The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

9

Perry Mason struggled up through an engulfing sea of warm languor which seemed to make it impossible for him to move. The lethargy of sheer fatigue kept lulling him back to the blissful inertia of slumber; the strident ringing of the telephone bell insisted upon pulling him back to consciousness.

More than half asleep, he groped for the telephone.

“Hello,” he said, and his tongue was so thick the word was little more than a meaningless jumble of sound.

Della Street’s voice at the other end of the line knifed his brain to consciousness. “Chief, can you get over here right away?”

Mason sat bolt upright in the bed, every sense alert. Something in Della’s voice was like the needle spray of an ice-cold shower.

“Where?” he asked.

“The Kellinger Hotel on Sixth Street.”

Mason’s sleep-swollen eyes glanced at the luminous dial of his wristwatch, then he realized there was enough daylight filtering through the windows of his apartment to rob the hands of their luminosity. “As quick as I can make it, Della,” he promised, and then added, “just how urgent is it?”

“I’m afraid it’s terribly urgent. Otherwise I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Is Sally Madison with you?”

“Yes. We’re in six-thirteen. Don’t stop at the desk. Come right up. Don’t knock. The door will be unlocked. I’ll be waiting just inside the door. Don’t make any noise. I...”

The receiver at the other end of the line was suddenly slipped into place in the middle of the sentence, cutting off Della Street’s words as neatly as though the wire had been severed with a knife.

Perry Mason rolled out of bed. Out of his pajamas, he was groping for clothes even before he switched on the lights in his apartment. Two minutes later he was struggling into a top coat as he ran down the hall.

The Hotel Kellinger was a relatively unpretentious hotel which evidently catered largely to permanent guests. Mason parked his car and entered the lobby, where a somewhat sleepy night clerk looked up in a casual survey which changed to a frown of thoughtful inspection as he tried to place Mason.

“I already have my key,” Mason said hastily, and then added somewhat sheepishly, “darn near missed out on a night’s sleep.”

The elevator was an automatic. Mason noticed there were seven floors in the hotel. As a precaution, in case the doubtful scrutiny on the part of the clerk below should have ripened into skepticism, Mason punched the button which took the elevator to the fifth floor, and then, walking down the corridor, wasted precious seconds locating the stairway. During that time he heard the automatic mechanism of the elevator whirr into activity as the cage was summoned back to the lobby.

Mason ran up the uncarpeted stairs, located the room he wanted on the sixth floor and gently tried the knob of the door. The door was unlocked. He swung it open noiselessly.

Della Street, attired in a house coat and slippers, held a warning finger to her lips and motioned toward the room behind her, then pointed to the twin bed near the window.

Sally Madison lay on her back, one arm flung out from under the covers, her fingers limp and relaxed. The girl’s glossy dark hair streamed out over the pillow. The absence of shoulder straps and the curving contours which were visible indicated that she was sleeping nude. Her alligator-skin purse, which had evidently been placed under the pillow, had fallen to the floor, and, in the fall had opened and partially spilled its contents on the rug.

Della Street’s insistent finger pointed to the purse.

Mason bent over to get a look at the articles which were illuminated by a bedside lamp which had apparently been lowered from its normal position on a small table between the two beds to a point on the floor, where the light would not shine in Sally Madison’s eyes.

He saw a roll of bills fastened together with an elastic band. The denomination of the outer bill was visible and showed that it was for fifty dollars. Back of the roll of bills there was the dull gleam of blued steel, where the barrel of a revolver caught and reflected the rays of the electric light.

Della Street glanced inquiringly at Mason. When she saw that the lawyer had fully appreciated the significance of the contents of the purse, she raised her eyebrows in silent inquiry.

Mason looked around the room, searching for some place where he could talk.

Della Street beckoned him around the foot of the bed and opened the door of the bathroom. She switched on the light, and, when Mason had entered, closed the door behind him.

The lawyer seated himself on the edge of the bathtub, and Della Street started talking in a whisper. “She clung to that purse like grim death. I wanted to get her some night things but she said she’d sleep in the raw. She got out of her clothes in nothing flat, was careful to put the purse under her pillow and then lay there watching me while I undressed. I switched out the lights and got into bed. Apparently she couldn’t sleep at first. I heard her twisting and turning.”

