The drizzle had developed into a cold drenching rain when Mason and the detective emerged from a cab in front of the Wavecrest Apartments.
“Do you do the talking,” Drake asked, “or do I?”
“I do,” Mason said.
“Going to throw a scare into her or take it easy?” Drake inquired.
“Take it easy if she’ll let me,” Mason told him, his eyes exploring the index of tenants on the front of the building. He found the name: MARIAN WHITING opposite Apartment 1329 and pressed the button. A moment later an electric buzzer released the catch on the door, and Drake said, “Well, there’s a good index to her character. She’s on the up-and-up. If she’d been two-timing anybody, she’d have made whistles up and down the speaking tube.”
Mason nodded. They took the elevator to the thirteenth floor, found the apartment they wanted, and tapped on the door. The woman who opened it had alert brown eyes, dark chestnut hair, a slightly upturned nose and delicate lips. She was wearing black and orange lounging pajamas. Sandals on her feet showed red painted nails.
“Yes?” she asked. “What is it?”
“I want to talk with you,” Mason said.
She eyed the two men a moment in silent appraisal, then stood to one side and said, “Come in.”
When they were seated, Mason said, “It’s about your sister.”
“Oh, you mean Evelyn?”
“Yes.”
“Are you newspapermen?”
“No,” Mason said, “we’re just gathering facts. I wanted to find out about your sister’s friendship with Carl Moar.”
“Why?” Marian Whiting asked, her eyes suddenly defiant.
Mason returned her stare, smiled and said, “You win. I’m Perry Mason. I’m a lawyer representing Mrs. Moar. I’m collecting facts.”
“What does my sister have to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “Probably nothing. I’m simply investigating.”
“What did you want to know?”
“How long ago did she first become acquainted with Carl Moar?”
“Oh, heavens, I don’t know. It’s been... Let’s see... it must have been five or six years.”
“How long did the friendship continue?”
“Up until two or three months before Carl was married.”
“You’re certain it didn’t continue up until the time of marriage?”
“Of course I am,” she said. “Sis saw him on the street in Los Angeles two or three months ago, but it was just a casual meeting.”
“Was there any particular reason why your sister terminated her friendship with Carl Moar shortly before his marriage?” Mason asked. “In other words, did any other woman come between them?”
“Good heavens, no. If you want the truth, I think Carl gave Sis some bad financial advice. Of course Carl meant all right, but you know how those things are. Sis had about a thousand dollars she’d saved up and Carl told her he thought he could make her a hundred percent profit. She gave him the money and received interest on it for a while, and then lost everything.”
“What was the nature of the investment?” Mason asked.
“I’m sure I couldn’t tell you. It was something Carl was promoting. He lost all his own savings along with Evelyn’s, but that didn’t help Evelyn any. You know, when a man tells a girl he has a wonderful investment for her he can’t be expected to guarantee she’s going to make money on it, but when her savings are wiped out she naturally doesn’t feel so cordial toward him. She’s lost her respect for his judgment.”
“Where is she now, by the way?” Mason asked.
“Why, in Honolulu.”
Drake flashed a significant look at the lawyer, but Mason, taking a cigarette case from his pocket, said, “Mind if I smoke?”
“Not in the least,” she said. “I’ll have one with you.”
She took a cigarette. Drake also took one. “Three on one match?” Mason asked.
She laughed heartily. “Good Lord, yes! Six on one match if you want to.”
She leaned forward and accepted his light. Drake held back, looked sheepish for a moment and said, “Go ahead, Perry. I’ll light my own.”
Mason said to Marian Whiting, “He’s a confirmed pessimist. No use trying to reform him. How long’s your sister been in Honolulu, Miss Whiting?”
“Just two weeks.”
“You’re working?” Mason inquired. “Pardon me, I’m not trying to pry into your affairs, but...”
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Mason,” she told him. “No, I’m not working now. I’m looking for a secretarial position. I have two or three offers but they’re not just what I want and I’m able to hold out for a while...”
“That isn’t what I’m interested in,” Mason said. “I was wondering if your time was your own.”
“Yes. Why?”
“Did you,” Mason inquired with an elaborately casual manner, “go down to the dock to see your sister off?”
She laughed. “I’ll say I did. Four or five of her friends fixed up a stunt sailing basket for her. It had fruit and nuts on top and was all covered with cellophane and looked like a regular sailing basket, but down underneath we had all sorts of stuff for practical jokes.”
“Did she get a kick out of it?” Mason asked.
“I’ll say! You should have seen the letter she sent back on the Clipper.”
Mason got to his feet and said, “Well, thanks a lot for the information... Oh, by the way, do you know where your sister’s staying at the present time in Honolulu?”
“Yes. Would you like her address?”
“If you don’t mind,” Mason said.
“It’s somewhere on Alewa Drive,” Marian Whiting told him. “I’m no good at remembering numbers. Just a minute and I’ll get her last letter.”
She left the room, and Drake said to Mason, “What is this, a run-around, Perry?”
Mason shook his head. “That girl’s on the square, Paul. I’m not so certain about the sister. The sister’s different from her-thicker lips, smoldering eyes, and hair of...” He broke off as Marian Whiting entered the room with some letters in her hand. “It’s 1091 Alewa Drive,” she said.
“Honolulu?” Mason asked.
“That’s right.”
Mason looked at the envelopes, laughed, and said, “I see you’re not a stamp collector.
“Oh, but I am.”
“You haven’t removed the Clipper stamps.”
“No,” she said, “I’m saving the envelopes. That gives me the complete postmark.”
Mason casually extended his hand, and she unhesitatingly passed over the envelopes. Mason looked at the stamps, studied the postmarks and said, “This one left Honolulu day before yesterday.”
“Yes,” she said, “I got it yesterday. It’s the last letter I’ve received from Sis.”
“Interesting handwriting,” Mason said. “It shows a lot of character.”
“Oh, do you read character from handwriting, Mr. Mason? I’m very much interested in it.”
