The Case of the Counterfeit Eye

Chapter 4

Perry Mason, sprawled in an easy chair, reading a book on the latest discoveries in psychology, barely noticed the clock strike midnight.

The telephone on the stand at his elbow made noise. Mason picked up the receiver and said, "Hello, Mason speaking." He heard a woman's voice, harsh with emotion, spilling words into his ear before he had placed her identity.

"… Come out at once. I'm leaving my husband. He's been guilty of a brutal attack. There's going to be trouble. My son is going to kill him…"

"Who is this talking?" Mason interrupted.

"Sylvia Basset—Hartley Basset's wife."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Come out here just as soon as you can get here."

"It'll keep," the lawyer said, "until morning."

"No; it won't. You don't understand. A woman out here has been seriously injured."

"What's the matter with her?"

"She's been struck over the head."

"Who struck her?"

"My husband."

"Where's your husband?"

"He jumped in a car and ran away. As soon as he comes back, my son, Dick, is going to kill him. There isn't a thing that I can ado to stop it. I want you to I come out and take charge of the case. If my husband I comes back before you get here, Dick will kill him. I want you to explain to Dick that you can protect my interests; that he doesn't need to take the law in his own hands; that…"

"Where are you now?"

"At my home."

"Can you bring your son to me?"

"No, he won't leave. He's furious. I can't do anything with him."

"Have you threatened to call in the police?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because they'd arrest him, and I don't want that and there are other things that would make it very embarrassing for me. Won't you please come out? I can't explain over the phone, but it's life and death. It's…"

"I'll come out," Perry Mason interrupted. "You keep Dick under control until I get there."

He dropped the receiver into place, flung off his smoking jacket and slippers, struggled into coat and shoes, and one minute and thirty seconds later was pressing the throttle of his coupe down against the floorboards as he charged through the night streets.

Mrs. Basset met him at the door of the house—the one that had been marked as the entrance to the finance company.

"Come in here," she said, "and please talk with Dick as soon as you can."

Perry Mason entered the outer office. A slender youth of twentyone or twentytwo jerked open the door from the inner office and said, "Look here, Mom, I'm not going to wait…" He broke off as he saw Perry Mason. His hands, which had been extended in front of him, dropped to his sides.

"Dick," she said, "I want you to meet Perry Mason, the lawyer. This is Dick Basset, my son."

The young man stared at Perry Mason with wide, deep, brown eyes. His face was deadwhite. The lips of a sensitive, wellformed mouth were clamped into a firm line. Mason extended his hand easily.

"Basset," he said, "I'm glad to know you."

Basset hesitated a moment, regarded Mason's outstretched hand, shifted something from his right hand to his left, and stepped forward.

A small object dropped to the floor. He grabbed Mason's hand, shook it, and said, "Are you representing Mother?"

Mason nodded.

"She's been through hell," the boy said. "I've kept out of it long enough. Tonight I…"

He stopped as he saw Perry Mason's eyes come to rest on the thing which had dropped to the carpet.

"Cartridge?" Mason asked.

The boy stooped to recover it, but Mason was first. He picked up a.38 cartridge and stared at it speculatively as he held it in his outstretched hand.

"Why the munitions?" he asked.

"That's my business," Basset said.

Mason reached out, grabbed the boy's left hand, pushed the fingers open before young Basset could define his intentions, disclosed several more.38 caliber shells. One cartridge was empty.

"Where's the gun?" he asked.

"Don't try any of that stuff!" Basset flared. "You can't…"

Perry Mason grabbed the young man's shoulder, jerked him forward, spun him around, and, at the same time, slipped an exploring right hand beneath the back of the coat.

Dick Basset tried to struggle, braced himself, and jerked free, but not before Perry Mason had pulled the.38 caliber revolver from the right hip pocket.

Mason broke the gun open. The cylinder was unloaded. He smelled of the muzzle.

"Smells as though it had been fired," he said.

Dick Basset stared at him in whitefaced silence. Mrs. Basset jumped forward, wrapped her hands around the gun.

"Oh, please, , she said to Perry Mason. "I wondered where that was. Please give it to me."

Mason kept his hold on the gun.

"What's the idea?" he asked.

"I want it."

"Whose is it?"

"I don't know."

