Mason signaled him to go ahead and land. The nose of the plane tilted sharply forward. The droning roar of the motors died to a humming noise which enabled Mason to hear the sound of air shrieking past the plane. The pilot swung it into a long, banking turn, flattened out, gunned the motors once, then tilted the nose forward. A moment later the little jolts running up through the plane signified the wheels were once more on the earth. Mason saw two men running toward him, waving their arms. One of them, he saw, was Kent, and the other one was a stranger to him. Mason emerged from the fuselage. “What happened?” he asked.
Kent said ruefully, “Motor trouble. We had to make a forced landing. I thought we were going to be there all morning. We got in about five minutes ago and this man from the Detective Agency met me. He telephoned your office and your secretary said for me to wait here, that you were due to land within five or ten minutes. She’d verified the time you took off from Los Angeles and knew just about when you were due.”
“Where’s Miss Mays?”
“I sent her on to the hotel. She wanted to freshen up a bit, and then she’s going to the courthouse to wait for me.”
Mason said, “We’re all going to the courthouse and get that marriage over with. Is there a taxicab here?”
“Yes, I have a car waiting.”
“There’s just one chance in a hundred,” Mason said, “an officer may be waiting to pick you up when you get in that car. I want to talk to you before anyone else does. Come over here.” He took Kent’s arm, walked with him some thirty steps away from the pilot and detective and then said, “Now, then, come clean.”
“What do you mean?” Kent asked.
“Exactly what I said—come clean.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve told you everything. The information that I gave you concerning Maddox is strictly accurate. The…”
“The hell with Maddox,” Mason said. “How about Rease?”
“You mean my halfbrother?”
“Yes.”
“Why, I’ve only told you all about him. He’s really incompetent so far as money matters are concerned. He’s rather radical at times. His attempts to make money have met with failure, so he’s naturally resentful of the chaps who have been more successful. He…”
“At approximately seventhirty this morning,” Mason interrupted, “Mr. P. L. Rease was found dead in his bed. Death had been caused by plunging a sharp carving knife down through the bedclothes into his body. The knife had apparently been taken from a drawer in the sideboard in the dining room and…”
Kent swayed, clutched at his heart. His eyes grew wide. His face turned an ashen gray. “No,” he whispered hoarsely, speaking with a visible effort. “Good God, no!”
Mason nodded.
“Oh, my God!” Kent cried, clutching at Mason’s arm.
Mason jerked his arm away and said, “Stand up and cut out the dramatics.”
Kent said, “You’ll excuse me, but I’m going to sit down.” Without a word, he sat down on the ground. Mason stood above him, watching him with calmly speculative eyes. “When… when did it happen?”
“I don’t know. He was found about seventhirty.”
“Who found him?”
“I did.”
“How did you happen to find him?”
Mason said, “We found a carving knife under the pillow of your bed. After we looked at the blade we started an investigation of the house—taking the census.”
“Under my pillow!” Kent exclaimed, but his eyes did not meet those of the lawyer.
“Did you,” Mason asked, “know that Rease wasn’t sleeping in his own room last night? That he changed rooms with Maddox?”
Kent’s eyes, looking like those of a wounded deer raised to Mason’s. Slowly he shook his head. “Did he?” he asked.
“They exchanged rooms,” Mason said. “Apparently you were about the only person in the house who didn’t know the exchange had been made. The district attorney will claim that when you slipped the knife from the sideboard and went prowling through the house you believed the occupant of that room was Frank Maddox.”
“You mean the district attorney’s going to say I did it.”
“Exactly.”
Kent stared at Mason. His mouth began to quiver. His hand went to his face, as though trying to hold the muscles from twitching. His hand began to shake…
Mason said casually, “If I’m going to represent you, Kent, you’ve got to do two things: First you’ll have to convince me that you’re innocent of any deliberate murder. Secondly you’ll have to cut out this business of putting on the jerks.” As Kent continued to twitch and jerk, the spasm apparently extending all over his body, Mason went on as though he had been engaged merely in casual conversational comment: “Dr. Kelton says you don’t do that right, that you might fool a family physician, but you couldn’t fool a psychiatrist. Therefore, you can see how much you’re weakening your case by putting on an act like that.”
Kent suddenly ceased trembling and twitching. “What’s wrong with the way I do it?” he asked.
“Kelton didn’t say. He simply said that it was an act you were putting on. Now, why were you doing it?”
“I—er…”
“Go on,” Mason said. “Why were you doing it?” Kent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his forehead. “Go on,” Mason told him. “Get up. Stand on your two feet. I want to talk to you.” Slowly Kent got to his feet. “Why did you put on the act?” Mason asked.
Kent said in a voice that was almost inaudible, “Because I knew I was walking in my sleep again and I was afraid… God, I was afraid!”
“Afraid of what?”
“Afraid I was going to do this very thing.”
“What, kill Rease?”
“No, kill Maddox.”
“Now,” Mason told him, “you’re talking sense… Have a cigarette.” He extended his cigarette case. Kent shook his head. “Go on and tell me the rest of it,” Mason said. Kent looked around apprehensively. Mason said, “Go on, spill it. You won’t ever have any safer place to talk. They may pounce down on you at any time now.” He raised his finger and dramatically pointed to an airplane which, but little more than a speck in the sky, was heading toward the airport. “Even that plane,” he said, “may hold officers. Now, talk, and talk fast.”
Kent said, “God knows what I do when I’m sleepwalking.”
“Did you kill Rease?”
“Before God, I don’t know.”
“What do you know about it?”
“I know that I walked in my sleep a year ago. I know I’ve been walking in my sleep from time to time ever since I was a boy. I know that these fits come on when there’s a full moon and when I’m nervous and upset. I know that a little over a year ago, while I was walking in my sleep, I got a carving knife. I don’t know what I intended to do with that carving knife, but I’m afraid—horribly afraid…”
“That you intended to kill your wife?” Mason asked.
Kent nodded.
“Go on from there,” Mason said, eyes watching the plane which was banking into a turn in order to come up against the wind. “What about this last flareup?”
“I walked in my sleep. I got the carving knife from the sideboard. Apparently I didn’t try to kill anyone with it, or, if I did, I was prevented from carrying out my plan.”
“What makes you think so?”
“The carving knife was under my pillow when I woke up in the morning.”