Read Online The Case of the Baited Hook by Erle Stanley Gardner - Free Book Online
Authors: Erle Stanley Gardner
Tags: Fiction, General, LEGAL, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Crime, Perry (Fictitious Character), Mason
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the end of the roadway, came back, and stopped.
Drake, who was nearest the front window, slid one of the drapes a few inches to one side, and said, "Coupe. Class at the wheel… She's getting out… Swell legs… Overnight bag, brown coat, fox fur collar… Here she comes. What do we do. Perry? Answer the bell?"
Mason said, "Push that door shut with your foot, Paul. I think there's a spring lock. Try and get the license number on the car."
Drake said, "I can't see it right now. She's parked right in front of the house. If she drives away, I'll get it."
"Sit still and shut up," Mason said.
They could hear the click – clack of heels on the cement, the sound of the screen door opening. They waited for the doorbell to ring, but heard instead the scrape of a key against the metal lock plate on the door. Then the latch shot back, and a woman entered the room.
For a moment her eyes, adjusting themselves to the subdued light of the interior, failed to take note of the two men. She started directly for the bedroom, then suddenly stopped. Her eyes became wide and round as she saw Mason. She dropped her bag and the coat from nerveless fingers, turned, and started toward the door. A key container dropped with a muffled clang to the wooden floor.
Drake stepped from the window to stand between her and the door.
She screamed.
Mason said, "Hold it."
She whirled, at the sound of his voice, back to face him. She stared steadily for a moment, then said simply, "Oh."
Mason said, "I'm an attorney. This man is a detective. In other words, we're not thieves. Who are you?"
"How did you get in?"
"Walked in," Mason said. "The door was unlocked and slightly ajar."
"It was locked just now when I when I…" She gulped as her voice caught in her throat, laughed nervously, and said, "This has knocked me for a loop. What's it all about?"
She was in the late twenties or early thirties, a striking brunette with jaunty clothes which set off her figure to advantage, and she wore those clothes with an air of chic individuality. Her face had been drained of color, and the pattern of the orange rouge showed clearly against the pasty white of her skin.
"Do you," Mason asked, "happen to live here?"
"Yes."
"Then you're…"
"Mrs. Tidings," she said.
"Does your husband live here?"
"I don't know why you're asking me these questions. What do you want here anyway? What right did you have breaking in?"
"We didn't break in," Drake said. "We…"
"We just walked in," Mason assured her, keeping Drake out of the conversation by interruption. "I think it will be to your advantage to answer that question, Mrs. Tidings. Does your husband live here?"
"No. We've separated."
"Didn't you patch up your differences recently?"
"No."
"Weren't there negotiations looking toward that?"
"No," she said, and then added with defiance in her voice, "-if it's any of your business, which it isn't."
Color was returning to her cheeks now, and her eyes flashed with resentment.
Mason said, "I think you'd better just sit down and take it easy for a few minutes, Mrs. Tidings. Officers are on their way out here."
"Why should officers be on their way here?"
"Because of something we found in the bedroom." And Mason pointed to the stains on the floor.
"What's that," she asked, "ink? What is that on my floor? Good God! I…"
She took a step forward, stared down at the stains, and then a gloved knuckle crept toward her mouth. She bit hard on the black leather stretched taut over her knuckles.
"Take it easy," Mason said.
"Who – who – what…"
Mason said, "We don't know yet. I think you'd better prepare yourself for a shock. I think it's someone you know."
"Not – not… Oh, my God, it can't be…"
"Your husband," Mason said.
"My husband!" she exclaimed. There were both incredulity in her voice and a something which might have been relief. Then there was sudden panic again. "You mean that he – he might have done it, might have…"
"I think that the body is that of
Drake, who was nearest the front window, slid one of the drapes a few inches to one side, and said, "Coupe. Class at the wheel… She's getting out… Swell legs… Overnight bag, brown coat, fox fur collar… Here she comes. What do we do. Perry? Answer the bell?"
Mason said, "Push that door shut with your foot, Paul. I think there's a spring lock. Try and get the license number on the car."
Drake said, "I can't see it right now. She's parked right in front of the house. If she drives away, I'll get it."
"Sit still and shut up," Mason said.
They could hear the click – clack of heels on the cement, the sound of the screen door opening. They waited for the doorbell to ring, but heard instead the scrape of a key against the metal lock plate on the door. Then the latch shot back, and a woman entered the room.
For a moment her eyes, adjusting themselves to the subdued light of the interior, failed to take note of the two men. She started directly for the bedroom, then suddenly stopped. Her eyes became wide and round as she saw Mason. She dropped her bag and the coat from nerveless fingers, turned, and started toward the door. A key container dropped with a muffled clang to the wooden floor.
Drake stepped from the window to stand between her and the door.
She screamed.
Mason said, "Hold it."
She whirled, at the sound of his voice, back to face him. She stared steadily for a moment, then said simply, "Oh."
Mason said, "I'm an attorney. This man is a detective. In other words, we're not thieves. Who are you?"
"How did you get in?"
"Walked in," Mason said. "The door was unlocked and slightly ajar."
"It was locked just now when I when I…" She gulped as her voice caught in her throat, laughed nervously, and said, "This has knocked me for a loop. What's it all about?"
She was in the late twenties or early thirties, a striking brunette with jaunty clothes which set off her figure to advantage, and she wore those clothes with an air of chic individuality. Her face had been drained of color, and the pattern of the orange rouge showed clearly against the pasty white of her skin.
"Do you," Mason asked, "happen to live here?"
"Yes."
"Then you're…"
"Mrs. Tidings," she said.
"Does your husband live here?"
"I don't know why you're asking me these questions. What do you want here anyway? What right did you have breaking in?"
"We didn't break in," Drake said. "We…"
"We just walked in," Mason assured her, keeping Drake out of the conversation by interruption. "I think it will be to your advantage to answer that question, Mrs. Tidings. Does your husband live here?"
"No. We've separated."
"Didn't you patch up your differences recently?"
"No."
"Weren't there negotiations looking toward that?"
"No," she said, and then added with defiance in her voice, "-if it's any of your business, which it isn't."
Color was returning to her cheeks now, and her eyes flashed with resentment.
Mason said, "I think you'd better just sit down and take it easy for a few minutes, Mrs. Tidings. Officers are on their way out here."
"Why should officers be on their way here?"
"Because of something we found in the bedroom." And Mason pointed to the stains on the floor.
"What's that," she asked, "ink? What is that on my floor? Good God! I…"
She took a step forward, stared down at the stains, and then a gloved knuckle crept toward her mouth. She bit hard on the black leather stretched taut over her knuckles.
"Take it easy," Mason said.
"Who – who – what…"
Mason said, "We don't know yet. I think you'd better prepare yourself for a shock. I think it's someone you know."
"Not – not… Oh, my God, it can't be…"
"Your husband," Mason said.
"My husband!" she exclaimed. There were both incredulity in her voice and a something which might have been relief. Then there was sudden panic again. "You mean that he – he might have done it, might have…"
"I think that the body is that of
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