“Yes,” Mason said, “it’s a hobby of mine. Of course, you can’t read character from just a few words, such as the address on the envelope, but if I had a page of handwriting, I’d be willing to bet I could tell you quite a good deal about your sister, what she looks like, where she’s been recently, what she’s been doing, and... oh, quite a lot of things about her.”
“Can you really? I think that’s wonderful. Mason took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and said, “I’d even be willing to bet you ten dollars against ten cents.”
Laughing, Marian Whiting took ten cents from her purse, placed it on the lawyer’s ten-dollar bill, and took the letter from the envelope. “There you are,” she told him.
Mason opened the letter.
“Now, wait a minute,” Marian Whiting said. “You can’t read it, because she says lots of things in there about what she’s been doing, things you were going to tell me from her writing.”
“Oh, certainly,” Mason conceded, “I merely want to glance at the handwriting. Here, I’ll let Mr. Drake hold the letter while I tell you. In the first place, your sister is younger than you are. She’s taller and has blonde hair. Her eyes are blue, with just a shade of green. Her lips are rather thin. She’s...”
Marian Whiting interrupted him to say, “You’d better take another look at that handwriting, Mr. Mason. You’re going to lose ten dollars.”
Mason frowned. “Why, I’d swear I was right.” He peered over Drake’s shoulder at the letter for a moment, then raised his eyes to Marian Whiting and said positively, “That letter was written by a tall, thin woman with a nervous temperament. Your sister may have the external appearance of a jolly good fellow, who lives a happy-go-lucky existence, but secretly she worries a lot. She’s quite a bit underweight. I hope the trip to the Islands does her good.”
“You’re wrong on that,” Marian Whiting said. “You haven’t described her at all. Now, what’s she been doing?”
“Well,” Mason said, “she’s been nursing someone.”
Marian Whiting perched herself on a corner of the table and said, “No cheating. You knew she was a nurse. That’s simple. Go on now, and tell me something else from the handwriting, something intimate. What’s she been doing over in Honolulu?”
“She’s been on a special case, a case involving a man who was injured, perhaps in an automobile accident, a man who has some sort of a harness around his shoulders and on his neck... Of course. Miss Whiting,” Mason added, laughing, “you understand I’m more or less of an amateur at this psychic business. I don’t see things too clearly”
“Well, you’re not seeing this clearly,” she said. “In fact, you’re not seeing it at all, Mr. Mason.”
“Hasn’t there been someone like that whom she’s been nursing?” Mason asked.
“No. She didn’t do any work on the Islands at all. This wasn’t a working trip.”
Mason’s expression indicated puzzled bewilderment. “Look here,” he charged, “you’re not trying to kid me out of ten bucks, are you?”
“Certainly not,” she said indignantly.
“Well,” Mason said, “either this isn’t your sister’s handwriting, or else...”
“Of course it’s my sister’s handwriting.
“It couldn’t be a forgery?”
“Why, Mr. Mason, who would want to forge my sister’s handwriting? Good heavens, no! That letter’s filled with little intimate details. I know absolutely it’s from Sis.”
“You share this apartment?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“And when do you expect her back?”
“She said she’d be back in about two weeks. If she could get the reservations she wanted, she might be back a boat sooner. She’s going to send me a cablegram as soon as she knows.”
“Well,” Mason said, “I guess you’re entitled to the ten dollars, although I still think... oh, well, never mind.”
Her face flushed. “You think I’m taking advantage of you? Here, take your ten dollars, I don’t want it.”
“No, no. It isn’t that,” Mason said hastily. “I just can’t understand how my deductions could be so completely wrong. Just what does your sister look like. Miss Whiting?”
“I’ll get you her picture,” Marian Whiting offered. “You can see for yourself.”
Mason glanced at Paul Drake. “Not a posed photograph, please. Something that will show her character and...”
“Certainly. Just a minute.”
She left them and went into the bedroom. “What does the letter say, Paul?” Mason asked in an undertone.
“All about the Islands, people she met, dances she’s attended, a luau, native feast, and how they ate with their fingers, and...”
“Never mind all that,” Mason said. “How about the intimate personal details?”
“She tells Marian she forgot to send her fall suit to the cleaners, to please have it cleaned and pressed, and there’s a spot on one sleeve which she’s to call to the attention of the cleaner. That she’d like to have her fur coat out of storage when she gets back, and... Wait a minute, Perry, she mentions her husband...”
Marian Whiting returned with a photograph album. She placed it on the table. Mason and the detective stood at her side as she turned the leaves. “Here’s Evelyn... There’s an old picture of Evelyn and Carl Moar. There’s another one of Evelyn. Here we are in bathing suits... Here we are...” Abruptly she laughed and turned the page. “I guess you hadn’t better see that one. Here we were on our vacation in shorts. Here’s Evelyn and a boyfriend. Here’s... Oh, wait a minute. I know... I have a dandy picture taken when Evelyn sailed.”
She turned over a dozen pages and showed them a mounted, eight-by-ten enlargement. “Here it is. I had the picture enlarged because it was such a good negative. You can see her up there at the rail. See, she’s holding on to the strips of colored paper...”
Mason said, “Pardon me,” picked up the photograph album and took the picture to the light so that he could study it carefully. “I’m something of a nut on photography myself,” he said, by way of explanation. “This is a fine piece of work. You must have a very good camera there. Miss Whiting.”
“I have,” she said. “It was given to me by an uncle who runs a camera store in the East. It takes a sharp negative, has an anastigmatic lens and a focal plane shutter...”
“I see you’re something of an expert yourself,” Mason laughed.
She nodded. “I’m just crazy about it,” she said, “and this color photography gives me the biggest thrill of all.”
Mason said, “Yes, I bought a miniature camera over in China and snapped hundreds of colored pictures. Perhaps when your sister gets back you’ll be interested in seeing those I took in Honolulu and while I was on the ship coming over. By the way, who’s this young chap standing just back of your sister? He seems to be acquainted with her, and...”
Marian Whiting grabbed up the album, started to say something, and then checked herself and said, “Someone on the boat, I guess.”
