Case of the Silent Partner

Chapter 10

Della Street, moving with the swift rapidity of one who is accustomed to accomplishment, stepped into the outer office to instruct the receptionist. Perry Mason, standing by his desk, hat and coat on, was scooping legal papers into the brief case which he intended to take with him.

Suddenly the door from the outer office was pushed open. Della entered Mason’s office, jerked off her hat, tossed it to the shelf above the washstand in the closet, opened her locker, took out a comb and brush and started changing her hair.

With bobby pins held in her mouth so that her words sounded jumbled, she said, “He’s there... Only seen me with my hat on just for a minute... Gertie looked to me when he asked for you... said he had to see you right away... claims he can’t wait... I’ll change my appearance as much as I can... Wouldn’t do for me to skip out now.”

Mason watched her brush the curls out of her hair, make a part in the middle, slick her hair down on each side. Her fingertips dipped into water from the open tap, smoothing out the curled ends.

“Lieutenant Tragg?”

She nodded, her mouth bristling with bobby pins.

Slowly, Mason took off his coat, hung it up, carefully placed his hat on a hook just behind Della, said, “He won’t wait.”

“I know it,” she muttered... “Told him you had a client but would be free in two or three minutes.”

Mason opened a drawer in his desk, pulled out the papers from his brief case, dropped them into the drawer, closed it, and kicked the brief case back into the foot-well under the desk.

Della swept the last of the bobby pins from her lips, looked at herself appraisingly.

“Let’s go,” Mason said.

Wordlessly, she vanished into the outer office, returning with Lieutenant Tragg in tow.

“Hello, Lieutenant,” Mason said casually.

Tragg wasted no time in preliminaries. “Mason,” he said, “I hand it to you.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

“For what?”

“You caught me napping. The thing impressed me at the time. I guess it stuck in my subconscious, but I was too preoccupied to notice it. You drew a red herring across the trail, and I went barking off on a false scent.”

Mason said, “Sit down, Lieutenant. Have a cigarette. My secretary, Miss Street.”

“How do you do, Miss Street.” Tragg took a cigarette, sat down in the big armchair, accepted Mason’s match, and seemed somewhat embarrassed.

“I don’t get you,” Mason said.

“Last night while I was all hot and bothered about that gun Mildreth Faulkner had, and about the way she’d managed to pull the trigger so that a paraffin test wouldn’t give me any results which couldn’t be explained, you went out to your car. You’re a damn good driver, Mason, but when you turned around, you clashed gears, raced the motor, backed and twisted.”

“I must have been excited.”

“Yes. Crazy like a fox. Any time Perry Mason gets so excited he fumbles the ball, it’s a long, cold day. You know why the chief took Holcomb off Homicide and put me on?”

“No. Why?”

“He got tired of having you walk into court and pull rabbits out of the hat. It was up to me to make a better showing than Holcomb.”

“That shouldn’t be exceptionally difficult.”

“Not if I’m going to let my attention get distracted while you set the stage for your little sleight of hand tricks,” Tragg said ruefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tragg didn’t even bother to look up from his cigarette. “Carlotta Lawley,” he said.

“What about her?”

“She drove up to her sister’s house. You heard the car and knew who it was. I was too occupied trying to get some damaging admissions out of Mildreth Faulkner. You walked out and stole the whole bag of tricks right from under my nose.”

“What,” Mason asked, “are you intimating I did?”

“Told Carlotta Lawley that I was in there, that things didn’t look so good for her, that you had managed to coach Mildreth Faulkner so she’d draw our fire for a while. That idea of having the ‘accidental’ discharge of the gun was a masterpiece.”

“Was it the murder gun?” Mason asked.

“It was the murder gun.”

“Do you know where she got it or how she got it?”

“Of course. She got it from Carlotta.”

“Is that what Miss Faulkner says?”

“Naturally not. Miss Faulkner acts more guilty than she would if she were guilty. She’s doing her job too well. She’s overacting. She’s helping her sister by playing red herring.”