“Any sobs?” Mason asked.

Della shook her head.

“When did she get to sleep?”

“I don’t know. I went to sleep first, although I had intended to stay awake and make sure she was asleep and all right before I closed my eyes.”

“When did you see the purse?”

“About five minutes before I telephoned you. Before she went to sleep she must have squirmed around so that the purse had worked over to a position near the edge of the bed — then when she turned in her sleep the purse fell out, lit on one edge of the steel frame and the weight of the gun caused the clasps to come open. I heard the jar when the purse hit the floor, and I was nervous enough so that I wakened suddenly and almost jumped out of my skin.”

“Did you know what had wakened you?”

“Not right away, but I turned on the light. Sally was lying there sound asleep, just about as you see her now, but she was twitching restlessly and her lips were moving. The words she was uttering were all mumbled together so you couldn’t distinguish anything. I could only hear some confused sounds.

“As soon as I turned on the light, I realized what had happened, and, without thinking, reached down to pick up the purse. First, I saw the roll of bills and started to put them back in the purse. Then the tips of my fingers touched something cold and metallic. I immediately lowered the light to the floor so I could see what it was all about. At that time the purse was lying just as you see it now, and I left the light right there on the floor by the purse.

“Chief, I was just sick. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t dare to leave her alone and go down to the lobby. Finally I took a chance on telephoning you because I knew that was all there was for me to do.”

“Just what did you do?” Mason asked. “I mean how did you place the call?”

She said, “It was almost thirty seconds before I could get anyone to answer at the hotel switchboard, then I kept my voice just as low as possible and asked for an outside line. But the man downstairs told me all numbers had to go out through the hotel switchboard. And I saw then there was no dial on the telephone. I’d been so rattled I hadn’t noticed that before. So I gave him your unlisted number. It was the only thing I could have done under the circumstances.”

Mason nodded gravely.

“It seemed like an age before you answered,” she went on. “And then I started talking to you, keeping my eye on Sally Madison all the while, so I could hang up in case she started to wake up.”

“Is that why you were cut off in the middle of a sentence?” Mason asked.

“Yes. I saw her move restlessly and her eyelids fluttered. So I didn’t dare to keep on talking. I slipped the receiver back into place and put my head back on the pillow so in case she opened her eyes I could pretend to be asleep — although, of course, the purse on the floor and the light by the purse would have been a give-away. If she wakened, I was going to call for a showdown, but if I could postpone it until you got here I thought it would be better to play it that way. Well, she rolled her head around a bit and said something in that mumbled voice of a person talking in her sleep, and then she heaved a long sigh and seemed to relax.”

Mason rose from his seat on the edge of the bathtub, pushed his hands deep into his coat pockets, said, “We’re in a jam, Della.”

Della Street nodded.

“She’s supposed to be broke,” Mason said. “If she has a roll of bills like that she must have got them from Mrs. Faulkner. - I guess I played right into her hands. I wanted to be alone there in Faulkner’s bathroom so I could take a good look at all the evidence. I didn’t want her checking up on what I was doing, so I told her to take Mrs. Faulkner out into the living room and kid her out of her hysterics. I guess while she was out there, she must have put the bite on Mrs. Faulkner. That means she must have uncovered some evidence that escaped me. Or else, Mrs. Faulkner propositioned her to ditch the gun, and the golddigger ran true to form and wanted some heavy dough. In any event it leaves us in a mess.

“You can see what’s going to happen now. I thought we were getting her out of circulation so the newspaper reporters wouldn’t get hold of her, and so we could do something about building up a claim against the estate of Faulkner without having her spill any beans before we knew the lay of the land. That’s what comes of being big-hearted and trying to help a guy who has T.B. and a golddigging girl friend.

“You’ve registered under your own name and under her name. If that gun happens to be the one with which the murder was committed, you can realize what a spot we’re in. Both of us. What did she tell you when she called you on the phone?”

“She said you had told her to get in touch with me and had given her my number; that I was to take her to a hotel, stay with her and fix it so that no one would know anything about where she was until you got ready to let them find out.”