“He seems to be taking quite an interest in your sister,” Mason said.
“Oh, Sis just slays ‘em when she gets on a boat, ” Marian Whiting said. “Why, I remember one time—”
“I notice his hand is on her shoulder,” Mason insisted.
Marian Whiting looked up and said, “I’m not supposed to tell you about this, Mr. Mason. I’d forgotten about him being in that photograph.”
“Of course,” Mason said, “I don’t want to pry into your sister’s private affairs. I take it this is some young man she’s friendly with?”
“He’s her husband.”
Mason remained silent.
“Sis was secretly married and went to Honolulu. She’s over there on her honeymoon. That’s Morgan Eves, her husband. She’s not ready to announce the marriage yet.”
“I see,” Mason said. “Then she’s still over in the Islands on her honeymoon?”
“Yes.”
“Her husband still with her?”
“Of course.”
“Looks like a nice chap,” Mason said. “I would size him up as a bond salesman.”
“Well, he isn’t,” Marian Whiting blazed. “And if you ask me, he isn’t any good.”
She checked herself abruptly.
Mason said, “Oh, surely, it can’t be that bad. He has rather a nice face.”
“Ever since he’s known Sis,” Marian went on passionately, “he’s been a bad influence in her life. I was certainly hoping she wouldn’t marry him.”
“What’s he do?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know. That’s the mysterious part of it. He has plenty of money and a prejudiced, warped, cynical outlook on life. I think he’s in some sort of a racket. I don’t trust him.”
“I take it your sister won’t be living with you when she gets back.”
“Yes, she’s going to — for at least a couple of months. They can’t publicly announce the marriage yet. It’s something about an interlocutory decree that isn’t final, or something. Sis has been rather mysterious about it all. He’s made such a change in her. My heavens! I’d have sworn she’d never get married again. She liked men and she liked to have a good time, but we, both of us, decided it was a lot better these days for a girl to have her independence and keep house by herself than to have some man ordering her around, making her work, and spending her money. Sis had one experience with marriage, and it was enough... Now you promise me you won’t say anything to the newspapers.”
“About your sister’s marriage?”
“Yes. I shouldn’t have told you that.”
Mason said, “Well, I’ll make a bargain with you. If you’ll let me have a picture of your sister, we’ll call it square.”
“Is there any particular one you’d like?” she asked.
“How about the one where she’s getting into the automobile?” Mason asked. “The one where she has her hand on the door. That’s a particularly good picture.”
“Yes, I think I have an extra print of that.”
She once more entered the bedroom. “That the girl all right?” Drake asked.
“That’s the girl,” Mason said.
Drake said, “The chap she married is a crook. He’s been in two or three scrapes. They had a murder charge against him in Los Angeles two or three months ago. Had a dead open-and-shut case, but he squirmed loose. I’d recognize that face anywhere. I saw him—”
Marian Whiting came back with the photograph. “I found it. It’s an extra print,” she said. “It really belongs to Sis, but I can have another one made for her.”
Mason said, “I’ll be glad to pay—”
“No, no,” Marian Whiting said hastily. “That wasn’t what I was getting at.”
Mason gestured toward the ten-dollar bill. “Well, it’s your money,” he said. “You won the bet.”
“Oh, I couldn’t take the money, Mr. Mason.”
“Why not?”
“The odds were too great. My heavens! It was interesting seeing you try to describe Sis, and I’m all wrapped up in mental telepathy and character reading. I’ll bet you’re a Leo, Mr. Mason. You have—”
“If I’d won the bet,” Mason said sternly, “I’d have taken your dime. Now then, young lady, under those circumstances, you take that ten dollars.”
She picked up the ten-dollar bill, slowly folded it. “I don’t feel right about this,” she protested. Mason laughed, shook hands and said, “Thanks a lot for your cooperation.”
“And you’ll keep it under cover about Sis?”
“Yes,” Mason promised. “I won’t say anything about what you’ve told me. If, of course, I should get the information from some other source, I couldn’t guarantee...”
“Oh, that’s all right. As far as that’s concerned I don’t think it makes any great difference, except that I don’t want Sis to think I gave her away. Gee, Mr. Mason, I still don’t feel right about this ten dollars!
Mason laughed, took Drake’s arm and moved toward the elevator. Marian Whiting slowly closed the door of the apartment.
Mason said in a low voice, “This photograph shows the license number on the automobile, Paul. It’s a recent photograph, and the car’s a late model. Let’s run around to your San Francisco branch office and chase it down.”
“Good idea,” Drake said, “they may have something on Evelyn Whiting by this time.
In the taxicab Drake said, “How about the chap she married, Perry? Was he on the boat coming over?”
“No,” Mason said, “he wasn’t. And I can’t get this stall over the Honolulu end. She must have written letters ahead and left them to be mailed to her sister.”
“What’s the idea?” Drake asked.
“Damned if I know,” Mason said, “unless she’s trying to build up an alibi of some kind.”
“That might be an idea. Perry. Two or three months from now the sister would swear up one side and down the other that Evelyn was over in Honolulu, and could produce her letters to prove it.”
“The only trouble with that is that she sailed back under her own name,” Mason said. “She’s on the passenger list as Evelyn Whiting. How do you account for that?”
“She may have had a round trip ticket,” Drake said, “or... oh, shucks, Perry. I don’t know. We haven’t enough to go on yet. What do you suppose happened to the husband?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
“And,” Drake went on, “who was this chap with the broken neck?”
“Wait a minute,” Mason said, “that chap with the broken neck was probably her husband.”
“What name was he going under?”
“Roger P. Cartman. Give me a description of this chap, as nearly as you can remember him, Paul.”