Mason looked at young Basset and said, "Where did you get it?"

Basset remained silent.

Mason shook his head at Mrs. Basset and gently disengaged her hands.

"I think," he said, "it will be safer with me for a while. Now, what's happened?"

She released her hold on the gun reluctantly, and said to the boy, "You show him, Dick."

Dick Basset pulled aside a Japanese screen, disclosing a corner of the room which had been concealed from the lawyer's gaze.

A broadhipped woman with faded red hair was bending over someone who lay on a dilapidated couch. She didn't look up as the screen was moved, but said over her shoulder, "I think she's going to be all right in a few minutes. Is this the doctor?"

The lawyer walked to one side so that he could look past the redheaded woman, to see the figure which lay on the couch.

She was a brunette in the middle twenties, attired in a dark suit. The blouse had been opened at the neck to disclose the white curve of a throat and breast. Wet towels lay on the couch near her head. A bottle of smelling salts and a small bottle of brandy were nestled in among the wet towels. The redheaded woman was chafing the girl's wrists.

"Who is she?" asked Perry Mason.

Mrs. Basset said slowly, "My daughterinlaw—Dick's wife. But no one knows it yet. She's going under her maiden name."

Dick Basset swung around as though about to say something, but remained silent.

Perry Mason indicated a bruise on the side of the young woman's head.

"What happened?"

"My husband struck her."

"Why?"

"I don't know why."

"What with?"

"I don't know. He struck her and then ran out of the house."

"Where did he go?"

"His car was in front. He jumped in it and drove away, going like mad."

"Was the chauffeur with him?"

"No, he was alone in the car."

"Did you see him?"

"Yes."

"Where were you?"

"I saw him from a window in the upper story."

"You know it was his car?"

"Yes. It was his Packard."

"Did he have any bags with him?"

"No, no bags."

The young woman on the couch stirred and moaned.

"She's coming to," the redheaded woman said.

Perry Mason leaned forward. Mrs. Basset stepped to the head of the couch, smoothed back the girl's wet hair, stroked her fingers over the closed eyes, and said, "Hazel, dear, can you hear me?"

The lids fluttered upward, disclosing dark eyes that stared dazedly. The girl retched, moaned and turned to her side.

"She's going to be sick, and then she'll be all right," the older woman said, nodding her head at Sylvia Basset, and turning to stare curiously at Perry Mason.

Perry Mason faced Mrs. Basset.

"Do you want me to take charge of this thing?" he asked.

"In what way?"

"Do you want me to handle it the way I think best?"

"Yes."

Perry Mason stepped to the telephone which was on the battered, cigaretteburnt desk, and said, "Give me police headquarters… Hello, headquarters? This is Richard Basset at 9682 Franklin Street. There's been some trouble out here. I think my father's been drinking, but he's clubbed a woman quite badly…

"Yes, it's my father. We want him arrested, of course. He's crazy. We can't tell what he'll do next. Please send officers at once… Yes, one of the radio cars is all right, only get here at once, because he may kill someone."

Perry Mason dropped the receiver on its hook, stared at Mrs. Basset.

"You," he said, "keep out of it."

He turned to the boy.

"You go ahead and take the initiative in this thing. I gather that you side with your mother, and against your father?"

Mrs. Basset said, "Of course, it will come out during the investigation that Hartley isn't Dick's father."

"Who was?"

"He's my son by a—a previous marriage."

"How long have you been married to Hartley Basset?"

"Five years."

Dick Basset said bitterly, "Five years of torture."

The woman on the couch stirred and moaned again. She said something that was unintelligible, then coughed and struggled to a sitting position.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"It's all right, Hazel," Mrs. Basset said. "Everything's going to be all right. There's nothing to worry about. We've got a lawyer here, and the police are coming."

The young woman closed her eyes, sighed, and said, "Oh, let me think—let me think."

Mrs. Basset moved close to Perry Mason.

"Please," she said in an undertone, "let me have the gun. I don't want you to have it."

"Why?"

"Because I think we should hide it."

"You're not supposed to have a gun," Mason told her.

"It isn't mine."

"Suppose the police find it?"

"They won't find it if you'll only give it to me. Please."

Perry Mason pulled the gun from his hip pocket and handed it to her. She dropped it down the front of her dress and held it there with her hand.

