The Case of the Sulky Girl (14 page)

The detective glowered at Perry Mason.

"And we understand," he said, "that you received ten one thousand dollar bills that were stolen from the body of Edward Norton."

"Is that so?" said Mason.

"That's so," snapped the detective.

"Just where do you think those bills are?" asked the lawyer.

"We don't know, but we intend to find out," the detective told him.

"Well," said Mason, "it is a free country, or it used to be once. Go ahead and find out."

"When we do," said the detective, "you're likely to find yourself facing a charge of receiving stolen property."

"Well, you've only got three things to do," said Mason.

"What three things?" asked the detective.

"Prove that the money was stolen, prove that I received it, and prove that I knew it was stolen when I received it."

"You know it's stolen now."

"How do I know it's stolen?"

"Because I've told you it was. You're on notice."

"In the first place," said Mason, "I'm not admitting that I have any ten thousand dollars. In the second place, I wouldn't take your word for anything."

The detective turned to Mrs. Mayfield.

"Come along, ma'am," he said, "we'll handle this lawyer later."

"But I don't want to go," she said.

"It's orders, ma'am," he told her. "You won't be annoyed. We're simply going to keep you where you'll be safe until after we can get your testimony."

Perry Mason watched the pair depart from his private office. His rugged face was expressionless, but there was a glint of smouldering hostility in his patient eyes.

When the door of the outer office had closed, Perry Mason walked to his secretary's desk and said: "Della, I want you to ring up the STAR. Tell them who you are. They've got a reporter there named Harry Nevers. He knows who I am. Tell the city editor to have Nevers come and see me. I'll see that he gets some sensational news."

She reached for the telephone.

"You want me to tell that to the city editor?" she asked.

"Yes," he told her. "I want Nevers sent here right away."

"You don't want to talk with the editor?"

"No, he'd plug a rewrite man in on the line, listen to what I had to say, call it an interview, and let it go at that. I want you to tell them who you are, tell them to send Nevers over here for a hot yarn. They'll try to pump you about what it is. Tell them you don't know, and that I'm not available."

She nodded and lifted the receiver from the hook. Perry Mason walked back to his private office and closed the door.

He walked into Perry Mason's office and perched himself on the arm of the big black leather chair.

"I'm going to give you a break," said Perry Mason, "and I want a favor."

Nevers spoke in a dull monotone of low-voiced comment.

"Sure," he said. "I had that all figured out a long time ago. Where is she?"

"Where's who?" asked Mason.

"Frances Celane."

"Who wants to know?"

"I do."

"What's the big idea?"

Nevers yawned and slid back over the arm of the chair, so that he was seated cross-wise in the chair.

"Hell," he said, "don't try to surprise me. That's been tried by experts. I doped out the play as soon as I got the call. There was nothing to it. Frances Celane had a nervous breakdown and was rushed to a sanitarium. Last night the District Attorney uncovered evidence which made him decide to put a first degree murder rap on her. She was secretly married to a chap named Gleason. They've picked up Gleason, and they're getting ready to go after Frances Celane.

"You're Frances Celane's attorney. You've got her under cover somewhere. It's a cover that's deep enough to keep her from walking into a trap until you're ready to have her surrender. But you can't keep her under cover when the newspapers broadcast that she's wanted for murder. You've got a doctor mixed up in it, and a hospital. They wouldn't stand for it, even if you wanted them to. So it's a cinch you've got to turn her up, and you just picked on me to get the news, because you wanted something. Now tell me what you want, and I'll tell you whether we'll make a trade."

Perry Mason frowned thoughtfully, and made little drumming noises with his fingertips on the edge of the desk.

"I don't know what I want, Harry," he said.

Harry Nevers shook his head lugubriously.

"With the hard-boiled bunch I'm working for, brother, if you don't know what you want, you're never going to get it. If you're going to make a trade you've got to make a trade right now."

"Well," said Perry Mason slowly, "I can tell you generally what I want. Somewhere along the line I'm going to try to get two or three people back at the Norton residence, under conditions that were similar to those which existed at the time of the murder. I don't know just how I'm going to do it. Somewhere along the line I'm going to make a point about the fact that the Buick automobile, which was reported stolen, wasn't taken out of the garage. All I want you to do is to see that I get a reasonable amount of publicity on those two points."

