Read Online Case of the Footloose Doll by Erle Stanley Gardner - Free Book Online Page A

“Now, tell me exactly what happened.”
    “I came in from the street. I snapped on the light switch, and the lights didn’t turn on. Everything was dark.”
    “Could you see anything?”
    “Just here by the doorway. The light came in from the main hallway so I could see a little. Someone was in here, searching the apartment.”
    “What happened?”
    “I snapped the light switch two or three times. The light wouldn’t come on. Then I heard someone move.”
    “Did you scream?”
    “There wasn’t time. I just had that feeling of motion coming at me, and instinctively I grabbed up one of those ice picks just as someone hit me.”“With his fist?”
    “No, no! I don’t mean it that way. Someone hit me like a football player hits a line. It was just a rush. I was bowled over.”
    “And what happened?”
    “Well, I had the ice pick pointed out toward whoever was coming at me, and . . . and . . . ” She began to sob.
    “Now, take it easy,” Mason said. “Let’s get this thing straight.” She said, “The ice pick stuck into this person and he or she ran on past me and that jerked the ice pick out of my hands.”
    “The pick didn’t fall to the floor?”

    “No. Whoever was in here—well, the ice pick was carried away with him.”
    Mason thought things over for a moment, said to Della Street, “Della, go down to the Arcade Novelty. Get three of these ice picks, make it as fast as you can. Then come back here. The cab is waiting downstairs. Take it.”
    Mason turned to Mildred Crest. “Your friend Harrod called up. He said he’d been stabbed in the chest with an ice pick.” Mildred raised her clenched knuckles to crush them tightly against her lips. Her eyes were wide with terror.
    Mason said, “You must have something in this apartment, something someone wants. You’re hiding something. What is it? Money? Letters?”
    “I . . . I’m supposed to have some letters. I think Harrod wants them very badly.”
    “What do you mean, you’re supposed to have them!” Mason said.
    “Well, you see—The letters were addressed to Fern . . . to me.” Mason watched her narrowly. “You say you’re supposed to have them.
    Do you have them or don’t you?”
    “I . . . I have them.”
    “Where are they?”
    “In my purse. I had them with me.”
    “Then why did Harrod want them?”
    “To sell to a magazine, I believe.”
    Mason said, “Look here, young lady, you’re lying to me. Are you really Fern Driscoll?” There was panic in her eyes. “Are you?”
    “I . . . I can’t talk now I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” She dropped into a chair, started sobbing hysterically.
    Mason said, “Cut it out! Listen, there’s no time for all that stuff. I don’t know what we’re getting into. If anything should happen and the police should question you, say that you refuse to make any statement save in the presence of your attorney. Can you do that?”
    “Yes.”
    “Will you do it?”
    “If you say so.”
    “I say so. Now, where’s that missing ice pick? There were three. One’s in Carl Harrod. Where’s the other?”
    “Kitty has it.”
    “What’s her name?”
    “Katherine Baylor.”

    “Where does she live?”
    “She’s at the Vista del Camino Hotel. She’s from Lansing. Her family’s rolling in money. Her father’s Harriman Baylor, a big manufacturer. Her brother’s Forrester Baylor. He’s responsible for my condition—my pregnancy.”
    “How long have you been pregnant?”
    “Two months . . . No, no, Mr. Mason. I’m not really pregnant.” Again she started sobbing.
    Mason looked at her with exasperation, then moved around the apartment looking at the drawers which had been pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor. “We’ll have to report this,” he said.
    “No, no! We can’t! There are reasons. There isn’t time to tell you everything now. I . . . I can’t! I can’t.”
    Mason again turned away, looking around the apartment. He saw her purse on the chair, picked it up,