Mason nodded. “That’s exactly what I told her to do.”

Della Street said, “I was asleep and the telephone kept ringing. It wakened me out of a sound slumber and I guess I was a little groggy. Sally Madison gave me your message, and one of the first thoughts that flashed through my mind was where I could find a hotel. I told her to call me back in about ten minutes, and then I got busy on the telephone and called half a dozen hotels. I finally found there was a room with twin beds here at the Kellinger.”

Mason slitted his eyes in concentration. “Then she called you back in fifteen minutes?”

“I guess so. I didn’t notice the exact time. I had started to dress as soon as I located the room. I was rushing around and I didn’t notice the time.”

“And you told her to meet you here?”

“That’s right. I told her to come directly to the hotel, and if she got here first to wait for me in the lobby; if I got here first, I’d wait for her in the lobby.”

“Which was the first one here?”

“I was.”

“How long did you wait?”

“I’d say about ten minutes.”

“She came in a taxi?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“It was a yellow cab.”

“Notice anything strange about the way she carried her purse?”

“Not a thing. She got out of the cab and... Wait a minute, Chief, I do remember that she had a bill all ready in her hand. She didn’t have to take it out of the purse. She handed it to the cab driver and didn’t get any change. I remember that.”

“Probably a dollar bill,” Mason said. “That would mean she had about an eighty-cent ride on the meter, and gave a twenty-cent tip.”

Della Street, searching her memory, said, “I remember the cab driver looked at the bill — looked at it in a peculiar sort of way, then grinned, and said something, put it in his pocket and drove off. Then Sally Madison entered the lobby and we went directly to the room.”

“You’d already registered?”

“Yes.”

“Then Sally didn’t have any occasion to open her purse from the time you first saw her until she got into bed and tucked it under her pillow?”

“That’s right. I remember thinking at the time that she should take more care of her skin, but she just got out of her clothes and climbed into bed.”

Mason said, “Of course she didn’t want you to have any opportunity to see what was in the purse. All right, Della, there’s only one thing to do. We’ve got to get that gun out of the purse.”

“Why?”

Mason said, “Because it’s got your fingerprints on it.”

“Oh, oh!” Della Street exclaimed in dismay. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“After we get your fingerprints off of it,” Mason said, “we’re going to wake Sally Madison up and ask her some questions. What we do after that depends on the answers, but probably we’re going to tell her to go back to her apartment, act just as though nothing had happened, and under no circumstances say anything to anyone about having spent the night here in the hotel.”

“Think she’ll do it?”

“You can’t tell. She may. The probabilities are they’ll pick her up before noon. Then if they ask her a lot of questions, she’ll probably drag us into the mess. But if your fingerprints aren’t on that gun, we don’t have to tell anyone that we knew what was in her purse. We were simply keeping her out of the way of the newspaper reporters. She was going to be our client in a civil action we were about to bring against the Faulkner Estate in order to collect five thousand dollars for her boy friend.”

Della Street nodded.

“But,” Mason went on, “if your fingerprints are found on that gun, then we’re in an awful mess.”

“But when you take my fingerprints off the gun, won’t you automatically remove all fingerprints that are on it?”

Mason nodded. “That’s one of the things we’ve got to do, Della.”

“Doesn’t that consist of tampering with evidence or something of the sort?”

Mason said, “We don’t even know that it’s evidence, Della. It may or may not be the gun with which Harrington Faulkner was killed. Okay, here we go.”

Mason opened the bathroom door, paused for a whispered word of caution to Della Street, and had taken one step toward the bed where Sally Madison was sleeping, when knuckles pounded loudly on the door of the room.

Mason stopped in dismay.

“Open up!” a voice called. “Open up in there,” and knuckles once more banged on the panels of the door.

The noise aroused Sally Madison. With a half-articulate exclamation, she sat up in bed, threw one leg out from under the covers, then in the dim light of the room saw Perry Mason standing motionless by the doorway.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were here,” and promptly grabbed the covers up to her chin and pulled her leg back into the bed.

“I just came,” Mason said.

She smiled. “I’m sleeping in the altogether.”

“So Della told me.”

“I didn’t hear you come.”