“Well,” Drake said, “his real name is James Whitly, and he’s gone under the name of James Clerke. He’s a small fellow, weighing not over a hundred and thirty-five pounds, with thin features and small bones, and he’s deadly as a rattlesnake. He’s been mixed up in two or three rackets, has served time in San Quentin, and Folsom. Then he wormed his way out of that open-and-shut murder charge. The judge bawled hell out of the jury when they brought in the not-guilty verdict, but that didn’t keep the verdict from standing. He has dark eyes, set rather close together, a thin mouth, high cheekbones and—”
Mason said, “I believe that’s the chap, Paul, the one she was nursing. Of course, I couldn’t see his face plainly. He had to hold his head in one position because of that neck brace, so his eyes were shaded against the sunlight by heavy goggles, and the harness came up around his chin. But I remember he was a small-boned chap with high cheekbones and a thin mouth. His forehead was covered with a strip of gauze — it’s the man all right.”
“He must have been hurt over there.”
“And she brought him back to the Mainland for medical treatment.”
“He may have pulled something over in Honolulu and is hiding out,” Drake said. “Do you want to go any farther with it?”
“You bet we do,” Mason told him. “Get this, Paul, Unless we can get some sort of a break, Mrs. Moar is going to be convicted of first-degree murder. She lied about going on deck with her husband. She had her husband’s money. There was a large policy of insurance. Two shots were fired. A gun which undoubtedly belonged to Moar was found on the boat deck with her fingerprints on the barrel, and an eyewitness will swear to enough to make the jury feel it isn’t a case of circumstantial evidence. It’s very possible that she’s innocent. I think she is or I wouldn’t be representing her, but try and sell that idea to a jury. Now then, if you add to that the fact that when she telephoned the operator to notify the bridge she told them a man had been pushed overboard, her chances are absolutely nil. They may even return a verdict without recommendation, which will automatically carry the death penalty.”
“How strong will this eyewitness go?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know,” Mason told him. “We’re having a preliminary examination tomorrow. I think I can use a technicality which will force the district attorney to put on all of his evidence at the preliminary. That’ll give me a chance to rip his witnesses wide open and shoot the case full of holes. By the time that Fell girl gets into the Superior Court she’ll have rehearsed her testimony so much in her own mind that it’ll be impossible to shake her. By catching her now, I may be able to find a weak point. In fact, I think I have one — if your men can get that photograph.”
“What’s that photograph got to do with it?” Drake asked.
“That’s a secret, ” Mason said.
“Well, we can tell when we get to the office, ” Drake told him. “I have men working on it.”
The taxi deposited them at Drake’s office. Mason sat in a cubbyhole office while Drake received reports from his subordinates.
Drake skimmed through a typewritten report and said, “Okay, Perry, Aileen Fell is going to be at a party tonight in a formal. Operatives so far haven’t been able to locate Evelyn Whiting. The ambulance companies all say they didn’t have an ambulance at the dock yesterday.”
“Well, an ambulance was there,” Mason said. “I saw it.”
“I saw it too,” Drake said, “but I didn’t pay particular attention to it. I saw the word AMBULANCE written on the side under the driver’s window. I have an idea it was a private ambulance.”
“Well, we can chase down that angle, can’t we?”
“Yes, it’s being chased down.”
“How about her baggage? Where was that taken?”
“Taken to storage,” Drake told him. “She gave checks to a storage company, and the address she gave the storage company was the Wavecrest Apartment address.”
Mason said irritably, “I never knew a girl to leave such a broad back trail and then have it vanish so completely.”
The telephone rang. Drake picked up the receiver, listened and said, “Okay, Perry, we’ve traced that car. It’s registered to a Morgan Eves who lives at 3618 Stockton Boulevard. Do we go there?”
Mason said, “We go there, but first I want to ring up Della and tell her what we’re doing and see if the district attorney’s released Belle Newberry.”
Drake passed the telephone over to Mason. Mason dialed the number of the hotel and said, “This is Mr. Mason talking. Connect me with my suite, please.”
After a moment, the operator’s voice said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. They don’t answer. I don’t think there’s anyone in there.”
“There must be,” Mason insisted. “Miss Street, my secretary, is there waiting for instructions—”
“Miss Street went out just a few minutes after you left, Mr. Mason,” the operator said. “I saw her go past my desk.”
“You’re certain?”
“Quite certain.”
“How was she dressed?”
“She had on a raincoat and hat.”
“Carrying a brief case with her?” Mason asked.
“No. There was nothing in her hands except her purse.”
“And she hasn’t returned?”
“No.”
Mason frowned thoughtfully and said, “When she does return, please tell her that I’ll be back in about an hour.”
He dropped the receiver into place, said, “Okay, Paul. Let’s go.”
The Stockton Boulevard address was a two-and-a-half-story flat. In the basement floor were two shops. One bore the legend, “F. KRANOVICH, Tailoring, Cleaning and Pressing ”, the other, “MABEL FOSS, Picture Studio — Developing, Printing, Framing. ” The window carried a display of photographic prints and an assortment of picture frames. The second-story flat seemed vacant, while the third apparently was tenanted.
One of Drake’s men had driven them out and Mason instructed him to park the car half a block down the street. The lawyer and the detective climbed the half dozen stairs which led from the street and looked at the name on the mail box.
“Here it is,” Drake said, “Morgan Eves. This chap may be a tough customer, Perry. He won’t fall for any of the usual lines.”
“All right, then,” Mason said, “we won’t give him a usual’ line,” and jabbed his finger against the bell button. They could hear the faint jangle of a bell two floors above.
“Being in trouble doesn’t mean anything to this chap,” Drake went on. “He’s taken lots of raps. If you leave him an opening, he’ll take it, and take it damn fast. This is no time for any theatrical stuff.”
Mason nodded, pressed his finger against the button once more. “Nobody home,” he said, after several seconds had elapsed.
“Now listen. Perry,” the detective cautioned, “let’s not go snooping around this place.”
Mason walked to the edge of the porch, stood staring out at the reflecting surface of the wet street. The rain had ceased, but low clouds, splotched with the black markings of potential showers, drifted overhead.
“I have an idea the birds have flown the nest,” Mason said.
“If Evelyn Whiting had recognized Carl Moar and had worked some kind of a blackmail racket on him, she wouldn’t have stuck around where she could be located — particularly after the murder case, broke.”
