Mason entered his office on Thursday morning TO find Paul Drake waiting for him. He nodded to Gertie, took Drake’s arm, and escorted him into the private office where Della Street was busy sorting the morning mail.
“ ’Lo, Della. Anything new?” Mason asked.
“Nothing particularly important,” she said. “Hello, Paul.”
“Hello, Della. How’s tricks?”
“Swell.”
Drake jackknifed himself into his favorite pose across the arms of the big, black, leather chair.
“Got something?” Mason asked.
“Odds and ends,” Drake said. “Peltham’s skipped out. The officers want him damn badly. They can’t find him, and I can’t find him.”
“Any charge against him?” Mason asked.
“They figure he’s the one who signed the checks with Tidings… The checks that left the hospital holding the sack.”
“You can’t find out anything about a girl friend?”
“Not a thing. He lived in an apartment, and as far as is known, no woman ever visited him in that apartment. He’s a cold-blooded, mathematical individual with no more emotions than a banker turning down a loan application. Anything that he did would have been done skillfully, thoroughly, and with ample attention to details. If he had a love affair with a married woman, for instance, the thing would be all blueprinted, nothing would be left to chance.”
Mason said, “Okay. Here’s an important job for you, Paul. I put an ad in the Contractor’s Journal. That’s confidential. I don’t want even your operatives to know about it. The point is, sometime during the day a person will send in an ad in answer to mine. Plant a man there at the office, Paul, and when an answer to my ad shows up, arrange for a tip-off from behind the counter, and tail that person.”
“Okay,” Drake said. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Mrs. Tump had a run-in with an orphan asylum, The Hidden Home Welfare Society. It made quite a stink… She’s in touch with a former bookkeeper of that society. I have a hunch this bookkeeper is here in the city. I’m going to make her want to get in touch with him sometime after… Oh, say ten-thirty this morning. You watch her hotel, check on the people who inquire for her at the desk, and watch her outgoing telephone calls… Do you think you can fix that up?”
“The telephone calls aren’t easy,” Drake said, “but it can be managed.”
“All right,” Mason said, and then to Della Street, “Promptly at ten-thirty, Della, ring up Mrs. Tump and tell her that Mr. Mason says there’s some question as to the endorsements on the back of the cancelled checks from The Hidden Home Welfare Society. Tell her the claim has been made that they’re forgeries, that The Hidden Home Welfare Society never received any of that money in the first place, and that the person endorsing the checks was never connected with the society. Ask her if she knows anything about it… Get her worried, but be a little vague. You know. You’re only my secretary calling during my absence from the office and repeating my instructions… You can act just a little dumb if you want to. It won’t hurt anything.”
“Be your own sweet self,” Drake supplemented.
Della ran out her tongue at him and made a note. “Ten-thirty,” she said.
“That’s right.”
“You have a man planted on the job by that time, Paul,” Mason said to Drake.
“Okay.”
Mason said, “I want to find out something about Byrl Gailord, Paul. The story Mrs. Tump tells doesn’t hold water.”
Della Street looked up in surprise. “How so, Chief?” she asked. “I thought it was very dramatic.”
“You bet it was dramatic,” Mason said. “Too dramatic. The hands clutching at the steel sides of the vessel, people being swept away on waves and all that… But what she overlooked was certain routine matters of procedure. In the first place, the Russian nobleman and his wife wouldn’t have gone over in the first lifeboat — not with Mrs. Tump standing on the rail looking down into the dark waters. It’s a rule of the sea that women and children go first.
“Mrs. Tump gives a swell picture, but it’s only the way she’s imagined it. She pictures herself standing on the rail, looking down with a detached, impersonal interest. If she’d actually been on that ship, she’d have spoken about how hard it was for her to stand up on the slanting deck, how she struggled to get on her life preserver, and how officers kept blowing whistles and herding passengers around from one boat to another… That shipwreck sounds phony to me. Notice she didn’t give any data about the name of the ship. Whenever she’d come to statistics, she’d wave her hand and say, ‘All this is preliminary, Mr. Mason.’ ”
Della Street said, “When you come to think of it, it does sound fishy… But why?”
Mason said, “On a guess, she’s lying about some things, telling the truth about others. If it weren’t for that correspondence she has, I’d have figured that she was just trying to tell Byrl a fairy story and horn in on the trust fund.”
Drake said, “Well, I’ll get busy,” and started to straighten up from the chair.
Mason said, “Wait a minute, Paul. I’ve got one more thing for you. Carl Mattern, the secretary to Albert Tidings. Get all the dope you can on him. Find out who his sweetheart is, whether he intends to get married, whether he plays the horses, hits the hooch, or what he does for relaxation.”
“Okay. Anything else?”
“That’s all, right now.”
As Drake moved out through the exit door, the telephone rang, and Della Street said, “Here’s your broker on the line with that information about Western Prospecting.”
Mason picked up the telephone, said, “Okay. This is Mason talking. Let me have it.”
His broker gave him the information in concise, dry-as-dust statistics. “Western Prospecting,” he said, “capital stock, three million dollars. Two million five hundred thousand shares issued. Each share has a par value of one dollar. Much of it given in exchange for mining properties. Some sold to the public at a dollar a share, then it went up, and there were several sales at a dollar and a quarter, a dollar and a half, and at two dollars. Then the pressure was removed, and the stock drifted back. Right now, there’s no open market for it at any price. The corporation isn’t making any sales at less than a dollar, but reports are that private stockholders will sell out for anything they can get from two cents up. No one wants it.
“Tuesday, shortly before noon, the sale of a big block of stock went through. The stock was transferred on the books of the corporation to Albert Tidings, trustee. Doesn’t say trustee for whom or for what… I don’t know what broker handled the deal, and I don’t know what the consideration was. It shouldn’t have been over three or four thousand dollars. The company has a bunch of prospects all of which look good, but there’s a big difference between a prospect and a mine. Anything else you want?”
“Yes,” Mason said. “Where did the stock come from that was sold to Tidings?”
“They’re trying to be secretive about that,” the broker told him, “but my best guess is the president of the company unloaded his personal holdings.”
“Who’s the president?”
“Man by the name of Bolus — Emery B. Bolus.”
“Western Prospecting Company have offices here?”
“Uh huh… Think they keep them simply to sell stock. Pretty good suite of offices under a lease which hasn’t expired yet. No business activity. One stenographer, a vice-president, a superintendent of operations, a president, and a bookkeeper… You know the type… If you get rough, don’t let anyone know where you got the information.”
“Thanks,” Mason said. “I’m going to get rough — and I won’t let anyone know where I got the info.”
He said to Della Street, “Get me Loftus or Cale on the line… Brokerage firm of Loftus & Cale. I want either one.”
She nodded and put through the call. While Mason was waiting for the connection, he pushed his hands down deep in his pockets and paced the floor of the office thoughtfully.
“On the line,” Della Street called. “Mr. Loftus, senior partner.”
Mason took the line, said, “Hello, Mr. Loftus. This is Perry Mason, the lawyer. I find that I’m interested through one of my clients in a transaction which was concluded through your office on Tuesday morning.”
“Yes?” Loftus asked, his tone reserved and cautious.
“A sale of Western Prospecting Company stock to Tidings as trustee.”
“Oh, yes.”
“What can you tell me about it?” Mason asked.
The answer was prompt. “Nothing.”
