Case of the Beautiful Beggar

Chapter 14

Mason went at once to the door at the side of Daphne Shelby’s room, a door which apparently communicated with the adjoining room.

The lawyer tried the door. It was bolted.

He twisted the knurled knob so the bolt came open and quietly opened the door. Then he gently pressed against the door leading to the other room.

The door silently opened. The room was empty.

Mason hurriedly looked in the bathroom and the closet, and then ran to the hallway door and jerked it open.

Paul Drake was standing in the corridor.

“No one came out,” Drake said.

“Quick!” Mason said. “He’s smart. He checked out while we were in there with Daphne. She put on an act, not only to protect herself, but also to give him time for a getaway. Come on, let’s go.”

The lawyer raced down the corridor to the elevator, jabbed frantically on the button, and when the cage stopped, handed the operator a five-dollar bill, “All the way to the lobby, quick!” he said.

The cage doors clanged shut. The grinning operator dropped the cage to the lobby. Mason hurried to the cashier’s desk.

“You had a check-out in 720?” he asked.

“Why, yes, just a few moments ago.”

“What did the man look like?”

“Rather elderly, slender, distinguished-looking, but nervous — There he goes now!”

“Where?”

“Just through the revolving door to the street.”

Mason raced across the lobby, out of the door, said to the doorman, “Get us a cab, quick!”

Again a five-dollar bill worked magic.

Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake jumped in the cab.

“Where to?” the cabby asked.

“Follow that man who’s walking down the street,” Mason said, “and don’t let him know you’re following. This is entirely legal but it’s a ticklish matter. Here’s twenty dollars to ease your conscience.”

“Hell,” the taxi driver said, “for twenty dollars I don’t have any conscience to ease.”

He pocketed the bill with a grin.

“That’s in addition to the meter,” Mason told him.

“Don’t we want to stop him?” Drake asked.

“Hell, no,” Mason said. “Let’s see where he’s going.”

The man went to the hotel garage.

“He’ll come out driving a car,” Mason said to the cabdriver, “and we’ve got to follow him... Paul, there’s a telephone booth there. Get your office on the line, tell a couple of operatives to stick around... How many cars do you have with telephones?”

“Two.”

“Get them both in action,” Mason said. “Start one east, one south.”

Drake put through the calls.

It was a matter of nearly ten minutes before the man they were following emerged, driving a car with Massachusetts license plates.

Mason took one gleeful look at the license plates then grabbed Drake by the arm. “That’s Ralph Exeter’s car.”

Mason turned to the cabdriver. “You’re going to have to follow him. It’ll be difficult once he gets out of town, but do the best you can.”

The cabdriver said, “I can beat him all-to pieces in traffic, but if he gets out on the freeway and puts it into speed I’m going to have a hard time keeping up. These cabs are geared down for city traffic, fast stops and starts, but not any great speed on the freeway.”

“I know,” Mason said, “do the best you can.”

The elderly man drove the car cautiously, taking no chances, keeping well under the speed limits. The cab had no difficulty keeping up. The car ahead turned on the Santa Ana Freeway, began to gather speed.

The cabdriver had some difficulty keeping up, but the driver ahead kept in the outside righthand lane and drove cautiously.

After ten minutes, the car stopped at a service station for gasoline.

“Need any gas?” Mason asked the cabdriver.

“I can use some.”

“Pull in,” Mason said.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Della Street asked.

“He doesn’t know what we look like,” Mason said.

The driver of the car with the Massachusetts license plates went to the restroom.

Mason approached the attendant, gave him a twenty dollar bill, “We’re in a hurry,” he said. “Could you get us serviced before the other car?”

The attendant grinned. “I can stall around a bit on that other car.”

“Do that,” Mason said.

Paul Drake was at the telephone.

“Get the number of your cruising car that’s headed south,” Mason said. “He’s probably on the freeway here somewhere. Tell him where we are give him the time and tell him to try and pick us up.”

The lawyer paced back and forth on the hard surface in an ecstasy of impatience.

At length, the driver emerged from the restroom, and Mason had a good look at the man’s face. It was an aristocratic face, a high thin nose, a stubby gray mustache, high cheekbones, blue eyes.

The man kept looking back over his shoulder, his eyes darting around nervously. He seemed to pay almost no attention to the taxicab, and Mason kept in the background as much as possible.

Drake emerged from the phone booth and nodded. “The man is about five miles behind us,” Drake said. “He should catch up with us by the time we leave here.”

“Good work,” Mason said. “Those car phones are well worth the price, Paul.”

Drake said, “These taxicabs are so darned conspicuous, Perry. He’ll get wise if we follow him.”

“That’s why we’re going out first,” Mason said. “He’s committed himself to the freeway now. There’s not much chance he’ll turn off.”

“If he does, we’re licked,” Drake said.

“That’s okay,” Mason said. “It’s a chance we’ve got to take. In this business every once in a while you have to take a real chance.”

The attendant nodded to Perry Mason. “You’re all filled,” he said.

Mason paid the bill, said to the cabdriver, “Straight on down the freeway and go slow. Let that other car pass us if it will.”

“It’s hard to recognize cars coming from behind,” the driver said. “All headlights look alike.”