"Wait a minute," said Nevers, speaking in that same dull monotone, "you said you were going to make a point that the Buick car hadn't been taken out of the garage. You mean that you're going to claim that it was taken out, but the speedometer was either disconnected or set back, ain't that right?"

"No," Mason told him. "I'm going to make a point that it wasn't taken out of the garage."

For the first time since he had entered the office, the voice of Harry Nevers showed a trace of interest; a touch of tone.

"That's going to be a funny angle for you to play," he said.

"All right," said Mason, "we'll talk about that when the time comes. I'm just telling you now what I want. The question is, do we make a trade?"

"I think so," said Nevers.

"Have you got a photographer lined up?"

"Sure. He's down in the car waiting, and I've got a space held on the front page for a picture."

Perry Mason reached for the telephone on his desk, took down the receiver, and said to Della Street, in a low voice:

"Get Doctor Prayton on the line. Find out what sanitarium he put Frances Celane in. Get him to make out a discharge from the sanitarium, and telephone it over. Tell him that Frances Celane is going to be charged with murder, and I don't want him to get mixed up in it. Get the telephone number of the sanitarium, and after he's telephoned in the discharge, get Frances Celane on the line for me."

He hung up the telephone.

"Now listen," said Nevers earnestly, "would you do me a favor?"

"What is it?" asked Mason cautiously. "I thought I was doing you one. You're getting exclusive photographs and all that."

"Don't be so cagey," Nevers told him. "I was just asking an ordinary favor."

"What is it?"

Nevers straightened up slightly in the chair, and said in his low monotone: "Get that jane to show a little leg. This is a picture that's going to make the front page, and I want to have a lot of snap about it. Maybe we'll take a close-up of her face for the front page, with a leg picture on the inside page. But I want to take back some photographs that have got a little leg in them."

"Well," said Perry Mason, "why not tell her so? You can be frank with her."

"I'm going to be frank with her all right," said Nevers. "but you're her lawyer, and she'll have confidence in you; Sometimes we have a little trouble getting these janes to pose right when they're excited. I want you to see that I get a break."

"Okay," Mason told him, "I'll do the best I can."

Harry Nevers took a cigarette from his pocket, lit it, and looked appraisingly at the attorney.

"If we could get her to come down to the STAR office and surrender herself to our custody," he said, "we'd see that she got a better break."

Mason's tone was firm.

"No," he said, "you're going to get the exclusive story and photographs. That's the best I can give you. She's going to surrender to the District Attorney, and I want to be sure there isn't any misunderstanding about that. In other words, I want the newspaper account to tell the public the truth."

Nevers yawned and looked at the telephone.

"Okay," he said. "I wonder if your secretary's got the calls through yet…"

The telephone rang, and Mason took down the receiver. He heard Frances Celane's voice, eager and excited, at the other end of the line.

"What is it?" she asked. "They won't let me have newspapers here."

"All right," said Mason. "The show's starting."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"They've arrested Rob Gleason for murder." He heard her gasp, and went on, "They've identified the club that killed Edward Norton. It was a walking stick that belonged to Rob Gleason."

"Rob Gleason never did it," she replied swiftly. "He called on my uncle, and they had quite an argument. He left that walking stick in Uncle's study, and…"

"Never mind that," interrupted Perry Mason. "There's a chance this line is tapped. They may have detectives listening in on us. You can tell me when you get here. I want you to get in a taxicab and come to the office right away, prepared to surrender yourself for murder."

"You mean they're going to arrest me too?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm going to surrender you into custody."

"But they haven't charged me with murder yet, have they?"

"They're going to," he said. "I'm going to force their hand."

"Must I do it?" she asked.

"You said you were going to have confidence in me," he told her. "I say you must do it."

"I'll be in there," she said, "in just about half an hour."

"Okay," said Mason, and hung up the telephone.

After a moment he jiggled the receiver and said to his secretary: "Get me the office of the District Attorney. I want to talk with Claude Drumm if he's in."

He hung up the telephone and faced the reporter.

"Listen," Nevers told him, "you're going to step on your tonsil there. If you tell the D.A. you're going to surrender the broad, they'll cover your office and pick her up when she comes in. They'd rather have her picked up than have her surrender."

