27- The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife by Erle Stanley Gardner

Author:Erle Stanley Gardner [Gardner, Erle Stanley]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-02-19T10:04:06+00:00

Chapter 15

ELLEN CUSHING OPENED THE DOOR OF HER APARTMENT and stood holding the door as Lieutenant Tragg, Mason and Paul Drake entered the room. Then she closed the door and said, “Sit down.”

“Mind if we look around first?” Lieutenant Tragg asked. “Are you making a search of my apartment?” “I’d just like to look around. That is, if you have no objection.”

“I certainly have objections.”

“Of course,” Tragg said, “if you want to get tough about it, I can get a warrant.”

“Go ahead and get a warrant then.” “That isn’t going to buy you anything.” “Why not?”

“Because,” Tragg said, patiently, “you have certain things to explain, Miss Cushing. It’s going to be a lot better for you if you make an explanation.”

“What things do I have to explain?” Tragg said, “Let’s look at it this way. You were friendly with Scott Shelby. Last night Scott Shelby is yachting and goes overboard. The presumption is that he’s drowned. There is some probability that he was murdered but the body hasn’t been recovered. The water in the river wasn’t too deep and the searchers last night and also this morning haven’t been able to find any trace of the body.”

“Isn’t there a current in the river?” “We’re making allowances for that.” “So what?” she asked.

“So,” Tragg went on rather patiently, “we find that you are in a position to step into the negotiations which Shelby was carrying on for making a settlement of an oil lease. We find that

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in your garage there’s a blanket that’s soaking wet. There are a pair of soaking wet men’s shoes, and it’s quite apparent that some wet object has been on the seat of your automobile.”

“What if it has?”

“It makes no difference at all,” Tragg said, “if it weren’t for the fact that that wet object just might have been Scott Shelby.”

“That’s absurd!”

“And,” Tragg went on, “apparently you have a man in your bedroom.”

“How dare you say such a thing!”

“Haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Are you willing to let me look in the bedroom?”

“I… I see no reason why you should.”

They had arrived at a conversational impasse. Tragg glanced to Mason for reinforcements.

“Perhaps,” Mason said suavely, “Miss Cushing would like to explain how that blanket got wet and what it was she was carrying in her automobile that was wet.”

She looked at him angrily and spat words at him. “Miss Cushing has nothing to say. Apparently, Mr. Mason, I owe this predicament entirely to you!”

“All right,” Mason said, “if you want to be that way about it. Let’s be more specific.”

“I wish you would.”

Mason said, “Well to begin with, you have a man in your bedroom. He’s around five feet eight, about a hundred and fifty-five and has dark hair and dark eyes. That’s Scott Shelby’s description.”

She looked at Mason strangely. “In my bedroom?” “Yes.”

Suddenly she threw back her head and emitted peals of laughter, a nervous, almost hysterical laughter.

When she had ceased laughing, Mason said patiently, “There’s a man in your bedroom. Miss Cushing?”

“Heavens, no.”

“Mind if I look?”

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“Certainly I mind.”

“May

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