“The more I think of it, the more I want to find her, Paul,” Mason said. “Let’s find out where they are.”
“How?” Drake asked. “This chap had an automobile. He could simply pull out and—”
“He also has a broken neck,” Mason said. “Don’t forget that.”
“Well, the girl could drive.”
Mason nodded. “Look here, Paul, there’s no garage in connection with this building. The chances are they didn’t take their car over to Honolulu and back. So they must have left it here. Let’s look around and see if we can’t find where it was stored somewhere in the neighborhood.”
“Not much chance,” Drake told him. “They’d have put it in one of the big storage garages up town. They’d have driven down to the wharf with it when they left, and stored it where it would be handy when they got back.”
“If they’d done that,” Mason said, “they probably wouldn’t have had the ambulance waiting. Let’s look around.”
They walked back to the car, circled three blocks, and Mason said, “Let’s try this place. Looks like the only storage garage in the neighborhood.”
“Is Morgan Eves’s car here?” Mason asked the garage attendant.
“No.”
“He keeps it here, doesn’t he?”
The attendant studied Mason. “Yes,” he said, “he keeps it here.”
“When’s he going to be back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look here,” Mason told him. “I want to find out something about that car. What condition is it in, do you know?”
“Why do you want to find out?”
“I’m interested in buying it,” Mason said. “Eves made a proposition to the agency for a new car. They figured he wanted too much for his old car, but they said if they could sell it at that price they’d make the deal. I have a car I can trade in for a good allowance if I handle this bus. I want to find out if it’s in good shape.”
“Well, it’s in good shape,” the attendant said. “He keeps it running like a watch.”
“How soon will it be where I can look at it?”
“I don’t know. Eves had a whole bunch of baggage piled in it when he took it out. He didn’t say how long he was going to be gone.”
“His wife with him?” Mason asked, casually.
“A woman was with him. I didn’t know he was married.”
Mason said, “I gather it’s his wife. The automobile salesman thought it was. You don’t know where I could reach him?”
“No, I don’t.”
“You don’t think he went to Los Angeles?”
“I don’t know where he went. He didn’t say how long he was going to be gone. He comes and goes, and we don’t ask any questions.”
“When did he leave?”
“Yesterday afternoon about three o’clock.
Mason said, “Oh, well, the deal will wait for a couple of days. If he doesn’t show up then I’ll have to do something else. Thanks a lot.”
Back in the car, Drake said, “You won’t get anywhere trying to ride that bird’s back trail, Perry. He’s been through the mill.”
Mason said, “I have another idea, Paul. The nurse had a camera. She was taking snapshots of a couple of steamers we met.”
“Well?” Drake asked.
“Well,” Mason said, “she got in early yesterday morning. They didn’t pull out until early yesterday afternoon. She had some films with her. There’s a chance she left those films to be developed and printed down at the photographer’s place.”
“Not if she’d been going away, she wouldn’t,” Drake pointed out.
“No,” Mason told him, “but suppose she didn’t know she was leaving? Suppose she thought she was going to stay there in the flat? She’d have taken the films down the first thing. Then, if she’d been called away, she’d have left some word as to when she’d be back for the films or left a forwarding address, or there may be something in the pictures she took which will give us a line on what we want.”
Drake said, “You’re playing with dynamite on this thing, Perry.”
“I know I am.”
“And,” Drake persisted, “it’s something you can’t afford to be mixed up in. Perry. We’ll send the operative in to pick up the films, and if there’s a squawk about it he can take the rap and—”
“Nothing doing,” Mason interrupted. “I won’t ask a man to take any chances I won’t take myself. Drive over there and park. I’m going in and see what I can find out.”
It had started to drizzle again by the time Mason walked down half a dozen steps from the street into a little cement are away. He pushed open the door of the picture shop. A bell tinkled in a back room, and a woman in the late forties, wearing a blue smock, came through a curtained doorway to regard the lawyer with lackluster black eyes.
“I called to pick up the pictures for Mrs. Morgan Eves,” Mason said. “They may be under the name of Evelyn Whiting.
“But she wanted them mailed to her,” the woman said.
“I know,” Mason said casually, “but that was before she knew I was coming in. She asked me to pick them up.”
The woman opened the drawer and selected two flat yellow envelopes. “There’s six dollars and seventy-five cents due, ” she said.
Mason produced a ten-dollar bill, glanced at the back of the envelopes. The name, “Mrs. Eves,” had been scrawled on the envelopes in pencil. There was no address.
“Wait a minute,” Mason said. “She told me they wouldn’t be over five dollars.”
“I’m sorry,” the woman said, “my prices are cheaper than she could get them done downtown. Six dollars and seventy-five cents is the lowest I can make it.”
Mason said, “I can’t understand it... How were you to receive your money if you’d mailed them out?”
“I was going to send them collect. I was just getting ready to mail them.”
“Tell you what you do,” Mason said. “I don’t want to take the responsibility of paying six dollars and seventy-five cents, but you get them ready and mail them right away because Mrs. Eves is in a hurry for them. You can mail them collect and I’ll tell her they’re on the way.”
The woman nodded, pulled out films and prints, packed them in a box which had been used for photographic paper, wrapped up the box, went to the back of the store and addressed a gummed paper sticker. Mason said abruptly, “Oh, well, I’ll take a chance. After all, there’s only a difference of a dollar and seventy-five cents, and I’m quite certain it’ll be all right. They’d be delayed quite a bit in the mail.”
“Just as you say,” the woman said, as Mason again offered her the ten-dollar bill. “When will Mrs. Eves be back?”
“It’ll be a week or so.”
“How’s her patient getting along?”
“The man with the broken neck?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him.”
“It certainly is a shame,” she said. “Think of having to wear something like that strapped around your head and shoulders. She said he’d been wearing it for weeks. She brought him over on the ship from Honolulu. I’ve been wondering how he was getting along.”
“Brought him out in an ambulance, didn’t they?” Mason asked.
“Yes. They carried him up on a stretcher. I’ve been wondering who’s taking care of him. There doesn’t seem to be anyone coming or going from upstairs.”
