terry Clane impulsively. “Oh, Owl,” she exclaimed. “I’m so glad you’re back. Tell me, what happened?”

  “Lots of things,” Clane said. “Ricardo Taonon disappeared and was found. His wife disappeared and was found. I have been in jail. I have seen Edward Harold and …”

  “How is he, Owl? Tell me how is he?”

  “Naturally,” Clane said, “he’s pretty blue and discouraged. He’s resentful. He didn’t feel particularly cordial towards me. If it hadn’t been for Chu Kee here, I’d still have been…”

  Clane broke off abruptly as he realized Chu Kee was not there. The Chinese and his daughter had quietly slipped away.

  “They came in with you,” Cynthia said, looking around. “Where did they go?”

  Clane said “Probably thought we wanted to be alone.”

  “Don’t we?”

  “Not now, Cynthia. I have some work to do. I’m going to have to take some chances.”

  “All right, Owl. I’m going to take chances with you.”

  “You are going to stay right here.”

  She laughed. “That shows all you know about it. I’m going with you. I’ve got you into a mess and I’m going to be with you from now on, helping you if I can. If I can’t help, I’ll at least walk into the arms of the police and take the responsibility for what’s been done. I’ve been sitting here hating myself for the way I’ve let you run risks on my account. You’ve always been a refuge for me when times got tough, and it seemed natural to run to you for help. Only in the last few hours did I realize how unfair it was… Owl, please let me go with you.”

  Clane saw the pleading desperation on her face. “All right,” he said at length, and then added “Perhaps Harold will feel better about it if you clear the mystery up instead of me.”

  “Don’t be silly, Owl. Ed Harold thinks you’re one of the grandest men on earth. I’ve told him so much about you that I…”

  “Have made him hate me,” Clane said.

  She made a little grimace. “He’ll get over that. When do we go?”

  “Now.”

  “Where do we go?”

  “We’re going down to the warehouse of the Eastern Art Import and Trading Company,” Clane said. “We’re going to hope that police don’t have it under guard and that we can find some way of getting in. It will be a felonious entry at best, and may be something a lot more serious.”

  “And what are we going to do when we get in there?”

  “If we don’t get caught,” Clane said, “we’re going to try and determine why George Gloster’s dust-covered fingerprints were left on a desk blotter.”

  “Why, Owl? What does that have to do with it?”

  Clane said “It may be the solution of the whole business.”

  “Owl, do you know how to get out of here? Coming in we went through tunnels and down staircases and …”

  “I think so,” Clane said, and, raising his voice, called out “Embroidered Halo!”

  She appeared almost instantly, moving through embroidered silk curtains which concealed a doorway. She had changed from her American clothes into Chinese garb, and with the change she seemed to have renounced everything about her which was of the Occident. She was completely Chinese as she looked up at Clane with an inscrutable countenance and, recognizing her mood, Clane instinctively addressed her in Chinese. “Embroidered Halo, I have to leave upon a mission of some danger. The Painter Woman wishes to go with me. She is not accustomed to inaction. It is not wise that she go with me but I am going to try to clear up the murder which was committed in the warehouse. If the man she loves is to be cleared of murder, it would be better that Cynthia herself did it.”

  “The man she loves?” Sou Ha asked in Chinese, her face expressionless.

  “Yes.”

  “The man she loves is standing beside her.”

  Clane flushed. “Don’t be silly, Sou Ha. She is going to marry Edward Harold.”

  “And you wish to leave here undetected?”

  Clane nodded.

  “It will be arranged,” Sou Ha said. “Will you come with me, please?”

  She led them through a corridor, paused before a door of carved and inlaid wood. Clane knew that the other side of this door was of steel with a veneer of varnished pine.

  Sou Ha stopped, her hand on the catch which controlled the door. Her face, without expression, was raised to Terry Clane. “Will you always remember,” she asked in Chinese, “that in the abode of my father there is a refuge for you and your friends? That” such things as we can do for you are yours to command? Anything. Everything.”

  “You are a dear girl,” Clane said. “I am indebted to you both more man I can ever repay.”

  Her face flushed. “Never speak of repayment to Chinese,” she flared, and pressed a catch which caused the door to swing open. A Chinese stood on guard in the dingy, grimy corridor which was disclosed beyond the door.

  “Will you see that these people are escorted to the street and that that are undetected?” Sou Ha asked in Chinese.

  He bowed acquiescence.

  Clane turned with outstretched hand. “Good-bye, Embroidered Halo, and …”

  He paused as he realized he was addressing a blank wall. Some pressure of her foot had caused a partition to slide into place, leaving only the open door and what seemed to be a solid wall.

  “Don’t you see, Owl,” Cynthia said softly, “that is why she changed to Chinese clothes, to tell you that there is between you the gulf of racial difference. Let’s get out of here, Owl, before I start bawling.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  AT THE WAREHOUSE OF THE Eastern Art Import and Trading Company Clane dismissed the Chinese driver. “Do not wait,” he said. “It might be dangerous.”

  “I was instructed to be at your service.”

  “You’ve done a splendid job. You’re certain we were not followed?”

  “You were not followed,” the Chinese driver assured him positively.

  “That is all I ask,” Clane said. “You may report to your master that you have done all that I wished.”

  The Chinese inclined his head, the engine whirred into activity, and the car glided smoothly away through the poorly lighted streets.

  Terry Clane and Cynthia Renton stood there in the darkness, waiting until the tail-light had vanished around a corner, until the sound of the engine was
no longer audible.

  “Owl,” Cynthia whispered, “I’m scared.”

  “Want to go back?”

  “Gosh, no! I wouldn’t miss it for a million dollars. I’m just telling you I’m scared. That makes it all the more thrilling. What do we do next?”

  Clane tried the door. It was locked. Like two furtive shadows, they moved round the building until that came to the window through which police claimed Edward Harold had made his escape the night of the murder, only to return later and kill the man who had discovered him.

  Not only was this window unlocked, but it had not been entirely closed. There was an opening of an inch and a half at the bottom.

  “Gosh, That’s luck,” Cynthia whispered.

  Clane frowningly contemplated the window for several seconds.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s almost too inviting,” Clane said. “It may be a trap. If you hear a noise when we raise the window, Cynthia—the sound of a burglar alarm or anything—just get moving. Don’t wait for me.”

  Clane slipped on light gloves so that his fingers would leave no print, and raised the window.

  The sash slid up smoothly and noiselessly.

  “You’d better wait here, Cynthia, and …”

  “Don’t be a sap, Owl. I’m coming in. You give me a boost and I can help you up.”

  Without a word, Clane lifted her in his arms, boosted her through the window, then followed her into the silence of the office.

  “Now what?” Cynthia whispered.

  Clane said “I want to find the paper which Gloster must have found before he was killed.”

  “How do you know he found a paper, Owl?”

  Clane said “I don’t know. I’m guessing, but we have pretty good grounds for guessing. Gloster came to the warehouse for something. He found Edward Harold here. That must have started him looking around. His hands got in some deep dust somewhere. Then he must have found something. Whatever it was, he took it to the desk here and put it on me desk. The fingerprints of his left hand were outlined in the dust on the blotter. The nature of the prints showed he was putting pressure on the first and second fingers of his hand. That means he was leaning over the desk in the position a man would assume in studying a paper. In that position his thumb must have also borne part of the weight he was resting on his hand. But mere is no thumb-print.”