“I’m representing Byrl Gailord, the beneficiary of the trust which Tidings was administering,” Mason explained.
“Are you, indeed?” Loftus inquired.
Mason’s face darkened. “Can you come over to my office?” he asked.
“No.”
“Do you,” Mason asked, “have an attorney who handles your business?”
“Yes.”
“Would you mind telling me who he is?”
“I see no occasion for doing so.”
“All right,” Mason said, raising his voice, “if you won’t come to my office, I’ll come to yours. You can have your attorney there if you want. If you take my advice, you’ll have him there. You’ll also have Emery B. Bolus, the president of the Western Prospecting Company there… I was willing to give you guys a break. Now, I’m going to stick you for exactly fifty thousand bucks. And so you’ll have something to worry about, I’m going to tell you in advance exactly how I’m going to do it… I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, and I won’t wait.”
He slammed the telephone receiver back on its hook, then suddenly started to laugh. “Dammit,” he said to Della Street. “One of those frosty, reserved, human adding-machines gets under my skin worse than a dozen shysters who try browbeating tactics.”
He walked over to the closet and put on his hat.
“Going over to beard the lion in his den?” she asked.
“I’m going over to throw a scare into that old buzzard he’ll never forget,” Mason said, “and I’m going to skate on damn thin ice doing it. I hope he has his lawyer there, and I hope his lawyer tries to argue with me… Wish me luck, sweetheart, because I’ll need it.”
It was exactly fifteen minutes later that Perry Mason entered the imposing offices of Loftus & Cale. An attractive young woman looked up from a desk on which a brass plaque stamped “Information” had been fastened to a prismatic-shaped bit of wood.
“Mr. Loftus,” Mason said.
“Your name?”
“Mason.”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “Mr. Loftus is expecting you.”
“That’s nice,” Mason said.
“Will you wait a few minutes?”
Mason said, “No.”
She appeared ill at ease. “Just a moment,” she said, and, turning in the swivel chair, plugged in a telephone line. “Mr. Mason is here, Mr. Loftus. He says he won’t wait.”
There was evidently an argument at the other end of the line. The young woman listened attentively, then said simply, “But he won’t wait, Mr. Loftus.”
There followed another moment of silence, then she turned to smile at Perry Mason. “You may go right on in,” she said, indicating a gate which led to a hallway. “It’s the second door on the left.”
Mason pushed through the gate, marched down the corridor, and opened a door marked “Mr. Loftus, Private.”
The man who sat behind the massive mahogany desk was somewhere in the sixties, with florid complexion, a face which was inclined to jowls, a cold lackluster eye, and thin white hair.
Mason smiled coldly. “I told you over the phone I wouldn’t wait,” he said.
Loftus said, in a rasping, authoritative voice, which was evidently more accustomed to giving orders than asking favors, “Sit down. My attorney is on his way over here.”
“If you’d told me that earlier,” Mason said, “I’d have made an appointment which would have suited his convenience.”
Loftus clenched his right fist, extended it in front of him, and gently lowered it to the desk. There was something more impressive in the gesture than would have been the case had he banged the top of the desk with explosive violence. “I don’t like criminal lawyers,” he said.
“Neither do I,” Mason admitted, seating himself in what appeared to be the most comfortable chair in the office.
“But you’re a criminal lawyer.”
“It depends upon what you mean,” Mason observed. “I’m a lawyer. I’m not a criminal.”
“You defend criminals.”
“What is your definition of a criminal?” Mason asked.
“A man who has committed a crime.”
“And who decides that he has committed a crime?”
“Why, a jury, I suppose.”
“Exactly,” Mason said, with a smile. “So far, I have been very fortunate in having juries agree with me that the persons I represented were not criminals.”
Loftus said, “That isn’t conclusive.”
“Judges think it is,” Mason said, still smiling.
“What interest can a man of your ilk possibly have in our business?”
“I don’t like that word ilk,” Mason observed. “It may be I won’t like your business. In any event, I told you why I was calling on you. If you’d given me the information I asked over the telephone, you might have spared yourself a disagreeable interview.”
“It’ll be disagreeable to you,” Loftus said, “not to me. I hate to go to the expense of consulting my legal department every time some pettifogging attorney wants to pry into my business… But now I’ve started, I’m going to see it through.”
“Very commendable,” Mason observed, carefully selecting a cigarette from his cigarette case, and lighting it.
“Well, aren’t you going to tell me what you want?”
“Not until your lawyer gets here,” Mason said.
“But you said you wouldn’t wait.”
“I don’t like to wait in outer offices,” Mason observed, “unless it’s necessary, and I don’t like to discuss legal points of business with a man I’m going to trim unless his attorney is present… Suppose we talk about baseball or politics.”
Loftus half rose from his chair. His face assumed a slightly purplish tinge. “I’m going to warn you, young man,” he said, “that you’re due for the surprise of your life. Your rather spectacular courtroom victories have been made possible because you were pitted against underpaid public servants and political appointees. You’re going up against the best and highest-priced brains in the legal business now.”
“That’s nice,” Mason said. “I always like to…”
The door was pushed open. A tall, broad-shouldered man with high cheekbones came bursting into the office. He was carrying a brief case in his hand. “I told you not to see him until I got here,” he said to Loftus.
Mason smiled affably. “I wouldn’t wait,” he said. “I take it you’re the legal department.”
The man eyed him without cordiality. “I’m Ganten,” he said, “senior partner of Ganten, Kline & Shaw. You’re Mason. I’ve seen you in court. What do you want?”
“I asked Mr. Loftus over the telephone,” Mason said, “to tell me what he knew of a transaction involving the sale of fifty thousand shares of stock in the Western Prospecting Company to Albert Tidings as trustee. He refused.”
“He did quite right to refuse,” Ganten said coldly, seating himself and carefully placing his brief case on the floor by the side of his chair.
Mason smiled. “Personally, I think it was poor judgment.”
“I don’t care to have you question my judgment,” Loftus said angrily.
Mason said, “Perhaps I’d better explain my position, and call your attention to certain facts. I’m representing Byrl Gailord, the beneficiary under the trust… That is, I’ve been consulted in her behalf.”
“Go ahead and represent her,” Loftus said. “We have nothing to do with what happens between her and the trustee.”
“For your information,” Mason said, “Albert Tidings was killed.”
Loftus and Ganten exchanged glances. Ganten said, “If you don’t mind, Mr. Loftus, I’ll handle the interview.”
“I’m not going to be browbeaten,” Loftus said. “I read about Tidings’ death in the paper. It doesn’t mean a damn thing — not so far as…”
“Please, Mr. Loftus,” Ganten interrupted. “Let me do the talking. This lawyer is trying to trap you into making some admission.”
Mason laughed. “I was the one who suggested to Mr. Loftus that he have his attorney present at this interview.”
Ganten said coldly, “Well, I’m here. Go ahead with the interview.”
Mason seemed to be enjoying himself. He inhaled deeply, and then watched the cigarette smoke as he exhaled it through half-parted lips. “Unfortunately,” he said, “there seems to be some difference of opinion as to when Tidings met his death.”
“What has that to do with the stock sale?” Loftus asked. “We had no infor—”
“Please, Mr. Loftus,” Ganten interposed hastily.
Mason said, “It may have a good deal to do with that stock sale. The transaction, as I understand it, was concluded by Mr. Tidings’ secretary. Tidings had left his office before the matter was concluded. Tidings was acting in the capacity of trustee.”
