The Case of the Grinning Gorilla

Mason grinned. “You fellows are good investigators. Go look up these things. Look up the fact that the registrations at auto courts show that the parties were registered as Mr. and Mrs. B. F. Barnwell.”

“Barnwell?”

“That’s right.”

“Well,” one of the reporters said, “That’s your answer right there. In order to have a common-law marriage it’s necessary to show...”

“Who talking about a common-law marriage?” Mason asked.

“You are, aren’t you? And I understand there isn’t any such thing in this state anyway. Even if there were, a man would have to use his right name, and...”

“What was Addicks’ right name?” Mason asked.

“Why, Addicks, of course.”

“Was it?”

“Why, of course. He — say, wait a minute, where did you get that name of Barnwell?”

Mason merely smiled.

“What about common-law marriage?” one of the men asked.

“In some states it’s recognized,” Mason said, “and in others it isn’t. But where a man travels with a woman as his wife he may well find himself in a state that recognizes common-law marriage.

“But what you fellows may be overlooking is that right here in this state when two people live together as husband and wife there’s a disputable presumption of marriage. That’s a rule of evidence, a legal presumption.”

The reporters exchanged glances.

Mason opened a book, placed it on the desk. “There it is, Subdivision 30 of Section 1963 of the Code of Civil Procedure.”

“But how about the will?” one of the reporters asked.

“He didn’t mention Helen Cadmus. If they lived together as husband and wife there is an evidentiary prima facie presumption of marriage. He doesn’t mention her in his will. Therefore the will is open to attack.”

“But he didn’t have to mention Helen Cadmus. She was dead.”

“Who told you so?”

“I suppose you think she just walked on the water. Come on, give us some facts if you want us to publish anything.”

“I don’t give a damn whether you publish anything or not,” Mason said, “but Helen Cadmus didn’t committ suicide.”

“You mean she was murdered?”

“She wasn’t murdered.”

“What the devil do you mean?”

Mason said, “I mean that for reasons that suited Benjamin Addicks and Helen Cadmus, she decided to disappear. You can draw your own conclusions.”

There was a stunned silence for a moment.

“You mean she took time out to have a baby?” one of the men asked.

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “After all, I’ve only been in this case for a few hours, but I’m constantly receiving new information which I am correlating and checking. I thought that you fellows would like to start from scratch on this and...”

“Start from scratch is right. If you’ve got anything to hang this theory on, it’s going to make headlines. Gosh, what a sob story, what a sensation!”

“All right,” Mason said, “use your own judgment. Who saw Helen Cadmus aboard the yacht the night of the storm? Who saw Helen Cadmus after the boat pulled out?”

“Crew members, didn’t they?”

“Name one,” Mason said. “The only person who actually saw her was Benjamin Addicks.”

“And Josephine Kempton.”

“Not Mrs. Kempton,” Mason said. “She heard the clack of a typewriter in the other stateroom. The typewriter kept clacking away. Anyone could have pounded a typewriter — Addicks, for instance. Mrs. Kempton had taken a dose of sleeping medicine and she went to sleep. When she wakened in the morning there was this story about Helen Cadmus having disappeared.”

“You got anything to pin that on?” one of the reporters asked.

“Sure,” Mason said. “I have the diaries of Helen Cadmus, remember.”

“And what does she say about having a baby?”

“I’ll show you a passage,” Mason said.

He picked up the diary, opened it to a page which Della Street had located and which he had marked with a bookmark. “Here it is. In the handwriting of Helen Cadmus:

I told B. the news today. At first he was very much upset, and then as he began to think it over I realized everything was going to be all right. He’s going to be very proud of him.

The newspapermen studied the page very carefully.

“Say,” one of the men said, “let’s have these diaries. We can go over them in your law library and perhaps we can find things that...”

Mason shook his head. “That’s it boys. That’s the lead for your story.”

“That isn’t a story. That’s just a theory with a little stuff to go on. We can’t publish that.”

“The hell you can’t!” Mason said. “How much proof did you have as a basis for an accusation that Josephine Kempton had murdered Helen Cadmus?”

“We didn’t say she’d murdered Helen Cadmus. We said the authorities were making inquiries.”