“I wanted to make sure everything was all right.”

“What’s happening? Who’s at the door?”

Mason said to Della Street, “Open it, Della.”

Della Street opened the door.

The night clerk said, “You can’t pull that stuff here.”

“What stuff?” Della Street asked.

The man said, “Don’t pull that line on me. Your boy friend went up to the fifth floor with the elevator, then sneaked up the stairs to the sixth floor. He thought he was being smart. I happened to remember that you’d put through a call from this room and thought I’d give it the once-over. I was listening outside the door. I heard the bathroom door open and heard you two whispering. This isn’t the sort of a place you girls think it is. Get your things together and get out.”

Mason said, “You’re making a mistake, Buddy.”

“Oh, no, I’m not. You’re the one that’s making the mistake.”

Mason’s hand slid enticingly down into his right-hand trouser pocket. “All right,” he said, laughing, “perhaps I’m the one that’s made the mistake, but it’s getting daylight and it isn’t going to hurt the hotel any if the girls check out after breakfast.” Mason pulled out a roll of bills, peeled a ten-dollar bill from the roll, held it between his first and second fingers so the night clerk could get a good look at the denomination of the bill.

The man didn’t even lower his eyes. “No, you don’t,” he said. “That sort of stuff doesn’t go here.”

Mason glanced over to where Sally Madison was holding the sheet up under her chin. He noticed that she had taken advantage of the diversion to retrieve her purse from its position on the floor. It was now safely tucked out of sight under her pillow.

Mason pushed the bills back into his pocket, took out his card case, produced one of his cards. “I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer,” he said. “This is Della Street. She’s my secretary.”

The clerk said doggedly, “She’d have to be your wife to let you get by with this, and that’s final. We’re trying to run a decent place here. We’ve had trouble with the police before, and I’m not going to take any chances on having any more trouble.”

Mason said angrily, “All right. We’ll get out.”

“You can wait down in the lobby,” the clerk told him.

Mason shook his head. “If we’re going to be put out, I’ll stay here and help the girls pack.”

“Oh, no you won’t.”

“Oh, yes I will.”

The clerk said, “Then I’ll stay.” He jerked his head at the girls. “Get your clothes on.”

Sally Madison said, “You’ll have to get out while I get something on. I’m sleeping in the raw.”

The night clerk said to Mason, “Come on. Let’s go down to the lobby.”

Mason shook his head.

Della Street flashed an inquiring glance at Mason.

The lawyer’s right eye slowly closed in a wink.

Almost imperceptibly, Della Street motioned her head toward the door.

Mason shook his head.

Della Street said suddenly, “Well, I’m not going to be put out of here at this hour of the morning. I haven’t done anything wrong. It’s bad enough to be disturbed in a night’s sleep without getting put out of a second-rate hotel because your boss wants to give you some orders. I’m going back to bed. If you don’t like it, call the police and see what they have to say about it.”

Della Street pulled back the covers, kicked off her slippers and jumped into bed. Surreptitiously, she glanced at Mason, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

The clerk said gloomily, “I’m sorry but it won’t work. I suppose if we hadn’t had any trouble before this you could bluff us out, but the way it is right now, you either get out or I call the police. Make up your mind which you want.”

“Call the police,” Mason said.

The clerk said, “Okay, if you want it that way, that’s the way you’ll have it.” He walked over to the telephone, picked it up, held the receiver to his ear, said, “Police headquarters,” and then after a moment, “this is the night clerk at the Kellinger Hotel on Sixth Street. We’ve got some disorderly tenants in Room 613. I’ve tried to put them out and they won’t go. Send a car around right away, will you? I’ll be up here in the room... That’s right. The Kellinger Hotel, and the room number is 613.”

The clerk slammed the receiver back into place, said, “I’m keeping my nose clean. Let me give you folks a friendly tip. You’ll just about have time to take a powder before the police get here. Take my advice and beat it.”

Perry Mason settled himself comfortably on the foot of Della Street’s bed. He took a notebook from his pocket and scribbled a note to Della Street. “Remember that the telephones are only connected through the downstairs switchboard. My best guess is it’s a bluff. Stick it out.”