Mason said, “You seem to have rather a high opinion of her intelligence.”

Tragg met his eyes. “Damned high. She has what it takes, that woman.”

“But you don’t think she’s guilty?”

“No. Not now.”

“What’s brought about the sudden change?”

“Sindler Coll.”

“Don’t let him fool you,” Mason warned. “He sent for Magard last night. He said that if Magard would give him an alibi, he’d give Magard one. Suggested that they...”

“I know,” Tragg interrupted. “Magard wouldn’t play ball because he already had an alibi. Coll is frightened stiff. He has an idea the police might frame him for the murder if we can’t turn up a good suspect. I’m acting as though I was toying with that idea. That makes him wild. He’s frantically trying to find out who really did it to save his own neck.”

“I wouldn’t trust him,” Mason said. “I’d figure anything he’d bring in would be a phony.”

“He found Mrs. Rockaway,” Tragg said.

“Who’s she?”

“She and her husband run the service station and grocery store down near the mouth of Lilac Canyon.”

“What does she know?”

“Right around midnight a woman drove up to the place. She seemed very nervous, and her lips were a little blue. She asked several questions about streets, where different streets turned off, and did they know where a Mr. Horlick lived and wasn’t there a Mr. Smith who had a place that was for sale, right near a cabin owned by Mr. Lynk?”

Tragg stopped talking to study Mason’s face.

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“Well, Mrs. Rockaway walked right into the trap all right. She said there was a Smith living up near the top of the hill, but he didn’t live anywhere near Mr. Lynk’s place, that she didn’t know any Mr. Horlick, and she hadn’t heard about Smith’s property being for sale, that there were some other places around there for sale, but she hadn’t heard about the Smith piece being for sale.”

“I suppose,” Mason said, “by the time she gets to court, she’ll swear this woman was Carlotta Lawley.”

Tragg’s smile was triumphant. “Don’t worry, Mason,” he said. “The Rockaways were having a birthday party. There were a dozen guests there. They all got a good look at the woman. It was Carlotta Lawley all right.”

“A woman going out to commit a murder would naturally drop in on a birthday party and ask directions so they could remember her afterwards,” Mason said.

The smile faded from Tragg’s face. “Now then,” he admitted, “there’s the rub. That bothers me. But notice that she didn’t walk right in and ask where Lynk lived. She beat around the bush and got the information so skillfully that if Coll hadn’t given me the tip, they probably never would have reported. Of course, they might have recognized Mrs. Lawley’s picture in the paper, but, without that tip, Mrs. Lawley’s picture might never have been in the paper.”

“How did Coll find out about it?”

“Just leg work.”

“I don’t think much of it,” Mason said. “You wouldn’t be letting Coll be such a mother’s helper on your murder case that you overlooked him as a possible suspect on the candy. That might be Coll’s game, you know.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t have any more confidence in Coll than you have. He’s in the clear on the candy business. That was sent by someone in the Golden Horn.”

“How do you figure?”

“The wrapping on the box was paper they use at the Golden Horn. The address was typed on a sheet of paper of exactly the same kind they use as stationery. Then the portion which contained the typewriting was cut off and pasted on the wrapper with glue such as they use at the nightclub. Now, here’s a significant clue. The glue was very hard. It had completely set. The chemist in our crime laboratory says it’s over forty-eight hours old. See what that means? Whoever sent that candy had been planning the thing some time in advance, then waited for a propitious moment.”

“What determined that moment?”

“When Mildreth Faulkner sent those orchids. The card dropped to the floor when the Dilmeyer girl took the orchids out of the box. The poisoner picked up the card, put it in the candy, and called a messenger.”

Mason thought that over. “Sounds goofy. Have you located the messenger?”

“Oh, yes. That was easy. A woman walked up to the counter of a messenger service in the theatrical district during the rush hour, slid the box over on the counter, and walked out. The box had a note pinned on it, ‘PLEASE SEND,’ and a two-dollar bill attached. Evidently the poisoner watched through the window from the sidewalk to see that the box was taken by the sending clerk.”