"You can't leave it there," Mason said. "If you're going to hide it, go ahead and hide it."

"Wait," she told him. "You don't understand. I'll take care of it…"

Dick Basset, bending tenderly over the young woman on the couch, exclaimed, "Good God!"

The girl opened her eyes. Dick kissed her, and she let one of her arms slide around his neck. She talked with him in a low voice. A moment later Dick Basset gently disengaged her arm, and turned to face them.

"It wasn't Hartley who hit her," he said.

"It must have been," Mrs. Basset insisted. "She must be delirious. I came as far as the outer office with her. I knew Hartley was alone."

Dick Basset said, excitedly, "It wasn't Hartley. Hazel didn't even talk with him. She knocked at that door to Dad's office. There was no answer. She opened the door and the office was empty. She crossed the office and knocked at the door of the inner office. Dad opened the door. Someone was with him. She couldn't see who it was. The man had his back to her. Dad told her he was busy, to go back and sit down.

"She waited almost ten minutes. Then that door opened. A man reached through and turned out the lights. He started to run through the office, saw her, and turned. Light from the inner office struck his face.

"She saw the black mask and the eyes through the black mask. One of the eye sockets was empty. She screamed. He struck at her. She tore off the mask. It was a oneeyed man she'd never seen before in her life. He cursed her and clubbed her with a blackjack. She lost consciousness."

"Only had one eye?" Sylvia Basset cried. "Dick, there's some mistake!" Her voice rose as though with hysteria.

"Only one eye," Dick Basset repeated. "Isn't that right, Hazel?"

The young woman nodded slowly.

"What happened to the mask?" Mason asked.

"She tore it off. It was a paper mask—black paper."

Mason, down on his hands and knees, pulled a sheet of carbon paper from the floor. Eye holes had been cut in it, one corner was torn off. The paper was ripped down the center.

"That's it," she said. She struggled to a sitting position, then got to her feet.

"I saw his face." She swayed. The redheaded woman stretched out a muscular arm just a second too late. The girl pitched forward, throwing her hands in front of her. The palms rested against the diamondshaped plate glass panel of the outer door. The redheaded woman shifted her grip, picked the younger woman up as though she had been a doll, and laid her back on the couch.

"Oh, my God," moaned the young woman.

Mason bent over her, solicitously. "All right?" he asked.

She smiled wanly. "I guess so. I got dizzy when I got up, but I'm all right now."

"This man had one eye?" Mason asked.

"Yes," she said, her voice growing stronger.

"No, no!" Sylvia Basset said, her voice almost a moan.

"Let her tell it," Dick Basset said savagely. "Everyone else keep out of it."

"Did he hit you more than once?" Mason asked.

"I think so. I don't remember."

"Do you know whether he went out this front door?"

"No."

"Did you hear him drive away?"

"I don't know, I tell you. He hit me and everything turned black."

"Let her alone, can't you?" Dick Basset said to Perry Mason. "She isn't a witness on the witness stand."

Perry Mason strode toward the door which led to the inner office. He reached his hand to the knob, then hesitated a moment, drew back his hand, and took a handkerchief from his pocket. He wrapped the handkerchief around his fingers before he turned the knob. The door swung slowly inward. The room was just as he had seen it the first time. A light in the ceiling gave a brilliant, but indirect, illumination.

Mason crossed to the door of the inner office. It, too, was closed. Once more he fitted a handkerchief in his hand and turned the knob. The room was dark.

"Anyone know where the light switch is here?" Mason asked.

"I do," Mrs. Basset said. She entered the room, and, a moment later, the lights clicked on.

Mrs. Basset gave a half scream of startled terror. Perry Mason, standing in the doorway, stiffened to immobility. Dick Basset exclaimed, "Good God! What's that?"

Hartley Basset lay face down on the floor. A blanket and a quilt, folded together, partially covered his head. His arms were outstretched. The right hand was tightly closed. A pool of red had seeped out from his head, soaked up by the blanket and quilt on the one side and the carpet on the other. A portable typewriter was on the desk in front of him, and a sheet of paper was in the machine, approximately half of it being covered by typewritten lines.

"Keep back, everyone," Perry Mason said. "Don't touch anything."