“I think they moved him,” Mason said.
“I haven’t seen nor heard any ambulance.”
“You’ve known her husband long?” Mason asked.
“Oh, ever since he’s been here.”
“Did you see him before... before...?”
“You mean before he got married? Oh, yes, he was in here getting some things and I chatted with him. By the way, how was that picture frame I sent up? Was that what Mrs. Eves wanted? She ordered it over the telephone and I rushed upstairs with it.”
“I think I heard her say it was a little small,” Mason said.
“Well, it was just the size she ordered. She told me to get her an oval frame for a picture which had been trimmed down from an eight by ten print into an oval size.”
Mason said, “I don’t know much about it. After all, I’m just a neighbor.”
She gave him his change and handed Mason the package. Mason thanked her, tucked the package under his arm and stepped out into the drizzle.
“Draw something?” Drake asked, as Mason opened the door of the car.
“I’ll say I did. She not only left her films there but left a mailing address. The chap with the broken neck isn’t Eves.”
Mason entered the car, placed the package on his lap and he and Drake studied the address.
“Know where the place is?” Mason asked.
“Yes. It’s up in the Santa Cruz Mountains.”
“How long will it take us to drive it?”
“An hour and a half probably, maybe a little longer if it rains.”
Mason said, “Okay, let’s go. We’ll mail the photos.”
“We may be taking a detour which ends in a blind road,” Drake told him. “After all, Perry, how do we know she had any connection with Moar?”
“We don’t,” Mason said, “but outside of Moar’s party, she’s the only living person on that ship who knew Carl Moar by sight, and whom Moar knew by sight.”
“How about the Dail girl?”
“The Dail girl evidently found out who he was by tracing Belle. She didn’t know him and therefore Moar didn’t have any idea she was wise to his alias.”
“Think Celinda traced Belle through the stolen picture?” Drake asked.
“Probably. She probably switched pictures, sent Belle’s picture on to Rooney by air mail and had him trace her.”
“That doesn’t coincide with what Rooney said,” Drake remarked.
“I’m thinking of that, too,” Mason said. “Let’s get to a telephone where I can call Della. I have an idea we can get something from this nurse. If she left the note which sent Moar up on deck, I’ll be certain we’re on the right track. Evidently she’s been playing around with a bunch of crooks. She went over to the Islands with her husband. He must have been called back and took a clipper plane. She was coming over to join him, and took a nursing job to pay expenses. On the ship she ran into Carl Moar. She recognized him, but found he was traveling under the name of Newberry. Now, that’s a perfect set-up for blackmail, and, as a blackmail victim, Carl Moar was a natural. Remember, he was carrying at least eighteen thousand dollars in cash in a money belt. That was hot money.”
“What makes you think it was hot money?”
“From the way he acted.”
“He might have won it in a lottery.”
“He might have,” Mason admitted, “but eighteen thousand bucks represented what he had left after a couple of months of playing tourist. He probably started with around twenty-five thousand dollars. Now, a man can’t win twenty-five thousand dollars on a lottery without leaving some sort of a back trail somewhere.”
“Then there’s this other thought you brought up that the money might have been his wife’s,” Drake said.
“Well, I don’t figure that angle so strong right now, ” Mason told him, as the operative pulled in to the curb and said, “Here’s a telephone, Mr. Mason.”
Mason telephoned the hotel, only to learn that Della Street was still absent. He walked back to the automobile, frowning. “I don’t like it, Paul,” he said. “Della’s still out.”
“Maybe she went to get her hair done,” Drake suggested.
“Not that girl,” Mason told him. “When she works on a case she’s like I am, working day and night, grabbing a bite to eat when she can get it. She’s doing something on this case.”
“I wonder if that piece of blue silk cloth has anything to do with it?” Drake asked.
“Now that’s a thought,” Mason said.
“Maybe she’s remembered who wore the gown,” Drake suggested.
“Perhaps,” Mason said, still frowning, “but it’s entirely unlike Della to have left the hotel without letting me know, and making certain it didn’t interfere with any of my plans. It’s equally unlike her not to have telephoned in a report. And I can’t understand what’s keeping her so long.”
“Oh, well, one thing at a time,” Drake told him. “Let’s tackle this place up in the Santa Cruz Mountains.”
“Think we can locate Morgan Eves once we get up there?”
“Sure,” Drake said. “It’s just a little post office, general store and cabin proposition. It won’t be any trouble at all.”
The rain had ceased by the time Drake’s operative pulled the car to a stop and entered the general store and post office. Clouds which had been drab and gray had broken into patches of dazzling white, between which showed the deep blue of a clear California sky. Huge redwoods glistened with moisture as shafts of sunlight streamed through the clouds.
Drake’s operative came out of the store, climbed in behind the wheel and said, “Follow this road half a mile, take the first turn to the left, and it’s the first cabin on the left.”
As they traveled over the dirt road, bits of wet gravel thrown up by the tires clattered against the mud guards. Drake said, “Perry, this is once you do all the talking. I do all the listening. Remember not to take any chances with this chap. He packs a rod and is dangerous.”
Mason nodded.
The driver slowed down, cautiously turned the car, shifted gears and said, “This must be the place.”
They inspected a rustic cabin under the trees, slabs of bark covering the outside.
“There’s a fire in the fireplace,” Drake said, indicating a stream of light blue smoke which drifted upward from the chimney. “Someone’s home.”
“All right,” Mason said, “let’s go.”
“You got a rod?” Drake asked the operative, and when the man nodded, said, “Well, after we go in you move over toward the wall as though you were trying to keep yourself in the background. Be sure you’re where no one can stick a gun in your back. All right. Perry, here we go.”
Evelyn Whiting opened the door in response to Mason’s knock. Her face showed surprise and dismay. “Why...” she said. “Why, you’re Mr. Mason, the lawyer.”
Mason nodded and said, “Do you mind if we come in, Miss Whiting? We want to talk with you.”
She hesitated for a perceptible instant, then held the door open and stood to one side. The three men filed into the cabin.