“Any description?” Mason asked.

“None whatever. It was while the place was jammed with late evening package deliveries. The clerk remembers she was a woman, and that’s all.”

“Or a man dressed in a woman’s clothes?”

“Not likely. I figure it’s a woman’s crime. Poison is a woman’s weapon, anyway. A man will use a gun, knife, or club.”

“Fingerprints?”

“Only those of Esther Dilmeyer. The poisoner wore gloves.”

“You’re certain of the identity of the paper with that at the Golden Horn?”

“Absolutely. What’s more, the label with the address glued on was typewritten in Lynk’s own office. His typewriter wrote the address, beyond any doubt.”

Mason frowned. “Damned strange,” he said. “Esther Dilmeyer could have told about that card and cleared Miss Faulkner.”

“You forget Esther was supposed to go to sleep and never wake up.”

“Yes. I guess that must have been it,” Mason agreed, but his voice showed he was dubious. “It’s a clumsy crime, and yet it isn’t... Lynk could have done it very easily.”

“Well,” Tragg said, “I think the murder is more important. This candy was sent by a woman who has access to various places in the Golden Horn. She knows very little about poisons, hates Esther Dilmeyer, and was there when the Faulkner orchids came in. The card dropped out. Perhaps Esther didn’t see it. This woman picked it up. When Esther wakes up, she’ll be able to give me the low-down. In the meantime, I want to get this murder cleaned up.”

“Well, don’t let me detain you.”

“You’re not,” Tragg said, smiling. “I’m just getting warmed up with you. I have some other questions to ask.”

“Go right ahead,” Mason said. “Take up all of my time you want. I haven’t a thing to do when you leave except make out a social security report, a workman’s compensation insurance report, and dig up some information the government wants on my income tax. Then I write the state about a social security question, and it will be time to go home. I wish someone could persuade the government its cut out of my income would be greater if it left me with a little time to do some work for myself.”

Tragg laughed. “I figured it out from the evidence I had that Mrs. Lawley was skipping out. I decided she hadn’t had sufficient time to pack up many of her personal belongings. I felt certain that she’d buy at least some articles of clothing because she’d be afraid to go back to the house.

“I thought she’d either go to her bank to get a check cashed, or to some department store where she had credit. I located her bank and her department store early this morning, and put a man on the job at each place. Now then, a short time ago a woman went into the department store where Mrs. Lawley has an account, and instead of buying something and having it charged as I had anticipated, went directly to the cashier’s window to have a travelers’ check cashed. The cashier gave the prearranged code signal which was to summon my man to the office. As it happened, I was in the store at the time. In some way, the woman got wise and beat it. Now then, Mason, here’s the significant thing. That woman wasn’t Carlotta Lawley.”

“You’re certain?” Mason asked, keeping his eyes away from Della Street.

“Yes. The signature on the check is a forgery. The woman’s description doesn’t answer that of Mrs. Lawley at all. Mrs. Lawley is older, has heart trouble, moves slowly, and is a little flabby. This girl was young, attractive, fast-moving, quick-thinking, alert, and on her toes.”

“Indeed,” Mason muttered.

“You don’t seem much interested,” Tragg said.

“Should I be?”

“Yes,” Tragg said. “Bob Lawley murdered his wife.”

“I don’t follow you, Lieutenant.”

“His wife evidently had a book of travelers’ checks which she carried in her purse. If she wanted to raise money for an emergency, she’d go cash those checks anywhere. The fact that they’re in the hands of another woman who is signing Mrs. Lawley’s name is a pretty good indication that something has happened to Carlotta Lawley.”

Mason said, “That’s a pretty tall deduction from one bit of evidence.”

“Well, there’s one other thing.”

“What?”

“An officer tagged a car for overtime parking this morning. The officer took a look at the registration certificate. It was Carlotta Lawley’s car.”

“Find out anything from the car?” Mason asked.

“Yes. I fingerprinted it. I found out that someone had parked the car and then carefully wiped off every fingerprint on it.”