Mason tore the page from his notebook, handed it to Della Street.

She read it, smiled, and settled back against the pillow.

Sally Madison said, “Well, I’m going to get out. You two can do whatever you want to,” and without more ado she jumped out of bed, snatched her clothes from the chair and ran into the little dressing room.

Mason casually leaned over and raised the pillow on her bed.

She had taken her purse with her.

Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, handed Della Street a cigarette, took one himself. They lit up, and Mason once more settled back comfortably. From the little dressing room, came the sounds of Sally Madison hurriedly putting on her clothes.

Mason waited for nearly two minutes, then said to the clerk, “Okay, you win. Better get dressed, Della.”

Della Street slid out of the bed, adjusting the house coat around her. She picked up her overnight bag, entered the dressing room and said to Sally Madison, “Okay, Sally, I’m going with you.”

“You’re not going with me,” Sally Madison said, the sound of her shod foot hitting the floor. “Personally, I don’t like cops. As far as I’m concerned, you stuck around just a little bit too long. I’m on my way.”

She had dressed herself with the facility of a lightning change artist and now she stepped out from the dressing room ready for the street. Her hair was the only thing about her that bore witness to her hasty toilet.

“Wait a minute,” Mason said. “We’re all going.”

Sally Madison, clutching the purse under her arm with the tenacity of a football player holding an intercepted pass, said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but I’m not waiting for anyone.”

Mason played his trump card. “Don’t let him bluff you,” he said. “There isn’t any dial on that telephone. It would have to be connected through the downstairs switchboard before he could call anyone. He was just pretending to call the police.”

The clerk, in a dispirited voice, said, “Don’t think I haven’t had to go through with this before. The minute I decided you were in 613, I plugged the line from this room through the switchboard to an outside line. I did that before I came up. Don’t ever kid yourself that telephone wasn’t connected.”

Something in the man’s manner carried conviction.

Mason said, “Okay, Della, do the best you can. I’m leaving you to take the rap. I’m going with Sally. Come on, Sally.”

Sally eyed him with disfavor. “Wouldn’t it be better if I went alone?”

“No,” Mason said, and piloted her to the door.

The clerk hesitated a moment, deciding what to do.

Mason said to Della Street, “When the officers come, tell them that the clerk was trying to annoy you with his attentions.”

The clerk promptly got up from his chair and followed Mason and Sally Madison out into the corridor. “I’ll take you down in the elevator,” he said.

“No need,” Mason told him. “We’d rather use the stairs.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sally Madison told Mason in something of a panic. “I’m going down in the elevator. It’s quicker.”

They entered the elevator. The clerk removed the catch which had been holding the door open, and pressed the button for the lobby. “The bill’s six dollars,” he said.

Mason gravely took a five-dollar bill, a one-dollar bill, and a twenty-five-cent piece from his pocket, handed them to the clerk.

“What’s the two-bits for?”

“A tip for checking out,” Mason said.

The clerk calmly pocketed the twenty-five cent piece, held the six dollars in his left hand. “No hard feelings,” he said as he opened the door of the elevator on the lobby floor, “but we’ve had trouble here before. We have to keep the joint clean or we’ll be closed up. I’m sorry.”

Mason took Sally Madison’s arm. “You and I are due for a little talk,” he said.

She didn’t even look at him, but quickened her step until she was almost running across the lobby. They were halfway to the door when it was pushed open and a uniformed officer from a radio car said, “What’s the trouble?”

Mason tried to edge past him. The man blocked the door, looked over Mason’s shoulder to the clerk.

“Couple of girls in 613,” the clerk said wearily. “They violated the rules of the hotel, receiving company in their room. I asked them to get out.”

“This one of the girls?”

“That’s right.”

“Where’s the other one?”

“Getting dressed.”

“Who was the company?”

The clerk jerked his thumb toward Mason. The officer grinned at Mason, said, “We don’t want you, but since I’m here, I think I’ll ask a few questions of the girls.”

Mason gravely produced a card. “The fault,” he said, “lies with the hotel. My secretary was spending the night with Miss Madison, who is my client. I’m representing her in rather an important piece of litigation. I called to get some information.”