Mason nodded.

"That's why you're going to listen to my talk with the D.A.'s office," he said. "It'll avoid misunderstandings."

The telephone rang, and he picked up the receiver.

"Hello," he said. "Hello, Drumm? This is Mason talking. Yes, Perry Mason. I understand that Rob Gleason has been charged with the murder of Edward Norton."

Drumm's voice came cold and cautious over the telephone.

"He is charged as one of the principals."

"There's another one then?" asked Mason.

"Yes, probably."

"Have charges been filed?"

"Not yet."

"A little birdie," said Mason, "tells me that you want to charge Frances Celane as being the other principal."

"Well?" asked Drumm, his voice still cold and cautious. "What did you call me up for?"

"I called you up to tell you that Frances Celane is on her way to surrender herself into custody at your office."

There was a moment of silence, then Drumm said: "Where is she now?"

"Somewhere between where she is and your office. That is, she's on the road."

Drumm asked cautiously: "Is she going to make any stops in between times?"

"I'm sure I couldn't tell you," said Mason.

"All right," said Drumm. "When she comes in, we'll be glad to see her."

"Will there be bail?" asked Mason.

"We'll have to talk that matter over after she makes a statement to us."

Mason smiled into the telephone.

"Don't misunderstand me, Drumm," he said. "I told you that she was going to surrender into custody. There won't be any statement."

"We want to ask her some questions," said Drumm.

"That's fine," said Mason. "You can ask her all the questions you want. She'll be only too glad to have you do so."

"Will she answer them?" asked Drumm.

"She will not," said Mason. "If there's any talking to be done, I'll do it."

He heard Drumm's exclamation of exasperation, and hung up the receiver.

Nevers looked over at him with bored eyes.

"They'll double-cross you," he said. "They'll figure that she's going to come to the office, and they'll send men to arrest her here. They'll make it appear she was arrested, rather than giving herself up."

"No," Mason said, "they think she's going directly from the sanitarium to the D.A.'s office. And, anyway, you've heard the conversation. That'll eliminate misunderstandings."

Mason opened a desk drawer, took out a flask of rye, and set out a glass. The reporter slid the glass back to him along the desk and tilted the bottle to his lips.

When he lowered the bottle, he grinned at the lawyer. "My first wife hated to wash dishes," he said, "so I got out of the habit of dirtying them. You know, Mason, this may be a hard morning, and I haven't had any sleep for a couple of nights. If I put this bottle in my pocket, it might keep me awake."

Mason reached out and took the bottle.

"If I keep it in the desk," he said, "I'll know that you don't get an over-dose."

"Well," Nevers told him, "under those circumstances, there's nothing to keep me from going down and getting the photographer," and he slid down from the arm of the chair and walked through the door which led to the outer office.

He was back in five minutes with a photographer who carried a camera in a canvas case in one hand, and tripod in the other.

The photographer wasted no time in greetings, but scrutinized the office with an eye that soaked in the lighting arrangements.

"What sort of complexion has she got?" he asked.

"Spun silk hair," said Mason. "Dark eyes, high cheeks, and a good figure. You won't have any trouble with her when it comes to posing. She's expert at placing herself where she looks well."

"I want her in that leather chair," said the photographer.

"That's where she'll go," Mason told him.

The photographer raised the shades on the windows, set up the tripod, adjusted and focused the big camera, poured some flashlight powder into a flashgun.

"Why don't you use electric bulbs?" asked Perry Mason, eyeing the photographer with interest. "I understand they do better work, and they don't get a room all filled with smoke."

"Try telling that to the eagle-eyed bird that audits the expense account," said the photographer, "and it's your office. I don't care about the smoke."

Nevers grinned at Mason.

"That's the sweet spirit of cooperation that we have over at the STAR," he said.

Mason looked at the ceiling of the room and muttered: "I presume I can move out of here for half an hour just because you fellows want to save the cost of a flashlight globe."

"Give him a shot out of that bottle," said Nevers, "and maybe he won't load the flash quite so heavy."

Mason slid the bottle over to the photographer.

"Listen," Nevers said, almost moodily, "something seems to tell me you've got a trick up your sleeve, Mason."