“What does all that have to do with us?” Ganten asked.
Mason said, “Simply this. The medical examiner claims that Tidings couldn’t possibly have been alive after ten o’clock Tuesday morning.”
“That’s poppycock,” Loftus said. “His secretary saw him after that. His secretary talked with him over the telephone after the deal had been concluded.”
“His secretary might have been mistaken,” Mason said.
“Bosh,” Loftus remarked explosively.
Ganten said, “Apparently it hasn’t occurred to you, Mr. Mason, that the medical examiner might be mistaken.”
“It has,” Mason admitted. “I’m willing to grant you the possibility that the medical examiner was mistaken. You’re not willing to grant me the possibility that it was Tidings’ secretary who made the mistake.”
Ganten half turned in his chair so that he was facing Mason. “Is it your position,” he inquired coldly, “that if it should appear that Mr. Tidings was dead at the time the secretary concluded the transaction, there is any liability on the part of my clients?”
“Fifty thousand dollars’ worth of it,” Mason announced cheerfully.
Ganten assumed the manner of one talking to a child. “I am afraid, Mr. Mason, that your legal experience has been confined too much to courtroom technicalities, under the distorted rules of criminal procedure.”
“Suppose you leave my legal experience out of it,” Mason suggested, “and get down to brass tacks.”
“Very well,” Ganten announced, and then turned to Loftus. “There’s absolutely nothing to this, Mr. Loftus,” he said. “He hasn’t a leg to stand on. Even conceding for the sake of the argument that Tidings was dead at the time of the transaction, there can be no liability on your part. He can’t even question the authority of the trustee.
“Under the law, the death of a trustee creates a vacancy which is filled by the appointment of another trustee in a court of competent jurisdiction. Until that appointment is made, the administrator of the decedent trustee assumes charge of the property… There is no question but what Mr. Mattern was acting in accordance with specific instructions given by Mr. Tidings. There’s absolutely nothing to this claim.”
Loftus said, with a smile which was almost a sneer, “You see, Mr. Mason, Mr. Ganten is an expert in matters of this sort. He’s a specialist on contracts.”
“And contractual relationships,” Ganten supplemented.
“That’s nice,” Mason said. “How is he on the law of agency?”
“I have also specialized on that,” Ganten said.
“Then,” Mason observed, “perhaps you have given some thought to the law of agency as it applies to this case.”
“It doesn’t apply to this case at all,” Ganten observed patronizingly. “My clients are acting as brokers. That’s a definite subdivision of the agency relationship. They act as intermediaries…”
“Forget it,” Mason said. “I’m talking about Mattern.”
“About Mattern!” Ganten said in surprise. “What in the world does he have to do with it?”
Mason said with a smile, “You closed the deal with Mattern. You treated Mattern as the agent of Tidings. He was the agent of Tidings. But the very minute Tidings died, that relationship was automatically terminated by law. The authority of an agent — unless it is coupled with an interest — expires immediately upon the death of the principal.”
Loftus said, “Bosh,” again, but a quick glance at Ganten’s face caused him to show sudden signs of concern. “What is it, Ganten?” he asked.
Ganten said, “That’s not going to get you anywhere, Mr. Mason. A complete agreement had been reached between the parties. Mattern was merely the instrumentality by which that agreement was consummated, and Tidings had given Mattern specific, definite instructions prior to his appearance at our office… As you study the law of agency, Mr. Mason, you will find that there are various fine distinctions limiting the application of the general code sections on which you seem to be relying.”
“Well,” Mason said, “you might examine Restatement of the Law. Take for instance pages 309–310 of the volume on Agency and notice the illustrations therein cited as representing judicial applications of the doctrine that death of the principal terminates the authority of the agent. I call your attention particularly to the following:
“ ‘P purchases an option on Blackaire and authorizes A to sell it. Two hours before the expiration of the option and while A is in the process of executing a sale of it to T, P dies. A’s authority is terminated.
“ ‘P employs H, a stockbroker, to purchase at the market 10,000 shares of stock in A’s name but for P’s account. P dies, this being unknown to anyone. A few moments thereafter, A purchases the shares. A had no authority to purchase.’ ”
Ganten blinked his eyes rapidly, his only outward symptom of nervousness, but he avoided glancing in the direction of his client.
Once more the door was pushed open, and a short, thick-set, genial individual in the early fifties pushed his way into the room. “Good morning, Mr. Loftus,” he said. “Good morning,” and walked across the office to grasp Loftus’ hand and pump it up and down. Then he turned to include the other two occupants of the room with his genial smile.
“Mr. Ganten of my legal department,” Loftus introduced, “and Mr. Perry Mason who is trying to upset that fifty-thousand-dollar sale of Western Prospecting stock… Gentlemen, this is Mr. Emery B. Bolus, the president of the Western Prospecting Company.”
Bolus remained genial. He shook hands with Ganten, and then grasped Mason’s hand cordially. “Glad to meet you gentlemen,” he said. “What’s this about upsetting that sale? The sale has already been completed. The transaction, so far as our company is concerned, is closed.”
“Stock transfer been duly entered on the books?” Mason asked.
Bolus hesitated a minute, then said, “Yes.”
“Don’t answer his questions,” Ganten said after a moment. “I’ll do the talking. Your interests and those of my client are identical, Mr. Bolus.”
Mason said, “Rather a damaging admission coming from an attorney who has specialized in the law of agency and of contracts, Mr. Ganten… I don’t want to suggest how you should conduct your office, but if your investigation should disclose that the facts are as I contend, then it would be very much to the interest of your clients to help me impound that fifty thousand dollars until the validity of the transaction can be determined. Otherwise, any judgment which we might recover would leave your clients holding the bag. If we’re going to get judgment, it’s to your interest to see that it’s paid with that fifty thousand dollars Bolus is holding, instead of fifty thousand your clients will have to dig up out of their own pockets.”
Mason got to his feet.
Bolus said genially, “Come, come, boys. What’s all this?”
Loftus said, “Mason contends that Tidings was dead when we closed the deal on that stock. It’s in the morning papers.”
For a moment there was silence in the room, then Bolus turned to Ganten. “Well, Mr. Ganten,” he said, “as attorney for Loftus & Cale, you can take care of our interests in the matter. Personally, I’m not going to concern myself with legal technicalities.”
Loftus said raspingly, “Just a minute, Ganten. Are we apt to tie our hands doing that? You heard what Mason said.”
Ganten said cautiously, “Well, perhaps it would be better, under the circumstances, for Mr. Bolus to consult his own counsel.”
Bolus said, “Come, come, Loftus. You’re not going to let Mason’s goofy ideas interfere with our cordial relationship, are you?”
“Where’s that fifty thousand dollars?” Loftus asked.
Bolus tugged at his ear. “Well now,” he said, “let’s find out just where we stand before I start making statements to you. Do you consider there’s any possibility you folks might try to go after that fifty thousand dollars?”
Mason said, “Of course, they’re going after it.”
Ganten glared at Mason. “The whole situation is absurd,” he said. “Tidings was alive and well when that agreement was concluded. There’s positive, irrefutable evidence to that effect.”
Mason yawned.
Bolus said, “That’s not answering my question. Is there any possibility that you people are going to try and impound that fifty thousand dollars?”
Ganten said, “It might not be a bad idea to simply hold matters in abeyance until we’ve investigated the case in all its ramifications.”