“You’re alone here?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“I wanted to talk with a Mr. Eves.”
“Well, he isn’t here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No.”
“Do you know where he is?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” Mason said, seating himself in a chair, “but there’s some information you can give me, and I want it.”
“I don’t know a thing—”
“Let’s go back and begin at the beginning,” Mason said. “You knew Carl Moar, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve known him for some time?”
“Yes.”
“How long since you’d seen him?”
“Do you mean before I left Honolulu?”
“Yes.”
“It’s been years. I hadn’t seen him since he was married.”
“And you saw him on the ship?”
“Yes.”
“I rather gathered that he was trying to avoid you,” Mason said.
“I think he was, at first. However, I happened to run into him on the promenade deck Sunday morning.”
Mason said, “I’m going to put my cards on the table, Miss Whiting. I’ve been investigating you because I think you may be a very material witness for me. I know all about your marriage, about your going to Honolulu on your honeymoon.”
“It wasn’t my honeymoon,” she said — “that is, it was and it wasn’t.”
“Just why did you go?” Mason asked.
“I started to Honolulu with my husband,” she said, “but before we’d left the bay a speed launch came alongside the ship. My husband had to go back. They lowered a rope ladder. He went down the side. I couldn’t have gone down that ladder even if I’d wanted to. I was never so bitterly disappointed in my life. He told me to go on to Honolulu and he’d follow on a clipper plane.”
“Did he?” Mason asked.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think that concerns you in the least,” she said.
“And you came back without letting your sister know?”
“Yes. I had a chance to nurse Mr. Cartman. He was injured in an automobile accident and wanted to go to the Mainland. They needed a trained nurse who could be with him. It was a good chance for me to come back, so I did.”
“And you didn’t let anyone know you were coming back?”
“No.”
“Not only that, but you took particular pains to see that your sister thought you were still over there. You left letters to be mailed on the Clipper so that—”
“How did you know about that?” she interrupted.
“We’ve talked with your sister,” Mason said. “In fact, we’ve made rather a complete investigation, Mrs. Eves.”
She started to say something, checked herself, bit her lip, looked at the floor and said, “I’d rather you’d wait until my husband comes before I tell you anything.”
“Oh, then, your husband is due to return?” Mason asked.
“Well... that is... I...”
She broke off and was silent. Drake and Mason exchanged glances. Mason said, “I think you understand why I’m asking you these questions, Mrs. Eves. I’m representing Mrs. Moar.
She nodded.
“Aside from the fact that I’m Mrs. Moar’s attorney, I have no interest in the matter whatsoever. I’m not concerned in the least in any of your private affairs. I’ll respect your confidence.”
She blinked her eyes thoughtfully, then suddenly reached a decision and said, “All right, Mr. Mason, I’ll tell you the truth. I was married once before. That marriage didn’t jell. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant experience. It left me rather suspicious of men. Since then I’ve known a few married men. What I’ve seen of them hasn’t made me care to play the role of wife who sits at home while her husband’s playing around. After I got over to Honolulu I kept thinking about the way Morgan had put me aboard the ship while he suddenly went back, and I thought perhaps... well, I thought perhaps there was another woman. I wanted to come back and find out, but I didn’t have the money, for one thing, and I didn’t have any legitimate excuse for another. Then, Mr. Cartman, who had been hurt in an automobile wreck, and who had to wear a steel brace for months, wanted to come home. I had been in touch with some of the nurses in the hospital. They knew how I felt. They told me this would be a fine chance for me to make a surprise trip to the Mainland. I could get enough out of it to pay my round trip passage, and, in addition to make a little pocket money. So I decided to go. But, naturally, I didn’t want Morgan to know I was coming, so I wrote letters to him and left them to be mailed on the Clipper after I’d sailed. And because I thought perhaps Morgan might get in touch with Marian, I did the same with her. Now then, that’s all there is to it.”
“And what did you do when you came here?” Mason asked.
“I got in touch with Morgan, naturally. I went right to his flat. I thought perhaps he’d have some other woman there. Well...”
She broke off as the sound of a speeding automobile motor became audible. They listened while the machine roared into a turn at the foot of a hill, heard the driver shift gears, and then the tires slid over the gravel as the machine was braked to an abrupt stop. A moment later, there was a pound of steps on the porch, and a man flung open the door of the cabin. Mason recognized him at once, from the photograph he had seen, as Morgan Eves.
“All right,” the man said, standing in the doorway, his hand hovering near the left lapel of his coat, “what is this, a pinch?”
Mason said, “Take it easy, Eves. I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer.”
“That’s what you say,” Eves said.
“He is, Morgan,” Evelyn Whiting assured him. “He was on the boat with me coming over. Remember, I told you.”
Eves nodded without shifting his position. “All right,” he said, “so what?”
“We’re asking questions,” Mason said.
“Well, you’re not going to get any answers. And you,” he said, shifting his eyes toward Drake’s operative, “be careful what you do with that right hand. If you pull that rod, you’re going to have to smoke your way out.”
In the moment of tense silence which followed, Perry Mason extracted his cigarette case, leisurely selected a cigarette, tapped the end on the side of the cigarette case, and said, “Let’s talk sense, Eves.”
“All right,” Eves said, “you do the talking.”
Mason snapped a match into flame, lit his cigarette and said, “Thanks,” when Evelyn Whiting handed him an ash tray. He settled back comfortably in the chair and said, “I’m a lawyer, Eves. I’m representing Mrs. Moar. The D.A. is trying to frame a first-degree on her. Your wife was on the ship coming over, nursing a chap with a broken neck. She knew Moar before he was married. Moar was on the ship under the name of Newberry. I had a hunch she might know something which would help me, so I came out and asked her.”
“All right,” Eves said, in a flat monotone. “You asked her. What did she say?”
Mason glanced inquiringly at the nurse. She nodded imperceptibly. Mason said, “Before I came out here I looked her up. I knew you’d been married and had sailed for Honolulu on your honeymoon. She told me you were called off the ship and she went over by herself. She got lonesome, so when she had a chance to come over and join you, and make a little money on the side, she did it.”