The officer seemed duly impressed by Mason’s card. “Then why didn’t you tell that to the clerk and save us a trip?”

“I tried to,” Mason said self-righteously.

“It’s an old gag,” the clerk said wearily. “You’d be surprised how many times I’ve heard that stuff. They’re all secretaries.”

“But this man is Perry Mason, the lawyer. Haven’t you ever heard of him?”

“Nope.”

The officer said, “I’ll just check up on this thing, Mr. Mason. I guess it’s all right, but seeing the call’s been made, I’ve got to make a report on it, and I’d better make a check, and — let’s take a look at the register.”

Sally Madison started to push past him to the door.

“No you don’t, sister,” the officer said, “not yet. Don’t be in such a hurry. Wait five minutes and it’ll all be cleared up and you can go get yourself some breakfast, or go back to your room, whichever you want. Let’s just take a look at the register for luck.”

The clerk showed the officer where Della Street had signed the register.

“This Sally Madison your secretary?” the officer asked.

“No. Della Street is.”

The elevator made noise in the shaft.

“She’s up in the room?” the officer asked.

“That’s right,” Mason said.

The clerk said somewhat querulously, “I’m doing just what the Vice Squad told me to. They said that we could either get a house dick who would be acceptable to the Vice Squad, or we’d have to report every violation of rules in regard to visitors. I had a hunch not to let these two girls in the first place. I’m going to be sore if I follow instructions and then you show up and pour a bucket of whitewash over ’em.”

“What time did they check in?”

“About half past two this morning.”

“Half past two!” the officer said, and gave Mason the benefit of a frowning scrutiny.

Mason said suavely, “That’s why I wanted my secretary to keep Miss Madison with her tonight. It was late when we finished working on the case, and...”

The elevator rattled to a stop. Della Street, carrying her overnight bag, stepped out, then stopped as she saw the trio at the desk.

“This is the other one,” the clerk said.

The officer said to Della Street, “You’re Mr. Mason’s secretary?”

“That’s right.”

“I suppose you have something in your purse — social security card, or something of that sort.”

Della Street said brightly, “And a driving license, a key to Mr. Mason’s office, and a few other things.”

“I’d better take a look,” the officer said apologetically.

Della Street took out a small inner purse, showed him her driving license and the card containing her social security number.

The officer nodded to the night clerk. “Okay,” he said. “You did all right under the circumstances. I’ll report it. But you don’t need to put these girls out. Let them go back to the room.”

“I’m on my way,” Sally Madison announced definitely. “I’ve had all the sleep I want, and right now I’m ravenously hungry.”

Della Street looked to Mason for a signal.

Mason said, “I’m sorry your rest was disturbed, Sally. Drop into my office some time before noon.”

“Thank you, I will,” she said.

The officer, plainly impressed by her face and figure, said, “Sorry you were put to all this trouble, Miss. There isn’t any restaurant near here. Perhaps we could give you a lift down to where there’s a restaurant that’s open.”

“Oh no, thank you,” Sally Madison told him, turning on her charm. “I always like to walk in the morning. It’s the way I keep my figure.”

“Well,” the officer said approvingly, “you sure make a good job of it.”

Mason and Della Street stood watching Sally Madison walk briskly across the lobby and out through the door. The officer, watching the lines of the golddigger’s figure with evident approval, turned back to Mason only after the door was closed on Sally Madison. “Well, Mr. Mason, I’m sorry this happened, but it’s just one of those things.”

“Yes,” Mason said, “it is. I don’t suppose I could buy you a cup of coffee?”

“No, thanks, we’re on patrol. We’ll be going. My partner’s out in the car.”

Mason moved his hand significantly toward his pocket. The officer grinned and shook his head, said, “Thanks all the same,” and walked out.

The clerk said to Mason, “The room’s all paid for. Go on back up if you want to.”

Mason grinned. “Just the two of us?”

“Just the two of you,” the clerk said dispiritedly. “My nose is clean. Stay as long as you want to — up until three o’clock this afternoon. That’s checking-out time. Stay longer than that and you’ll get charged for the room — double.”

Mason relieved Della Street of her overnight bag. “We’ll go now,” he said. “My car is outside.”