“What do you mean by holding them in abeyance?”
“Oh, just take steps to preserve the status quo.”
Bolus lost his smile. “I don’t know what you mean by the status quo,” he said.
“Just see that everyone is protected,” Loftus explained hurriedly.
Bolus said, “The way I’m going to protect myself is by putting that fifty thousand dollars into circulation.”
“I don’t think that would be wise,” Loftus said.
“Why wouldn’t it?” Bolus asked, his eyes glinting. “Your own attorney has said that the claim is absurd.”
“Nevertheless, it’s a claim.”
“And what do you propose to do about it?”
“We’ll investigate it,” Ganten said.
“Go ahead and investigate,” Bolus said. “Investigate all you damn please, but don’t pull any of this status quo business on me. It’s my money isn’t it?”
“The corporation’s money,” Ganten corrected.
Bolus said, “You folks have the stock. I have the money. I don’t give a damn what you do with the stock, and you aren’t going to tell me what to do with the money.”
“Now wait a minute,” Ganten said. “You’ll admit that you don’t want to become involved in litigation. I think the whole thing is absurd. I think a few days’ investigation will clear up the entire matter. We will use all of our facilities to see that that investigation is made promptly and thoroughly.”
“And in the meantime?” Bolus asked.
“Well, in the meantime,” Ganten said, “it’s to the interest of all of us to see that the situation doesn’t become any more complicated.”
“What are you driving at?”
“Well, you should co-operate with us.”
“In what way?”
“In making the investigation.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, of course if the transaction should be declared invalid, we’d all of us want to be in such a position that we could protect ourselves.”
Bolus said, “As far as I’m concerned, I made a deal. I’m going to stand back of it… That stock’s a good investment, a mighty good investment. There are things the general public doesn’t know anything about. I’m not at liberty to say what they are, but within sixty days that stock is going to be worth— Well, it will be worth plenty.”
Loftus nodded.
Mason said casually, “Then why did you unload all of your holdings, Bolus?”
Bolus whirled on him angrily. “I didn’t unload all of my holdings.”
“How much stock do you have at the present time in your own name in the company of which you’re president?”
“That’s none of your damn business.”
“Did any substantial part of that fifty thousand dollars go into the corporation’s treasury?”
“That also is none of your business. I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“That’s right,” Mason agreed affably, “you don’t,” and once more devoted his attention to the cigarette smoke which eddied upward from the tip of his cigarette. “As I understand what happened, you’d be foolish if you did.”
Ganten and Loftus exchanged glances.
“Well,” Bolus asked, “are you standing with me in this thing, or are you against me?”
“We’re not against you,” Loftus said hastily.
“What my client means,” Ganten corrected, “is that in many respects our interests are in common. That is, it’s to the interest of both of us to show that Tidings was alive when the deal was completed.”
“Do you mean to say that if he was dead when the stock was actually turned over and the cash was passed, you can come back on me?”
“Of course,” Ganten said, “if the transaction was void for any reason, then we’d want to see that you had the stock back and that the money was returned to the proper person.”
“Why?”
“Well, because we acted as brokers, and in the highest good faith… I think you should answer Mr. Mason’s question about what happened to that money and assure him that the sale was of treasury stock.”
“I don’t have to assure anyone of anything,” Bolus said. “You wanted fifty thousand dollars’ worth of stock. You got it. I got the money.”
“You individually?” Mason asked. “Or as president of the corporation?”
“I don’t like your damned insinuations,” Bolus said.
“There’s one way of preventing a repetition of them,” Mason pointed out. “Simply answer the question.”
“I think it would be perfectly in order for you to answer Mr. Mason’s question,” Ganten said.
“Well, I don’t,” Bolus snapped.
Loftus stroked the angle of his chin. His eyes shifted from his attorney to the president of the Western Prospecting Company, then over to Mason, and were hastily averted.
Mason said, “Well, I’ll be going. I simply wanted you gentlemen to know where I stood.”
“I don’t think your client is adopting a fair attitude,” Loftus said.
Mason said, “Don’t let my departure interfere with your discussion, gentlemen.”
Loftus arose from his chair, started around his desk, and stopped. “Just what are you trying to do, Mr. Mason?” he asked.
“Protect the interests of my client,” Mason said, “and educate your legal department.” With an inclusive bow, he left the office.
Mason returned to his office in rare good humor.
“Do any good?” Della Street asked.
“I think so,” Mason said. “I’ve got those brokers plenty worried, and their legal department’s running around in circles. By the time they get done stirring things up, we’ll know when Tidings died. The way things are shaping up now, Sergeant Holcomb won’t be able to dig up additional clues and keep them from me.”
“You mean they’ll do the investigating for you?”
“That’s right. They can bring pressure to bear on Holcomb, and make him talk. I can’t.”
She said, “Paul Drake wants you to call. Shall I get him?”
“Uh huh.”
She got Drake on the line. As Mason picked up the receiver, he heard Drake’s voice over the wire, saying hurriedly, “Listen, Perry. A girl went into the Contractor’s Journal with an answer to that ad you placed. From there she went to a beauty parlor and is getting herself all slicked up: shampoo, wave, manicure, massage. I’ve got a man staked out in front of the beauty parlor… Now, if you’d like to get a look at this baby first hand, we’ve got time to run down there and give her the once-over when she comes out.”
“Got your car downstairs, Paul?”
“Sure.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “I’ll meet you down in the parking lot. You do the driving. I’ll do the looking.”
He hung up the telephone, said to Della Street, “We’ve got a customer on that Contractor’s Journal ad… Probably the same girl who turned in the last ad. I’m going to go take a look at her.”
“Think she’s got the other half of that ten-thousand-dollar bill?” Della Street asked.
Mason grinned. “I’m getting so I think everyone has it. I’m on my way. If this girl turns out to be Byrl Gailord, we’ll know a lot more in an hour.”
Mason walked rapidly down the corridor, took the elevator, and found Paul Drake seated in his automobile, waiting in front of the entrance. Mason climbed in.
“Think you’ll know this girl when you see her, Perry?” Drake asked.
“Uh huh,” Mason said. “—I hope so, and I’m afraid so.”
“Who is she, Perry?”
“My client,” Mason said.
Drake looked at him in surprise. “Don’t you know your own clients?”
Mason grinned. “I have a wide practice.”
Drake said, “Perry, this case keeps getting goofier and goofier. Why should you want to shadow your own client?”
“Just to give you boys a job, Paul. You’ve had a lot of hard cases, so I thought I’d give you an easy one.”
Mason remained thoughtfully silent while Drake piloted the car through traffic. A signal turned against them, and Drake, stopping the car, said, “It’s a couple of blocks farther on. We may not be able to find a parking space.”
“We can roost in front of a fire plug,” Mason said. “I want to get a good look at this girl, but I don’t want her to see me… Got a pair of dark glasses, Paul?”
“Yeah. In the glove compartment… Dark glasses are as near as we come to using disguises — and usually they’re all that’s necessary.”
The signal changed, and Drake eased the car into gear. “Got a description of her?” Mason asked.
“Not too much to go on,” Drake said, “just what I picked up over the telephone. The operative was calling from a cigar stand across the street from the beauty parlor. She has a swell figure, is around twenty-eight, a brunette with large, dark eyes.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully.
“Doesn’t it fit?” Drake asked.