Eves laughed bitterly and said, “Lonesome, hell! She came over to check up on me. She thought I was two-timing her.”
“That’s all right with me,” Mason told him. “You can straighten out your domestic affairs without my help. I’m interested in protecting my client.”
“What else did you tell him, Evelyn?” Eves asked.
“Nothing else,” she said. “That’s all there is to tell, isn’t it?”
Eves thought for a minute. Then he walked forward to sit down in a chair. He lit a cigarette, studied Mason thoughtfully and said, “Okay, Mason, I’m for a good mouthpiece myself. I’ll give you a break. We can do a hell of a good turn for you any time you say the word.”
“I’m saying the word,” Mason told him.
“With what? Money, marbles or chalk?”
Mason said, “I don’t buy testimony, Eves.”
“Well, why the hell should we come into court and get panned by the newspapers just in order to help you?”
“Probably,” Mason said, “because it’s the right thing to do. I understand you’ve been up on a murder rap yourself. You know what it feels like.”
“Who was telling you?” Eves asked savagely.
“A little bird,” Mason said.
Eves smoked in thoughtful silence for several seconds, then said, “Okay, Mason, I’ll shoot square with you. I’d told Evelyn to keep out of it, but I’ll give you a break. Here’s the dope. Evelyn knew Moar before he was married. She spotted him on the ship. Moar gave her the office to keep quiet until he could see her. He waited for her on deck Sunday. He told her he was dough-heavy, but the money was hot and that the bulls were going to pinch him on an embezzlement charge he hadn’t committed, but before he got done beating that rap they’d find out something he had done which was just as bad. He said he was crazy about Belle and he was going to give the dough to his wife and take a powder.”
“Did he say what he was going to do?”
“He was despondent,” Eves said, “so low he could walk under a snake’s belly on stilts. He said he was going to give himself the works if he had to.”
Mason strove to keep excitement from his voice. “You know,” he said, “that’ll rip the murder case wide open. Eves.”
“I’m not so certain,” Eves said. “That’s what Moar intended to do. His wife didn’t know he intended to do it. She wanted him out of the way. He went up on deck to do a Brodie, and she came along and gave him the works first.”
Mason shook his head. “You’re all wet, Eves.”
Eves said, “I may be all wet, but I’m telling you what happened. That’s the God’s truth.”
“How do you know?” Mason asked.
“I’ve put two and two together. Don’t forget that Fell woman saw the whole business.”
“I don’t think she saw as much as she thinks she did,” Mason said. “Your wife’s testimony will put my client in the clear. The question is, do I get it?”
Eves said, “You get it. But I’ll tell you something else. You’re going to run into a surprise on this case, and they’re going to convict your client. I’m giving it to you straight. He would have croaked himself if his wife had let him alone, but she beat him to the punch.”
“I’ll take my chance on that,” Mason said.
“You’re going to run up against some surprise testimony,” Eves insisted.
“What testimony?” Mason asked.
Eves glanced across at his wife. “Think we’d better tell him?” he asked.
She shook her head and said, “Not if he doesn’t know.”
“Okay,” Eves said, “you don’t know, so we don’t tell you.”
“You tell your story on the witness stand,” Mason said to the nurse, “and I’ll guarantee no jury is ever going to convict Mrs. Moar, no matter how much surprise testimony they bring in.”
“You don’t know what this surprise testimony is,” Eves said.
“That’s right, I don’t, do I?” Mason grinned.
“How about it?” Eves asked his wife.
She shook her head.
Eves said, “All right, that’s twice I got the red signal. We’ll quit talking about it.”
Mason said, “There are a couple of things I want to clean up. Did you send a note to Moar telling him to come on deck?”
“Me?” Evelyn asked.
Mason nodded.
“Good heavens, no,” she said. “I did leave an envelope on the purser’s desk. I was paying the chits I’d signed on shipboard.”
“That’s probably it,” Mason said. “One of the room stewards saw you leaving an envelope. So much for that. Now, how about the patient you brought over with you? What happened to him?”
She flashed Eves a swift glance.
Eves said, “He doesn’t enter into it. He didn’t hear the conversation. He had a broken neck and paid Evelyn for bringing him over. She ran into a little trouble. He wanted to hold out some of the money, but she brought him up to my place. His relatives were to come up there and get him. I sent Evelyn up here so it wouldn’t cramp my style. After the cheap chiselers saw they were dealing with someone who knew the ropes they didn’t make any more trouble. They paid up nice and sweet.”
“Where’s Cartman now?” Mason asked.
“I don’t know,” Eves said, “and what’s more I don’t give a damn. His friends took him. I do know they’d never have moved him if they hadn’t kicked through and lived up to the agreement they made with Evelyn.”
Mason took a folded, blank subpoena from his pocket. “All right,” he said, “I’m going to subpoena you. How do you want the subpoena made — to Evelyn Whiting or Evelyn Eves?”
“Better make it Evelyn Whiting,” Eves said. “My interlocutory ain’t final yet. I suppose they could punch the marriage full of holes if they wanted to, and the D.A.’d probably like to get something on me. It’ll help your case a lot more if I don’t enter into it. I’ve got a record a yard and a half long, in case you don’t know it.
“I know it,” Mason said.
“Okay,” Eves told him. “Remember this, Mason, we could have closed up on you like a clam and you’d have been out on the end of a limb. I’m giving you a break. Don’t forget it.”
Mason filled in the subpoena.
“And don’t think this is going to be a downhill pull,” Eves said. “If the D.A. uses his head you’re up against the toughest proposition you ever tackled.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Mason told him. “I’ll take a chance. Evelyn Whiting, you’re subpoenaed to appear tomorrow morning at ten o’clock A.M., or as soon thereafter as Counsel can be heard, as a witness for the Defense in the preliminary hearing in the case of the People of the State of California vs. Anna Moar.”
“Okay,” Eves said. “That’s all in due and regular form. Now you guys get to hell out of here. I’m on my honeymoon.”