The Case of the Crooked Candle

“A nice note,” Mason said.

“She meant it — meant every word of it,” Van Nuys said.

“I dare say she did. Who’s Doug?”

“The man she was going to meet in San Francisco.”

“How delightfully definite! What’s the rest of his name?”

Van Nuys smiled and shook his head, “Really, Mr. Mason, there is a limit, you know.”

“Limit to what?”

“Limit to how far we can go in dragging others into this thing.”

“Oh bosh! You’re in a murder case now. Who’s Doug?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to give you that information.” Van Nuys was formal and dignified now.

Mason abruptly pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “All right, Van Nuys, thanks for what you’ve given me.”

“Can I trust you to keep it confidential?”

“Not in the least.”

“I understood you were going to.”

“Then you misunderstood me.”

“I thought you said that the alternative was that you’d give the information to the police.”

“That’s absolutely correct.”

“You’re not going to give it to them?”

“Certainly I’m going to give it to them. The only thing that would prevent me from doing so would be a very definite feeling that there was some reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I tell you all of this has absolutely nothing to do with Fred’s death. That’s a matter between him and — well, between him and someone else.”

“You say this man’s in San Francisco?”

“Yes.”

“Has he ever written her?”

Van Nuys avoided Mason’s eyes.

Mason said, “Phooey! The police will smoke all this out. There’s no mystery about it. They’ll ask her to account for all her motions Friday afternoon. If she lies, she’ll put herself in an awful mess.”

“There are no letters the police will ever find,” Van Nuys said.

“You mean they’ve been destroyed?”

“I mean the police will never find them.”

Abruptly Mason reached over and took possession of the brief case that Van Nuys had placed by the side of his chair. “You mean,” he said, “that you have them?”

“Mr. Mason, please! That’s my brief case.”

Mason said to Della Street, “Call Lieutenant Tragg.”

There was a moment of tense silence. Della got up and moved toward the telephone.

Van Nuys waited until she had picked up the receiver, then he said suddenly, “Hang up the phone, Miss Street. The letters are in the right-hand compartment of the brief case, Mr. Mason.”

Della hung up the telephone. Mason opened the brief case, took out the letters, glanced at them, thrust them in his pocket.

“What are you going to do with those?” Van Nuys asked in alarm.

“I’m going to study them,” Mason said, “and if your contention seems to be correct and they aren’t connected with the case, I’m going to give them back to you.”

“Otherwise?” Van Nuys asked.

“Otherwise,” Mason said, “I’m going to keep them.”

Mason started for the door, paused, said, “So when you found this note you rushed to the airport.”

“Yes.”

“Without keeping your appointment with Milfield?”

“No. I took him the papers he wanted, and then rushed to the airport.”