“It depends on the eyes,” Mason said. “The girl I have in mind has dark eyes, but I wouldn’t pick them as being a particularly noticeable feature.”
“This operative is young and impressionable,” Drake said. “He made her sound like a follies’ beauty on the loose.”
He turned the car to the left, and said, “There’s the stake-out — this car right ahead. Have to hand it to that boy. He’s managed to take up two parking spaces so we can squeeze in behind.”
“That’s swell,” Mason said.
Drake pressed lightly on the horn button, and the operative looked behind, nodded, started his motor, and pulled his car forward until its bumper was touching that of the car ahead. Drake managed to work his own car into the space behind. “Want to talk with him?” he asked.
Mason nodded.
They got out and walked across to the agency car.
“Think she’ll be out pretty quick now,” the operative said.
“You tailed her here from the Contractor’s Journal office?” Mason asked.
“Yeah. It’s only three or four blocks. She evidently had an appointment at the beauty parlor. I think the girl in the beauty parlor knows her. But I haven’t tried as yet to get the address or any information in there.”
“You can do that after she leaves,” Mason said. “—No, wait a minute. I don’t want her to think anyone’s trailing her. We’ll wait and keep that beauty parlor as an ace up our sleeve.”
“Okay. You want me to stay here?”
“Yes. You can follow along in the car. I’ll get out and try to follow her on foot. If she gives me the slip, you carry on from there, and find out where she goes.”
“That’ll be swell. She may duck into a department store or something. A man’s lost trying to follow a pedestrian in an automobile when they pull a stunt like that.”
Mason said, “Okay. Stay on the job. How’s she dressed?”
“Dark woolen dress with a red fox jacket and one of those good-looking little hats.”
“Easy on the eyes?” Mason asked.
“Gosh, I’ll say. She’s a beauty. I could go for that number in a big way.”
Drake winked at Mason.
“Okay. We’ll go back and wait in our car,” Mason said. “You tag along and see what you can do.”
Mason and Drake walked back to sit in Drake’s car while they waited.
“You got some ideas on the time of Tidings’ death, Perry?” Drake asked.
“I think I have.”
“What are they?”
Mason said, “I don’t know. The thing doesn’t make sense… Not the way Homicide has it figured out.”
“How do they have it figured out?”
“Holcomb figured it two ways. Once he figured that Tidings was shot in the bungalow, and once he figured he was shot in the automobile and the body dragged into the bungalow.”
“How do you figure it?”
“I figure he was shot in the automobile and came into the apartment under his own power — probably with quite a bit of assistance. He died practically as soon as he was stretched out on the bed… Funny thing, Paul, about his shoes.”
“What’s funny about them?”
“They weren’t on.”
“Well, a man wouldn’t get into bed with his shoes on.”
“A dying man wouldn’t stop to take his shoes off. If someone was helping him in, that someone would hardly think to take the shoes off — unless it happened to be a woman.”
“Something to that,” Drake agreed.
“The boys from the Homicide Squad couldn’t find those shoes,” Mason said. “I looked around for ’em myself when I was in there. I didn’t see them in the closet, and didn’t see them under the bed.”
“Why would anyone take his shoes?”
“I don’t know, but I have an idea.”
“What’s the idea?”
Mason said, “Let’s look at it this way, Paul. The autopsy surgeon says he’s been dead some time. He figures ten o’clock Tuesday morning as the very latest. I have an idea he’d like to put it quite a bit before that, but in view of the other evidence, he’s stretching things to the limit.”
“That gas being on and the room being closed up didn’t help things any,” Drake pointed out.
“I know, but that’s a significant thing in itself.”
“How do you mean, Perry?”
Mason said, “Let’s look at it this way, Paul. Tidings might have gone into the house under his own power. It might have been during the daytime… But there are quite a few things which make me think otherwise. One of them is the gas.
“I don’t think that the gas was turned on simply to create conditions which would cause a more rapid decomposition of the body and make it more difficult to fix the time of death with any degree of accuracy.”
“Why was it turned on then?” Drake asked.
Mason said, “It was turned on because it was cold in the room. Whoever turned it on wanted to heat the room. That means it was turned on at night.”
“Tuesday night?” Drake asked.
Mason said, “No, Paul. Monday night.”
Drake stared at him. “Monday night! But that’s impossible!”
Mason said, “Let’s look at it this way, Paul. It was either Monday night or Tuesday night. The man wasn’t dead when he was brought into the house. The bloodstains on the floor indicate that. The nature of the bloodstains on the bed show that there was considerable hemorrhage after he was put to bed.”
“That’s right,” Drake admitted.
“According to the testimony of the autopsy surgeon, it had to be Monday night and not Tuesday night. Remember, he says the man had been dead since at least ten o’clock Tuesday morning.”
“But, Good Lord, Perry, you talked with him over the telephone. His secretary says he was…”
“How do I know I talked with him over the telephone?” Mason said. “I talked with someone who said he was Tidings. I talked with the secretary first.”
“But how do you account for the fact that the secretary says he was in the office, and that the secretary said… Gosh, Perry, do you mean that the secretary’s lying?”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “I don’t see any other way out of it. The secretary has to be lying.”
“Why?”
Mason said, “Your guess is as good as mine, but let’s look at the thing from a viewpoint of sound common sense. To begin with, we’re pretty safe in assuming that Tidings wasn’t dead when he was taken into the house. He was mortally wounded. Apparently he died very shortly after he was stretched out on the bed. Whoever helped Tidings into the house, and stretched him out on the bed, turned on the gas heat to warm up the room, probably went into the bathroom to get some towels to stop the flow of blood, or perhaps ran to the telephone to get a doctor — and Tidings died.
“Then they got in a panic, surveyed the situation, and decided to skip out; and having made that decision, whoever it was had every reason to believe that it would be a considerable period of time before the body was found — that it would be difficult if not impossible to fix the exact time of death. So off came Tidings’ shoes.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you see?” Mason said. “The shoes furnish a valuable clue.”
“To what?”
“To the time of death.”
“No,” Drake said, “I don’t see.”
Mason said, “I think the shoes were taken off after Tidings died, and that the person who took them off was a woman.”
“Just what do the shoes have to do with it, Perry?”
“There was mud on the shoes,” Mason said. “Not a great deal of mud, but just enough to show that it had been raining outside, a hard, driving rain which had made not for a thick, sticky mud, but for a thin coating which would have adhered to the soles of the shoes.
“There’s no counterpane on the bed. That means the counterpane was pulled out from under the body after death because it contained some telltale clue — probably the marks left by muddy shoes and wet smears made by a wet topcoat.”
“You figure Tidings was wearing a topcoat at the time?”
“That’s right. I figure that Tidings either drove or was driven up to the bungalow. Someone helped him up the walk to the house, across the living room, and into the bedroom. Tidings stretched out on the bed and was dead within a very few minutes. There were bloodstains on the counterpane, mud on his shoes, and wet smears made by the topcoat.
“Someone took off his shoes, managed to get off the topcoat, and then pulled the counterpane out from under the body… That made rather a bulky bundle. The topcoat was disposed of by putting it back in the bottom of Tidings’ car. Then Tidings’ car was planted where the police would find it sometime the next day, but not where they’d find it before the next day.