He stepped cautiously forward, keeping his hands behind his back. He bent over the corpse and read the paper which was in the typewriter.

"This," he said, "seems to be a suicide note. But it can't be suicide, because there's no gun here."

"Read it aloud," Dick Basset said in an excited voice. "Let's hear what's in the note. What reason does he give for committing suicide?"

Perry Mason read in a low monotone:

"He's got something in his hand," Dick Basset said. Perry Mason leaned down, hesitated a moment, then pried the fingers slightly apart.

A glass eye, clutched in the dead hand, stared redly at them, unwinking, evil.

Mrs. Basset gasped.

Perry Mason whirled to her.

"What does that eye mean to you?" he asked.

"Nnnnothing."

"Come on. Come clean. What does it mean to you?"

Dick Basset pressed forward. "Look here," he said, "you can't talk to my mother that way."

Mason waved him away with a gesture of his hand.

"Keep out of this," he said. "What does that eye mean to you?"

"Nothing," she said, more defiantly this time.

Mason turned toward the door.

"Well," he said, "I guess there's no further need for my services."

She clutched his sleeve in frenzy.

"Please," she said. "Please! You've got to see me through this."

"Are you going to tell me the truth?"

"Yes," she said, "but not now—not here."

Dick Basset moved toward the dead man.

"I want to see," he said, "what…"

Perry Mason took his shoulder, spun him around, and pushed him out through the door.

"Turn out the lights, Mrs. Basset," he said.

She switched out the lights. "Oh, I've dropped my handkerchief'" she said. "Does it make any difference?"

"You bet it makes a difference," Perry Mason said. "Get your handkerchief and get out."

She groped around for a few moments. Perry Mason stood impatiently in the doorway. She came toward him.

"I have it," she breathed, clinging to his arm. "You must protect me, and we've both got to protect Dick. Tell me…"

He broke away from her, jerked the door closed behind them, and crossed the other office to the entrance room.

The woman who had been on the couch was now standing. Her face was dead white. Her lips made an attempt at a smile. Mason faced her.

"Do you know what's in there?" he asked.

"Is it Mr. Basset?" she half whispered.

"Yes," Perry Mason said. "You saw the man who came out of the room clearly?"

"Yes."

"Did he see you? Would he know your face if he saw you again?"

"I don't think so. I was in the dark here in the room. The light was coming from that other office. It streamed on his face. I had my back turned to it. My face was in the shadow."

"He wore this mask?"

"Yes. That's it. It's carbon paper, isn't it?"

"You saw one eye socket that was vacant?"

"Yes, it was awful. The mask was black, you see, and looking through the mask that way with only one eye staring out, and the other a reddish socket! It…"

"Look, here," Perry Mason said, "the police are coming here. They're going to question you. Then they'll hold you as a material witness. You want to help Dick, don't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"All right. I want to go over this thing in detail before the police talk with you. Do you feel well enough to ride in a car?"

"Yes, I do now. I was groggy at first."

"Can you drive a car?"

"Yes."

He took a key from his pocket, tossed it to her and strode to the telephone.

"My coupe's out in front," he called over his shoulder. "Get in it and get started. My office is in the Central Utilities Building. I'll have my secretary there by the time you get there."

He didn't wait for a reply, but dialed a number on the telephone. He heard the ringing of the bell and, a moment later, Della Street 's voice saying, in accents thick with sleep, "Yes? What is it, please?"

"Perry Mason," he told her. "Can you get dressed by the time it takes a taxicab to get to your place?"

"I can get something on that will act me past the censors," she said. "It won't be stylish."

"Never mind the style. Throw on the first thing you come to. Wrap a coat around the outside of it. I'm sending a cab. Go to the office. A woman will be there. Her name is…"

He called over his shoulder, "What's that girl's name?"

Dick Basset said, "Hazel Fenwick."

"Hazel Fenwick," Perry Mason said. "Take her in the office. See that she doesn't get hysterical. Be friendly. Pour a little whiskey into her, but don't get her drunk. Talk with her and take down what she says in shorthand. Keep her out of sight until I get there."

"When will you get there?" she asked.

"Pretty soon," he told her. "I've got to let a couple of cops ask me some questions."

"What's happened?" she asked.

"You can find out from the girl," he told her.

"Okay, Chief," she said. "You ordering the cab?"

