The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

“That’s where they drove us in last night,” Mrs. Kempton interrupted. “You’ll remember there was a storage garage back of the place where they let us out. Well, I didn’t want to bother anyone, so I told the police that I’d just go on down to the garage and wait there, that they could tell Mr. Etna to come there and get me.”

“So you were waiting there?”

“Yes, right where they took us last night, where we got out of the car.”

Mason turned to Etna. “You couldn’t drive in there?” he asked.

“No, but I left my car outside, and went to the door and motioned to Mrs. Kempton, and she came running out. Why? Does it make any difference?”

“That’s what I want to know,” Mason said.

“I don’t get it,” Etna said.

Mason said, “Mrs. Kempton, you’re leaving out something.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re leaving out something significant, some fact that...”

She interrupted him to shake her head in positive negation. “I’m telling you everything, Mr. Mason.”

“And Mr. Etna drove you directly here?” Mason asked.

“He took me to my apartment first. I stopped there for five or ten minutes, then we drove here.”

“She has a couple of questions she wants to ask you,” Etna said.

Mrs. Kempton nodded. “Mr. Mason, when a man dies what happens to his bank account — I mean any checks that are outstanding?”

Mason said, “Checks are no good after a man dies. His bank account is frozen. As soon as the bank is notified of his death it stops payment on all checks.”

“But suppose a man had a cashier’s check?”

“A cashier’s check,” Mason said, “is a check given by a bank. Banks don’t die.”

“And if it... well, I’m just wondering...”

“Why are you wondering?” Mason asked.

“Oh, on account of the way Mr. Addicks did business. You know, Mr. Mason, he worked on a cash basis a lot. He juggled things around, and I know he used to do business with cash and with cashier’s checks. He’d buy cashier’s checks from different banks and then endorse them.”

“And you’re wondering if his endorsement on a cashier’s check would invalidate the cashier’s check in case he died before the check was cashed?”

“That’s right.”

“Why?”

“Just so I can get the picture straight in my own mind.”

Mason said, “The cashier’s check would be paid — but right now I want to know what happened out there at that house.”

“Well,” she said, “I’m going to tell you the truth, and I’m going to tell you the whole truth, and then you can tell me what to do. I hardly dare to say a word to anyone because what I have to say sounds so...”

“What have you told the newspapermen?” Mason interrupted.

“Nothing.”

“Did they talk with you?”

“No. The police told me they’d turn me loose early this morning so that the newspapers wouldn’t know anything about it. That would give me a chance to get myself adjusted.”

Mason said in an aside to Etna, “This thing gets more and more cockeyed every minute.”

“Oh, the police can be considerate,” Etna said.

“Sure they can,” Mason said, “but they’re not going to antagonize every newspaper reporter in order to do it.”

“They did it this time.”

“Damned if they didn’t,” Mason said in an undertone. “Go ahead, Mrs. Kempton. Tell us what happened. How did you happen to go out to Stonehenge in the first place?”

“Mr. Addicks telephoned me.”

“Where did his call reach you?”

“At my room.”

“How did he get your number?”

“That I don’t know.”

“What did he say?”

“He said that he wanted to see me.”

“Did he tell you what about?”

“He said he wanted to apologize in person for the great wrong that he had done me. He said he had something important to tell me.”

“Did you tell Mr. Etna about the conversation?”

“No. Mr. Addicks told me to say nothing to anyone, but to come out to his house at six o’clock.”

“At six?”

“Yes. He said he had some important appointments that would keep him busy until six, and then he had some appointments at six-forty-five. So I was to be there exactly at the stroke of six.”

“Were you?”

“Yes.”

“How did you get in?”

“I went around to the door at 546 Rose Street.”

“It was open?”

“No, it was locked.”

“How did you get in?”

“I had my key.”

“You mean you’ve been keeping a key all this time...?”

“Well, I had a key and I was never asked to turn it in.”

“Did Addicks know that?”

“He asked me if I had my key, and I told him yes. He said that was fine, to come right in the back way, and go up to his offices on the second floor — why, what’s wrong with that, Mr. Mason? I’ve done that hundreds of times when I was working there.”

“That was when you were working there,” Mason said. “This is different.”

“Well, good heavens, I couldn’t expect a busy man like Mr. Addicks to come all the way down the stairs and across that corridor just to let me in, when I had a key and knew the way.”

“There was no one else to let you in?”

“No. He was alone in the house.”

“Did he tell you that when he telephoned?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “You recognized his voice?”

“Oh yes. Of course, he laughed about the way he had to mumble with that bandage on.”

“What time was it he called you?”

“About two-thirty in the afternoon.”

“You went out there?”