“That brings us to the most significant clue of all, Paul, the fact that those bloodstains stop an inch or two beyond the threshold of the house. Remember, it was raining cats and dogs Monday night. That’s a cement porch, and a cement walk. Now I’ll tell you why the bloodstains stop near the door. It’s because the driving rain washed them away, except for those two or three drops which were protected from the rain by that little roof over the front door. That again fixes the time of the murder — Monday night.”
Drake said, “Okay, Perry. You win. That last clue clinches things. Standing by itself, it’s almost enough… All right, he was killed Monday night. Where does that leave us?”
Mason said, “I don’t know.”
“How about going to work on that secretary of Tidings’ and seeing if we can get a confession out of him?”
Mason said, “That’s the logical thing to do — if I knew where I stood.”
“What do you mean, Perry?”
Mason said, “Frankly, Paul, I don’t know who my client is.”
“Come on,” Drake said. “Talk sense.”
Mason said, “I’ve been retained by someone to protect a woman. I think I was hired to defend this woman from the charge of murdering Albert Tidings.”
“That wasn’t specifically mentioned?” Drake asked.
“No, Paul. It wasn’t. A man come to my office after midnight Monday. It was raining then — raining hard. There was a woman with him. The woman wouldn’t let me hear her voice, wouldn’t let me see her face. The man made arrangements by which she could be identified. When that identification was complete, I was to receive a very substantial fee.
“Now, I can’t figure anything which would have justified all of that frenzied effort — that business of getting me out of bed to protect someone, unless it had been an emergency and a serious one. I figure a murder would be most apt to fill the bill.
“Of course, when I learned of Tidings’ murder, I thought at once that that must be it. But I was employed on Monday night. The murder apparently hadn’t been committed until Tuesday. Then I started checking up on clues, and everything that I found indicated Tidings died on Monday night… And my best guess is that it was before midnight on Monday.”
“I still don’t see why your move isn’t to try to force a confession out of the secretary,” Drake said, “—if you’re certain your client was a woman.”
Mason said, “Because I’m not certain the secretary murdered him.”
“Good Lord, Perry! If he’s lying about Tidings’ having been in the office, and if he impersonated Tidings over the telephone in talking with you…”
“It doesn’t prove a damn thing,” Mason interposed, “except that the secretary had some very definite reason for not wanting anyone to know that Tidings wasn’t there in the office. Suppose, for some reason, it was vital to have it appear Tidings was sitting in his office on Tuesday morning. The secretary did the best he could to create the impression Tidings was there. Then Tidings’ body was found, and the indications pointed to the time of death as Monday night — little things which wouldn’t be significant to a stranger, but which caused the secretary to realize what he was up against.
“You can see what a fix the secretary was in. He didn’t dare to back up and reverse his previous statements, because that would put him in an awful jam. He simply had to go ahead and bluff the thing through.
“Now then, Paul, suppose the secretary isn’t guilty of murder, but merely used a subterfuge to make it appear Tidings was in the office on Tuesday morning. Then suppose I rush in, browbeat Tidings’ secretary with a lot of facts, force him to confess. He confesses that he was lying about Tidings, but advances some logical reason for the lie. Thereupon, the police come down on my client and charge her with murder. My officious interference has wiped out the only defense she could possibly make in front of a jury.”
“What do you mean?”
“An alibi for Tuesday morning and for Tuesday afternoon and evening.”
“What makes you think she has such an alibi?”
“Because,” Mason said, “the shoes and the counterpane were missing.”
“Talk sense, Perry.”
“I am talking sense. Don’t you see, Paul? The only reason for taking the man’s shoes from his feet and the counterpane from the bed was to conceal the fact that it was raining when Tidings entered that house. That means that this person knew that that particular location would be the last place on earth where anyone would think to look for Tidings. It means that the person who did it knew that Mrs. Tidings wasn’t in the city and didn’t expect to return for several days. The only logical solution is that this person must have left my office Monday night, and then started building an alibi… This looks like the party we want, Paul.”
Drake glanced swiftly at the young woman who was standing in the door of the beauty shop drawing on dark gloves.
“Looks like it,” he said. “The operative didn’t miss it far. She could get my vote for Miss America any time.”
Drake shifted his eyes to Mason’s face as the lawyer remained watchfully silent. “What’s the matter, Perry?” he asked.
Mason said, “I would have bet ten to one that she would be a woman I’d seen before. I didn’t expect to find a stranger.”
“She’s the one we want all right,” Drake told him. “The operative in the car ahead is giving us the high sign.”
Mason lowered his head so that his hat brim shielded a portion of his face. “Keep your eye on her, Paul,” he said. “She may know me when she sees me. Tell me what she’s doing.”
“Finishing drawing on her gloves,” Drake said. “There she is out on the sidewalk… Just a curious and flickering glance at the operative in the car ahead… Seems to have passed us up entirely… Okay, Perry. She’s on her way. Want to tag along?”
“Yes,” Mason said. “And get this, Paul… Look up that secretary, Mattern. Find out all you can about him. Investigate particularly whether there’s any connection between Mattern and a guy named Bolus who’s the president of the Western Prospecting Company. I’m on my way.”
Mason stepped to the sidewalk, sauntered casually over to the inner lane of traffic, and moved quietly along behind the young woman.
She was walking with a brisk step, but her gait was not sufficiently hurried to destroy the easy swing of perfectly co-ordinating muscles. Her hips moved in graceful rhythm as she strode easily but rapidly, very apparently headed toward some definite objective.
Mason followed her to a drugstore where she went into a telephone booth and remained long enough to dial a number and engage in swiftly rapid conversation with some unknown party. She hung up, swept past the counter where Mason was buying a toothbrush, and again reached the sidewalk. Once more, she flashed a quick glance at the car which the operative was driving, but it was no more than a mere flicker of the eyes.
Out in the street, she seemed to lose much of her former haste. Her step became more leisurely. Twice she paused to look in at store windows. The second time she seemed to tear herself reluctantly away from the inspection of a black velvet dinner dress, which was draped on a model in the window. She walked half a dozen steps, then abruptly turned to come back and once more study the dress, giving Mason an opportunity, after an uncomfortable second or two, to wander past, noticing as he did so, that her eyes were only interested in the department store window.
Mason stepped into the doorway of the department store and waited for her to walk past.
Instead she marched swiftly through the doorway, and mingled with the crowd which was moving slowly through the aisles. She branched off toward the elevators, then abruptly turned, walked around a staircase, back to the ready-to-wear department, and out of the door to another street.
Mason, following behind, was entirely unprepared when she suddenly stopped. He was faced with the necessity of making himself conspicuous by also stopping or else trying to saunter casually past. He decided to keep moving.
A well-modulated voice said, “Good morning, Mr. Mason. Was there something you wished to say to me?”
Mason raised his hat, and looked into intense black eyes in which there was just a twinkle of mocking humor.
“I don’t think I know you,” he said.
She laughed up into his face. “That’s the line a woman falls back on when she’s trying to make up her mind whether to fall for a pick-up,” she said. “Surely the great Perry Mason should be expected to do better than that! Why are you following me?”
“Just my appreciation of the beautiful.”
“Don’t be silly… Come along. If you want to tag me around, there’s no reason why you should walk along behind me.”
She tucked her arm through his, smiled up at him, and said, “There. That’s better. I was going to turn to the left. I presume that means you were also going to turn to the left.”
He nodded.
“Did you,” she asked, “notice the two cars that were also following me?”
“Two?” Mason asked.
“Well,” she admitted, “one of them I’m certain of. The other, I’m not positive about.”