“I know,” Mason said, “we’ve got to wait until he passes us.”

“Hold everything!” Drake exclaimed. “Here’s my agency car!”

A big sleek, black sedan drove alongside. The driver tapped the horn a couple of times.

“Pull off to the side and stop,” Mason said to the cabdriver. “Here’s twenty dollars. That’ll cover your fare out here and back. Let me have your number so I can get you as a witness if I want you.”

“You’re Perry Mason, the lawyer, aren’t you?” the cabdriver asked.

“That’s right.”

“It’ll be a pleasure to be a witness for you, Mr. Mason. Here’s my card.”

The cab came to a stop. The passengers jumped into the big sedan.

A few moments later, Drake, who had been looking out of the back window, said, “Here comes our man, Perry.”

“How much gas you got?” Mason asked the driver of Drake’s car.

Drake grinned. “Don’t worry, Perry. He starts out with a full tank. Everyone of these agency cars is filled to the brim whenever we park it.”

Mason sighed with relief. “Okay,” he said, “this should be easy.”

The Massachusetts car drove on past. The agency car fell in behind.

“Jockey around a bit,” Mason said. “Don’t keep a fixed distance behind him.”

Drake grinned, and said, “Practice law, Counselor, this man has forgotten more about shadowing than you’ll ever know. It’s a highly specialized profession and he can do it to perfection.”

Mason settled back with a sigh. “I’m nervous as a cat,” he admitted.

“I don’t get all this,” Drake said. “What’s Horace Shelby doing driving Ralph Exeter’s car, and why did Daphne have him put in the adjoining room and—”

“Hold the questions,” Mason interrupted. “We’re getting the answers.”

Della Street said, “This is no life for a working girl. We’re apt to be in Tucson by the time I have to open the office in the morning.”

“More likely Ensenada,” Mason said.

They settled back for a long job of following, but to their surprise the car ahead stopped at a motel at San Diego, and the driver rented a room under the name of H. R. Dawson.

Mason himself gave instructions to the operative.

“We’ll get you relief just as soon as possible,” he said. “We need two or three operatives on the job. You report to Drake’s office by telephone. You’re going to have to stick it out to put the finger on the subject, but we should have someone to help you within an hour.”

“It’s all right. I can take it all night if I can get a cup of coffee once in a while,” the operative said. “And I keep some pills here to keep me awake if it gets too rough. I can take it.”

“Keep in touch by phone,” Mason said then to Paul Drake, “Get on the phone. Have your San Diego branch send an operative.”

Drake nodded, said to the operative, “Phone the office and get two more relief cars sent down.”

“Preferably another car with telephone,” Mason pointed out.

“The other one started out on the San Bernardino Freeway,” Drake said. “I phoned the office to call him back. He can be down here by three o’clock in the morning.”

“You’ll get some immediate relief,” Mason promised the driver. “Now, we’ve got to get a car and get back.”

The driver used his phone to summon a taxicab. Mason had the cab take him to a car rental agency, and within half an hour the attorney, Della Street and Paul Drake were headed back north in the rented car.

“Do you know what this is all about?” Drake asked.

“Not for sure,” Mason said. “But I’m beginning to have an idea.”

“Don’t we have to report what we’ve been doing?”

“Why?”

“If that’s Horace Shelby, he’s suspect in a murder case the minute he drives the car belonging to the murdered man.”

“Suspect by whom?” Mason asked.

“The police.”

“But not by me,” Mason said. “Heaven forbid! We know that he wouldn’t do anything like that!”

“How do you know?”

“Because Daphne herself said so. She said that Uncle Horace wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Perhaps there’s been a personality change,” Drake said dryly. “—I just don’t feel comfortable not advising the police that we’ve located the car of the murdered man.”

“The police haven’t asked us anything about it,” Mason said. “We’ve got to give Horace Shelby a break.”

“What kind of a break?”

“We’re going to let him be his own man for a while and have a chance to recover his poise. We’re also going to give him a chance to outwit the police just as much as possible. If his half brother tries to show that he’s incompetent again, we can show that he was outwitting Lieutenant Tragg and that calls for rather a high I.Q.”

“I thought you were going to try and make him the murderer and prove that he was legally insane,” Della Street said.

Mason grinned. “The good campaigner changes his battle plans in accordance with changing facts.”

“And facts have changed?” they asked.

“Greatly,” Mason said. “Now, here are some things we need to do, Paul.

“First get an operative to check into the Northern Lights Motel. You can phone in instructions from the next pay phone. Have him check in tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because the place will be filled up,” Mason said. “The only vacancy will be Unit 21. The police have removed the body, photographed the room, and by this time have released it for rental.

“If your man checks in now, he’ll get Unit 21.

“Now then, have another man use his official I.D. card and go to the motel early in the morning. Have him ask to see the registration cards and have him get the numbers of all cars with Nevada license plates.

“Run down these registrations, if there are any, and run a preliminary check on the owners, who they are, what they do.”

“Will do,” Drake said. “How about letting me drive awhile? It’s a long way home.”

“Wait another half an hour,” Mason said, “I’m jittery as a cat in a thunderstorm and I’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

“That,” Della Street announced in a tone of finality to the detective, “is an invitation to us to keep quiet.”