"Yes."

"I'll be downstairs by the time it gets here. Tell the cab driver to pick up the girl in a fur coat who's standing on the sidewalk. I hope no one looks underneath that fur coat."

"They won't," he told her and hung up the receiver.

He called the office of a taxicab company, instructed them to rush a cab to Della Street 's house, and then turned to Mrs. Basset.

"Who else knows about this?" he asked.

"About what?"

Mason made a sweeping indication with his arm.

"No one. You discovered it yourself. You were the first one to go near the room…"

"No, no," he said, "not about your husband—about the young woman getting a sock on the head. Are there any servants who know about it?"

"Mr. Colemar," she said.

"Is he," Mason asked, "the baldheaded chap with the spectacles who works in your husband's office?"

"Yes."

"How does he happen to know about it?"

"He'd been out to a movie. He saw someone running from the house and then he saw me running around here in the room. He came in to see what was the matter."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him to go to his room and stay there."

"Did he see the young woman on the couch?"

"No, I didn't let him see her. He was curious. He kept trying to get over close to the couch to see her. He's all right, but he's a gossip and he'd do anything to injure me. My husband and I didn't get along. He sided with my husband."

"Where did he go?" Mason asked.

"To his room, I guess."

The lawyer jerked his head toward Dick Basset.

"Know where it is?"

"Yes."

"Okay, show me."

Dick Basset looked inquiringly at his mother. Mason grabbed him by the shoulder and said, "For God's sake, snap out of it. The police will be here any minute. Get started! Can we get through this way?"

"No," Dick Basset said, "this is a separate part of the house. You'll have to go in the, other entrance."

They stepped through the door to the porch, entered the residence part of the house, climbed a flight of stairs, walked down a corridor, and Dick Basset, who had been leading the way, stepped back and to one side as he indicated a closed door from beneath which came a ribbon of light. The lawyer gripped Dick Basset's arm just above the elbow.

"Okay," he said. "Now you go back to your mother, kick out that redheaded servant and get down to brass tacks."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Get your stories together in every detail and account for that gun."

"What gun?"

"The one you had, of course," Mason said.

"Will they ask me about that?"

"They may. It has been fired. What did you shoot it at?"

Dick Basset moistened his lips with his tongue and said, "Not today it hadn't. That was yesterday."

"What did you shoot at?"

"A tin can."

"How many shots?"

"One."

"Why only one?"

"Because I hit the can and I quit while my reputation was good."

"Why were you shooting at a can?"

"I was showing off."

"To whom?"

"My wife. She was riding with me."

"You carry a gun, then, all the time?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because Hartley Basset has been such a brute to my mother. I knew a showdown was coming sooner or later."

"Got a permit for that gun?"

"No."

"No one else saw you shoot at the can except your wife?"

"No, that's all. She's the only witness."

Mason jerked his thumb back down the corridor toward the door and said, "Get together with your mother. Make your stories airtight."

He raised his hand to knock at the panels of the door, hesitated, lowered his hand to the knob, twisted it and jerked the door open. The same narrowshouldered, baldheaded man whom he had seen in Basset's office earlier in the evening stared at him through huge tortoiseshell glasses, his face showing exasperation. It changed to amazement as he recognized Perry Mason.

"You saw me tonight in Basset's office," Mason said. "I'm Perry Mason, the lawyer. Your name's Colemar, isn't it?"

The expression of irritation returned to Colemar's face. "Don't lawyers knock?" he asked.

Mason started to say something, then checked himself as his eyes, drifting to the dresser, caught sight of the piece of paper on which he had penciled the telephone number of his residence and which he had given to Bertha McLane.

"What's that?" he asked.

"Is it any of your business?"

"Yes."

"It's something I picked up in the hallway," Colemar said.

"When?"

"Just now."

"What part of the hallway?"

"The head of the stairs, right by Mrs. Basset's room, if you must know. But I don't know what right you've got to…"

"Forget it," Mason said, stepping forward, picking up the paper and folding it and putting it in his pocket. "You're going to be a witness. I'm a lawyer. I might be able to help you."

"Help me?"

"Yes."

Colemar's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Good heavens," he said, "what am I a witness to, and how can you help me?"

"You saw a woman who had been injured lying on the couch down in Mr. Basset's reception room just a few minutes ago."