“You seem to be rather popular,” Mason said.
“Apparently, I am.”
“Really, I don’t recall having met you.”
She laughed. “Oh, I’ve seen your picture dozens of times, and had you pointed out to me in nightclubs. You probably don’t realize it, Mr. Mason, but you’re something of a popular idol here in the city — definitely more than a celebrity.”
“I’m flattered,” Mason murmured.
She looked up at his profile, and said, “My, I’d certainly hate to have you cross-examine me.”
“And I,” Mason said, “would hate to have to cross-examine you. Anyone who can avoid questions as well as you would make a deadly witness.”
“Why? What question was I avoiding?”
“You haven’t told me your name — as yet.”
She laughed and said, “That’s right. I haven’t. I’m not even certain that I will, Mr. Mason… Rather clever, those detectives, aren’t they?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“One of them evidently stayed at the entrance where I went in. The other’s circling the block. Here he comes now. Shall we try to ditch him, or string him along?”
Mason said, “Oh, let’s string him along. They’re getting paid by the day, and we may as well give him a break. I hope my entering into the picture doesn’t cause complications.”
“Why? Why should it?”
“Oh,” he said, “you don’t know to whom they’re reporting, and, of course, they don’t know why I was following you. As a result, their reports will read, ‘Shortly after subject left beauty parlor, Perry Mason started to follow. After observing that coast was apparently clear, Mason contacted subject, and they departed arm in arm, talking earnestly.’ ”
She frowned and said, “That would complicate things. I wouldn’t want — well, you know. It looks rather peculiar when you mention it that way.”
“That’s undoubtedly the way a detective would write it up in his report,” Mason said.
“Were you following me all the way from the beauty parlor?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t spot you until the drugstore,” she said. “What do you want with me?”
“I’d like to know who you are,” Mason said.
“Suppose I don’t tell you?”
“Then it will probably take me all of half an hour to find out.”
She said, “Don’t be silly, Mr. Mason. There are a dozen ways I could ditch you.”
Mason said, “You wouldn’t stoop so low as to try the rest-room trick on me, would you? That’s hardly sporting.”
“Good heavens, no!” she said. “It’s so obvious… And then I’m not entirely certain about you. I’m not even certain you’d stop at the rest-room door. You look as though you’d call any ordinary bet — perhaps raise it. You’re capable of it.”
“Well then, why not be a good scout and tell me.”
“Because that’s the one thing I don’t want you to know. I’m not quite ready for you to know.”
“When will you be ready?”
“When I know why you were following and what led you to me in the first place. I also want to know whether you know anything about those detectives who were trailing me in the automobiles. In other words, Mr. Mason, I seem to have achieved a very sudden and flattering popularity. To be shadowed by one detective is bad enough. To have two detectives on the job is disconcerting, and then to look back and see the city’s most famous attorney taking an unusual interest in my activities is enough to run my pulse up in the hundreds.”
“Are you,” Mason asked, “going to tell me who you are?”
She turned then to face him. “No,” she said, “and I’m not going to let you follow me. I’m warning you, Mr. Mason, that I want very much to be left alone… Now then, suppose we shake hands and part friends. I’ll stand here and watch you walk down that street. When you’re a block away, I’ll resume my afternoon shopping.”
Mason shook his head. “Having gone to all this trouble to find you,” he said, “I don’t intend to let you escape so easily.”
“Then they’re your detectives!”
Mason said nothing.
She tilted her head defiantly. “Very well,” she said. “You brought this on yourself.”
“Do we have to declare war?” Mason asked.
“Yes,” she said, “unless you retreat.”
“Answer four or five questions,” Mason said, “and I’ll sue for an armistice.”
“No.”
“All right,” he said, “it’s war then.”
They had been swinging along the sidewalk as they talked, apparently a couple gaily chatting with each other. Only a close observer would have noticed the dogged determination on the lawyer’s face and the nervous uneasiness in the girl’s manner.
A signal changed. The crossing officer turned with the approaching stream of pedestrians, walking quietly to stand at watchful attention near the edge of the crossing, his eye shrewdly appraising the automobile traffic, alert to detect the first symptoms of a prohibited left-hand turn.
Abruptly the young woman at Mason’s side pushed him away violently and called out, “Officer! This man is annoying me! He…”
Moving with lightning swiftness and before the officer could turn to get them in his field of vision, Mason snatched the purse from under her arm.
Speechless with surprise and indignation, she whirled to stare at him with startled eyes. Mason raised his hat and said, “I’m only trying to return the purse, Madam.”
The officer pushed toward them. “What’s all this? What’s all this?” he asked.
“He’s annoying me,” the young woman said. “He grabbed…”
Mason smiled. “A young woman left her purse on the counter in the drugstore,” he explained to the officer. “I believe the purse belongs to this young woman, but I won’t give it up until she can identify it. That’s only reasonable, isn’t it? Here, you can take it if you want.”
Mason calmly opened the purse and said, “You can see for yourself, officer. There’s…”
She jumped toward Mason, grabbing frantically at the purse. “Don’t you dare…”
Mason turned so as to present one of his broad shoulders to her rushing attack. He pulled a leather folder from her purse, opened it to glance quickly at her driving license, and said, “You can see for yourself, officer. The name and address of the owner of the purse are here on this driving license. All she has to do is give me her name, and I’ll surrender the purse.”
There were quick tears of humiliation and indignation in her eyes.
The officer said, “Say, buddy. You’re acting kinda funny about this.”
“I fail to see anything strange about it,” Mason said with dignity. “Permit me to introduce myself, officer. I’m Perry Mason, the attorney. I…”
“Say,” the officer exclaimed, “you are for a fact! Pardon me, Mr. Mason. I didn’t recognize you. I’ve seen you in court some, and seen your picture in the papers a lot.”
Mason bowed and smiled acknowledgment, then said to the young woman, in his most conciliatory manner, “You can appreciate my position. I think this is your purse. I certainly can’t turn it over to you unless you can at least identify it.”
“Oh, very well,” she said. “The name on the driving license is Adelle Hastings. The address is 906 Cleveland Square. There’s even a fingerprint of my thumb on the driving license in case you want any further identification.”
Mason said, “It’s quite all right, Miss Hastings. I’m satisfied it’s your purse. That’s the name and address on the driving license.”
The officer looked past them to the curious onlookers who had stopped to listen. “On your way,” he growled. “This is an intersection, not a club-room. Keep moving. Don’t be blocking the traffic.”
Mason raised his hat, bowed to the officer, and said to Adelle Hastings, “Are you going my way, Miss Hastings?”
She blinked back the tears. “Yes,” she said, and then added after a moment, “I am now,” and fell into step at his side.
Mason said, “I was sorry I didn’t have an opportunity to make a more detailed investigation of your coin purse.”
“Why?” she asked.
“I thought I might find a torn bill in there.”
“A torn bill?” she asked, looking at him with raised eyebrows.
“Well, at least one that had been cut along the edges.”
She said, with quick vehemence, “I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, Mr. Mason.”
“Well,” he said, “we can discuss that later. Why didn’t you want me to know who you were?”
“For various reasons.”
“Can you tell me what they are?”
“I can, but I won’t.”
“Don’t you think it might be well for you to be frank with me?”
“No.”
“You’re the one who insisted on the investigation which disclosed the shortage in the hospital trust fund?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know Tidings had been embezzling funds?”
