door after the horse has been stolen," Tragg said.
Mason said, "I merely wanted to…"
"And while you're explaining that," Tragg said, "you might also explain how it happens that there's blood on the carpet of the luggage compartment in your automobile."
"Blood on the luggage compartment in my automobile?" she asked incredulously.
"That's right."
"Why, I… I haven't the faintest idea how… you're sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure."
"I…"
Knuckles tapped on the door of the apartment.
Frank Inman opened it.
A plain-clothes officer stepped inside and said to Tragg, "Lieutenant, may I talk with you a moment? There's' some additional information just came in over the police radio in the car."
Tragg stepped out in the corridor. Inman said to Mason. "As far as I'm concerned, we can get along without you."
Mason merely smiled.
Lieutenant Tragg came back and said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Allred. I made a mistake."
He was watching her with narrowed eyes.
"You mean there wasn't an automobile accident? You mean my car didn't go over the grade?"
"No," Tragg said "I mean that there was an accident. I mean that your car did go over the grade. I mean that there's a dead man locked in the car, and I mean the car was deliberately driven over the grade in low gear. The thing I made the mistake on was the identity of the body. When the police made the first identification, they got off wrong because they found a billfold containing a driving license, social security number and a few other things belonging to Robert Gregg Fleetwood; but after a while they also uncovered a billfold of someone else, and when they saw the descriptions they came to the conclusion that the dead man had been carrying Fleetwood's billfold, but wasn't Fleetwood at all."
"Then who was he?" Mrs. Allred asked.
Tragg snapped the information at her as though he had been turning the words into bullets, "Your husband, Bertrand C. Allred," he said. "Now tell us how he got in your car and was driven off the grade."
"Why, I… I…"
"And how blood got over the carpet on the luggage compartment of your automobile."
She hesitated. Her eyes wide with tragic appeal, she looked at Mason.
Frank Inman saw the glance. He stepped forward. and took Mason's arm. "And as far as you're concerned," he said to the lawyer, "this is where you came in and this is where you go out. Hold everything, Lieutenant."
Tragg said, "I'd like an answer to that question now."
Inman, taking Mason's arm, pushed him out toward the corridor.
Mason said, "You can't keep me from advising my client."
"The hell I can't," Inman said. "I can put you out of here, and if you get rough I'll get a damn sight rougher."
Mason said over his shoulder, "Mrs. Allred, your rights are being curtailed. As your lawyer, I advise you to say absolutely nothing until the officers cease these highhanded methods. I want your silence not to be considered as any indication of guilt, or because you're afraid anything you say might incriminate you, but simply as a protest against the highhanded and illegal methods of these police officers."
Lieutenant Tragg said irritably to Inman, "You've done it, now. You've given him a chance to make a speech and make a good excuse."
"I don't give a damn," Inman said. "That woman's either going to explain about her dead husband, or she's going to be put under arrest."
Mason said, "You can always reach me at my office, Mrs. Allred, or through the Drake Detective Agency."
"Come on," Tragg said, "we're going to take a ride. Both of you women are going to headquarters."
Inman pushed Mason out into the corridor, pulled the door of the apartment shut.
Mason walked down the corridor, took the elevator down to the lobby and said to the sleepy night clerk, "Where's the phone booth?"
The night clerk regarded him curiously. "You live here?" he asked.
"No," Mason said. "I'm an investor. I'm thinking of buying this hotel merely as an investment. How much do you suppose I should raise wages in
Mason said, "I merely wanted to…"
"And while you're explaining that," Tragg said, "you might also explain how it happens that there's blood on the carpet of the luggage compartment in your automobile."
"Blood on the luggage compartment in my automobile?" she asked incredulously.
"That's right."
"Why, I… I haven't the faintest idea how… you're sure?"
"Of course, I'm sure."
"I…"
Knuckles tapped on the door of the apartment.
Frank Inman opened it.
A plain-clothes officer stepped inside and said to Tragg, "Lieutenant, may I talk with you a moment? There's' some additional information just came in over the police radio in the car."
Tragg stepped out in the corridor. Inman said to Mason. "As far as I'm concerned, we can get along without you."
Mason merely smiled.
Lieutenant Tragg came back and said, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Allred. I made a mistake."
He was watching her with narrowed eyes.
"You mean there wasn't an automobile accident? You mean my car didn't go over the grade?"
"No," Tragg said "I mean that there was an accident. I mean that your car did go over the grade. I mean that there's a dead man locked in the car, and I mean the car was deliberately driven over the grade in low gear. The thing I made the mistake on was the identity of the body. When the police made the first identification, they got off wrong because they found a billfold containing a driving license, social security number and a few other things belonging to Robert Gregg Fleetwood; but after a while they also uncovered a billfold of someone else, and when they saw the descriptions they came to the conclusion that the dead man had been carrying Fleetwood's billfold, but wasn't Fleetwood at all."
"Then who was he?" Mrs. Allred asked.
Tragg snapped the information at her as though he had been turning the words into bullets, "Your husband, Bertrand C. Allred," he said. "Now tell us how he got in your car and was driven off the grade."
"Why, I… I…"
"And how blood got over the carpet on the luggage compartment of your automobile."
She hesitated. Her eyes wide with tragic appeal, she looked at Mason.
Frank Inman saw the glance. He stepped forward. and took Mason's arm. "And as far as you're concerned," he said to the lawyer, "this is where you came in and this is where you go out. Hold everything, Lieutenant."
Tragg said, "I'd like an answer to that question now."
Inman, taking Mason's arm, pushed him out toward the corridor.
Mason said, "You can't keep me from advising my client."
"The hell I can't," Inman said. "I can put you out of here, and if you get rough I'll get a damn sight rougher."
Mason said over his shoulder, "Mrs. Allred, your rights are being curtailed. As your lawyer, I advise you to say absolutely nothing until the officers cease these highhanded methods. I want your silence not to be considered as any indication of guilt, or because you're afraid anything you say might incriminate you, but simply as a protest against the highhanded and illegal methods of these police officers."
Lieutenant Tragg said irritably to Inman, "You've done it, now. You've given him a chance to make a speech and make a good excuse."
"I don't give a damn," Inman said. "That woman's either going to explain about her dead husband, or she's going to be put under arrest."
Mason said, "You can always reach me at my office, Mrs. Allred, or through the Drake Detective Agency."
"Come on," Tragg said, "we're going to take a ride. Both of you women are going to headquarters."
Inman pushed Mason out into the corridor, pulled the door of the apartment shut.
Mason walked down the corridor, took the elevator down to the lobby and said to the sleepy night clerk, "Where's the phone booth?"
The night clerk regarded him curiously. "You live here?" he asked.
"No," Mason said. "I'm an investor. I'm thinking of buying this hotel merely as an investment. How much do you suppose I should raise wages in
Similar Books