"I couldn't tell whether it was a woman or a man. Someone was lying on the couch. I thought it was a man, but Edith Brite was standing in front of the couch and Mrs. Basset was very anxious that I shouldn't go near the couch. She kept pushing me away. If you're at all interested, you might care to know that I'm going to report the matter to Mr. Basset in the morning. Mrs. Basset has no right in those offices and I have. She had no right to push me away."

"Overpowered you, did she?" Mason asked sarcastically.

"You don't know that Brite woman," Colemar retorted. "She's strong as an ox and she does everything Mrs. Basset tells her to."

"You'd been out?" Mason asked.

"Yes, sir, to a picture show."

"When you came back you saw someone running down the street?"

Colemar straightened with such frosty dignity as can be mustered by a man whose shoulders have been bent over a desk during years of clerical work.

"I did," he said ominously.

Something in his tone caused Mason's eyes to narrow.

"Look here, Colemar," he said, "did you recognize that man?"

"That," Colemar said, "is something which is none of your business. That is something which I shall report to Mr. Basset. I don't wish to seem disrespectful, but I don't know your connection with Mrs. Basset and I don't know what right you have to invade my room without knocking and ask me questions. You said I was going to be a witness. What am I going to be a witness to?"

Mason heard the sound of a siren as a car rounded the corner with screaming tires. He didn't wait to answer Colemar's question but jerked the door open, sprinted down the hallway, took the stairs two at a time, jerked open the door to the porch, and crossed to the other door just as a touring car slid in close to the curb.

Mason shoved the door open. Dick Basset and his mother, engaged in a whispered conversation, jumped guiltily apart.

"Okay," Mason said, "here are the cops. Don't say anything about any trouble either one of you might have had with Hartley Basset. That line isn't going to go over so good under the circumstances. Do you get me?"

Mrs. Basset said slowly, "I get you."

Feet pounded on the porch. Knuckles pounded imperatively against the door.

She opened it, and two broadshouldered men pushed their way into the room.

"Okay," one of them said. "What's going on here?"

"My husband," Mrs. Basset said, "has just committed suicide."

"That wasn't the way we got it over the radio," one of the men said.

"I'm sorry," she told him. "My son was hysterical. He was laboring under a misunderstanding. He didn't know what had happened."

"Well," one of the men said, "what has happened?"

She motioned toward the door.

"How do you know it's suicide?" the other officer asked.

"You can read the note he left in the typewriter."

The men opened the door. One of them produced a flashlight and sent the beam slithering about the room. The other found a light switch, pressed the button and stood staring at the scene which was disclosed as the lights clicked on.

"How long ago did you find him?" he asked.

"About five minutes ago," Perry Mason said, answering the question.

The men turned to him.

"Who are you, buddy?" one of them asked.

The other one gave a sudden start of recognition.

"It's Perry Mason," he said, "the lawyer."

Perry Mason bowed.

"What are you doing here?" the first man asked.

"Waiting for you to get done with the formalities in connection with this suicide," Perry Mason said, "so that I can discuss certain matters with Mrs. Basset."

"How did you happen to be here?"

"I came here to see Mr. Basset on business."

"What kind of business?"

"Not that it makes any difference," Perry Mason said, smiling affably, "but it had to do with the affairs of a young man who had been employed by Mr. Basset. There'd been some misunderstanding between them, and I wanted to get it straightened out."

"Humph!" the officer said, and stood staring down at the corpse.

"Anyone hear the pistol shot?"

No one answered.

"Evidently used the blanket and quilt to muffle the pistol shot," the officer said. "There's the gun that did the killing."

Perry Mason followed the direction of his pointing finger. On the floor, in plain sight, lay a gun, a.38 caliber Colt, Police Positive, very apparently the gun which he had taken from young Basset.

One of the officers stepped to the corpse, picked up a corner of the blanket and raised it.

"Say, look here!" he called in an excited voice. "Here's another gun under this blanket. How the devil could a man commit suicide with two guns?"

The second officer pushed the spectators toward the doorway.

"Get out of here," he said, "and let me use the telephone. I'm calling the Homicide Squad."

Mason stared at Mrs. Basset. "Two guns," he said. She made no answer. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes dark with terror.