The Case of the Baited Hook by Erle Stanley Gardner Page B

panels with his knee.
    The door swung slowly open.
    "There you are, Paul," Mason said. "You're a witness to what happened. We knocked on the door, and the force of the knocking pushed the door open."
    "Okay," Drake said, "but I don't like it. Now what?"
    Mason stepped inside. "Anyone home?" he called.
    It was a typical bungalow with wide windows, gas radiators, an ornamental half – partition opening to a dining room, and a swinging door evidently leading to a kitchen. On the side of the living room were two doors which evidently opened into bedrooms.
    The house had the atmosphere of a place that had been lived in. There were magazines on a wicker table in the center of the living room, with a comfortable chair drawn up near the table, a floor lamp behind it. A magazine lay face down and open on the wicker table.
    Mason lowered his eyes to the floor on which were several Navajo rugs.
    He pointed to a red splotch on one of the Navajo rugs. A few inches farther on was another. Then there was a spattering drop with irregular edges on the floor, another on the rug nearest the bedroom door on the left.
    Mason followed the trail directly to the closed door of the bedroom.
    Drake hung back. "Going in?" he asked.
    By way of answer, Mason turned the knob and opened the door.
    A blast of hot, fetid air rushed out of the bedroom to assail their nostrils. It was the oxygen – exhausted air of a room tightly closed in which gas heat has been generated, and it was an atmosphere which held the suggestion of death.
    It needed only a glance at the fully clothed figure lying on the bed to confirm the message of that superheated, lifeless air.
    Mason turned back to Paul Drake. "Call Homicide, Paul," he said. "There's a phone."
    The detective whirled to the telephone.
    Mason stepped into the room and gave a quick look around.
    Apparently it was a woman's bedroom. There were jars of cream and bottles of lotion on the dresser. There were bloodstains on the floor. There was no counterpane on the bed. The top blanket had been soaked with blood which had dried into a stiff circular stain beneath the still body.
    The corpse was clothed in a double – breasted gray suit, with the coat unbuttoned. Red had trickled down the trousers to dry in sinister incrustations. There were no shoes on the body. Gray, silk, embroidered socks which harmonized with the gray trousers covered the feet. The man lay on his back. His lids were half closed over glassy eyes. The jaw was sunken, and the interior of the partially opened mouth showed a grayish purple. About the lips was a crimson smear, which might have been the faint traces of lipstick, a stain which would hardly have been noticeable in life but which was now strikingly evident against the pallid skin of the dead man.
    The gas radiator was hissing at full blast. The windows were tightly closed, the shades drawn.
    Somewhere in the room a fly was buzzing importantly.
    Mason dropped to one knee, looked under the bed, and saw nothing. He opened a closet door. It was filled with articles of feminine wearing apparel. He looked in the bathroom. It was immaculate save for rusty red splotches on the side of the wash bowl. A towel on the floor was stiff with dried blood. Mason opened the door into the adjoining bedroom. It was evidently used as a spare room for guests. There was no sign that it had been occupied recently.
    Mason retraced his steps to find Paul Drake just hanging up the telephone.
    "Tidings?" Drake asked.
    "I wouldn't know," Mason said. "Probably."
    "Look in his clothes?"
    "No."
    Drake heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm glad you're showing some sense. For God's sake, Perry, close that door… Let's open a few windows, first."
    Mason said, "No, let's go outside. We'll leave things here just as they were when we came in."
    Drake said, "We've got our fingerprints on things. The boys from Homicide aren't going to…" He broke off to listen. "Car coming," he said.
    A car purred past the house, swung in a turn at