“I simply asked for an investigation,” she said. “I made no charges.”
“The question still stands,” Mason said.
“So does the answer,” she retorted.
Mason said, “Well, we’ll try it from another angle. I’m very anxious to talk with a certain architect. Of course, I can wait until tomorrow and read the answer to my ad in the Contractor’s Journal, but I thought it would simplify matters if you told me what Mr. Peltham had said.”
She stood stock-still, and Mason, looking at her, saw that her face was drained of color. The eyes were dark with panic. Her lips quivered. She tried twice to speak before she managed to say, “Oh,” in a choking voice that was half a sob. Then after a moment, she said again, “Oh, my God!”
Mason said, “No need to be so upset, Miss Hastings. Just tell me what he said.”
She clutched his arm then, and he could feel the tips of her fingers digging into his flesh. “No, no,” she cried. “No, no! You mustn’t ever, ever let anyone know about that… Oh, I should have known you’d trap me!”
Mason patted her shoulder. Noticing the curious glances of several pedestrians, he piloted her toward a doorway. “Take it easy,” he said. “Perhaps there’s some place we can talk… Here’s a cocktail lounge. Let’s go in.”
She permitted him to pilot her into the cocktail lounge, and seated herself as though glad to relieve the strain of her weight on wobbling knees.
“How did you know that?” she asked, as Mason seated himself on the other side of the little table.
A white-coated waiter appeared, and Mason raised his eyebrows at Adelle Hastings.
“A double brandy,” she said.
“Make it two,” Mason ordered, and, when the waiter had withdrawn, Mason said in a kindly voice, “You should have known you couldn’t get away with it.”
“But I could have,” she said, “if I’d… if I’d only used ordinary prudence. I can see it all now. I can see the trap you set for me.”
Mason brushed her remark aside. “Let’s quit this business of beating around the bush,” he said. “Haven’t you something to say to me?”
“About what?”
“About your first visit to my office.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What about it?” she asked.
Mason said, “If you need me, you know, arrangements have already been made.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mason said, “That isn’t going to get you anywhere.”
“But I don’t. I really don’t.”
“All right,” Mason said. “You’ve had your chance. Remember that I protect my clients to the best of my ability. People who are not my clients have to be on their guard.”
She laughed nervously. “If you think I’m not going to be on my guard with you from now on, Mr. Mason, you have another think coming.”
“All right. We’ll handle it that way then,” Mason said with calm, patient persistence. “Now let’s get back to Robert Peltham. First, what did he say in answer to my ad?”
As she hesitated, Mason added, “I can find out by the simple expedient of ringing up the Contractor’s Journal. After all, they’re going to publish it, you know.”
She bit her lip. For a moment her dark eyes were veiled from his by lowered lashes, then she suddenly looked up at him, and he had a glimpse of flashing teeth as she smiled. “Mr. Peltham,” she said, “says he can’t meet you — for you to carry on.”
“But,” Mason observed, “I’m groping in the dark.”
“You seem to be doing very well at it, Mr. Mason,” she said, and Mason realized that something had given her a sudden return of self-confidence. Her manner was archly gay, a jaunty assumption of carefree banter.
Mason studied her, trying to find some reason for the transformation, to learn whether it was due to something he had said, or simply because she had suddenly conceived some new plan which offered such possibilities of ultimate success as to restore her confidence.
Mason said, “I’m in too deep to back out right now. I’m going ahead.”
“Do,” she said. “Mr. Peltham seems to think you’re doing splendidly.”
“Have you talked with him?”
“Well, let’s put it this way: I’ve been in communication with him.”
“Over the telephone?”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to start avoiding questions again, Mr. Mason.”
Mason scowled. “All right,” he said, lashing out at her with sudden belligerency. “Let’s quite playing ring-around-the-rosy. What’s your alibi for Monday night?”
She smiled at him sweetly. “Tuesday from noon on, Mr. Mason,” she said.
“You heard my question. Monday night.”
“You heard my answer,” she replied smilingly. “From noon Tuesday, Mr. Mason.”
“I hope it’s a good one.”
“It is.”
“Just by way of satisfying my curiosity,” he asked her, “what were you doing Monday night?”
“What I was doing Monday night doesn’t have anything to do with the case. You know it doesn’t. The newspaper says you, yourself, talked with Tidings Tuesday morning around eleven o’clock… And I see you’re representing that Gailord girl… I wish you luck with her.”
“Are you,” Mason asked, “trying to change the subject?”
“No, of course not.”
“What do you know about Miss Gailord?”
“Nothing.”
“You know her?”
“I’ve met her, yes.”
“Where?”
“Oh, several times — at social functions.”
“She moves in your circle?”
“Not exactly. She tries to… wait a minute, I don’t mean it that way.”
“Yes, you do,” Mason said. “That’s exactly what you meant. The remark may have slipped out, but you meant it.”
“All right, then, I did. It’s just what she’s doing.”
“She’s a social climber?”
“If you want to put it that way. Good Lord, what if her father was a grand duke? Who cares?”
Mason, watching her narrowly, said, “At a guess, she has specific ambitions toward marriage?”
“I guess all women do, don’t they?”
“I wouldn’t know. What’s the catch she’s after?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. I don’t care to discuss it.”
“Simply because she’s a rival?”
“What do you mean? What are you insinuating?”
Mason said, “I may know more than you give me credit for.”
She said hotly, “You look here, Mr. Mason. Coleman Reeger and I are good friends, and that’s all. I don’t care whom he marries — only I’d hate to see him walk into a trap.”
“You think that’s what he’s doing?”
She said firmly, “That’s enough, Mr. Mason. We aren’t going to discuss that matter, and we’ll leave Coleman Reeger out of it.”
“All right, we will if you’ll tell me where you were Monday night.”
She laughed and said, “You’re laying another trap for me, aren’t you, Mr. Mason?”
The waiter brought their drinks.
Mason said, “Look here. You weren’t just playing a hunch on that trust fund business. You’ve been sticking up for Peltham. You’re in communication with him. You have the most implicit faith in him. That means that — well, you know what it means.”
“What does it mean?” she asked.
Mason said, “You may mask your face, but you can’t mask your feelings.”
She twisted the stem of her glass, rotating it by a slow motion of the thumb and forefinger while she kept her eyes from his. “I don’t think I’m going to make any answer to that,” she said.
“You mean you don’t understand me?”
“N-n-no. Not exactly that, but I’d want you to be very definite before I — before I said anything at all.”
Mason tossed off his drink, pulled a bill from his pocket, and dropped it on the table. “Now listen,” he said, “we’ve played ring-around-the-rosy and button-button-who’s-got-the-button until I’m sick of it. You can either talk to me now and talk to me frankly and fairly, or I’ll walk out, and you can chase me around.”
“But why should I want to chase you around, Mr. Mason? It’s the other way around. You were following me.”
“Forget it,” Mason said. “I’m tired of playing horse. Do you want me to walk out, or don’t you?”
Her eyes showed a quick flash of some baffling expression. “Mr. Mason,” she said, with feeling, “if you’d get up from this table, walk out of that door, and not ask me any more questions, I’d think — I’d think it was one of the biggest breaks I’d ever had in my whole life.”
Without a word, Mason pushed back his chair, picked up his hat, and started for the door. He turned midway to glance back at her surprised features and said, “You know where my office is,” — then walked out and left her.