Mason raised his eyebrows.

“You can figure what that means. She’d never have done that.”

“Why?”

“It was her car. It was registered in her name. There was no reason for her to rub off her fingerprints. Her name was written on the registration certificate.”

“I see.”

“But, if her husband had killed her, taken the body out, and dumped it some place, and brought the car back, he’d have wiped off his fingerprints. That’s the instinctive reaction of a guilty man these days.”

“Yes,” Mason said thoughtfully, “there’s an element of logic there. How about that alibi of Magard’s? Is it good?”

“Magard was with Peavis from right around eleven o’clock until about five minutes to twelve. Peavis remembers the time because the appointment was made at ten-thirty and was for eleven o’clock, which, of course, was rather unusual. They talked until nearly midnight, then Magard left.”

“No one knows the exact time?”

“No. Peavis remembers hearing the clock strike midnight, and thinks it was just about five minutes after Magard left.”

“What time did Magard get into the Golden Horn?”

“Around a quarter past twelve.”

“When was the murder committed?”

“Just about midnight.”

“And Coll?”

“Coll was trying to find Bob Lawley. Bob had telephoned him an SOS earlier in the evening.”

“Did he find him?”

“No.”

“Why not figure he was looking up in Lilac Canyon?”

Tragg said, “I’m sorry, Mason, but you can’t divert my suspicions. There’s too much evidence the other way. For another thing, if Coll had done it, he’d have had a better explanation of what he’d done with his time.”

Mason was thoughtful for several seconds, then said, “I don’t like him, Tragg. I figure he had something to do with that poisoned candy. He could have had an accomplice — a woman. He’s the sort who would work through a woman.”

“I’m not giving him a clean bill of health,” Tragg said. “I’m just using him.”

“How long would it have taken Magard to get to Lilac Canyon from the place where he left Peavis, and how long would it have taken Coll?”

“From Peavis’ apartment to Lynk’s place, six and a half minutes. From Coll’s apartment, fifteen minutes. I timed it with a stop watch.”

“How long from Peavis’ apartment to the Golden Horn?”

“Twenty-one minutes.”

The telephone rang. Della Street said, “Hello... Yes...” glanced at Perry Mason, and said, “I think he’ll want to talk with you himself. Hold the line, please.”

She gave Mason a significant glance and pushed the telephone over to him.

Mason said, “Hello,” and heard Mildreth Faulkner’s voice, high-pitched with excitement, saying, “Mr. Mason, can you come at once?”

“What’s the matter?”

“I must see you. I must! I must! I’ve heard from Carlotta.”

“You have?”

“Yes. She telephoned me. Bob was with her... and her heart went bad while she was talking on the telephone. I heard her gasp, and I heard Bob say, ‘Oh, my God,’ then he hung up the telephone.”

Mason said cautiously, “You’re certain about the identity of the various parties?”

“Absolutely. I’d know her voice anywhere — and his, too.”

“Where are you now?”

“At the Broadway Flower Shop.”

“I’m engaged right at present, but I can get away within a few minutes if you’ll wait there.”

“Please hurry,” she said. “I feel certain that you know where she is.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Mason said.

He hung up the phone, and Tragg got to his feet. “Well, there’s no need for me to interfere with your work, Mason.”

Mason said, “Get your book, Della.”

“Sounds like an emergency,” Tragg drawled.

“We’re going to make a will,” Mason said, “and we’re racing against time.”

Della walked along the corridor at Mason’s side, her feet beating a quick tattoo on the flagged floor as she strove to keep up with Mason’s long strides.

“Think he suspects?” she asked.

“Damn him, yes,” Mason said. “I tell you the man’s clever.”

“But what will we do?”

Mason held his thumb against the elevator button. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

She said, “I’m certain I didn’t leave any clues that would point to you.”

“It’s my fault,” Mason said. “I’ve been dealing with Sergeant Holcomb so long that I’d begun to take the police pretty much for granted. Tragg is a fast thinker. It occurred to him that she might use her credit, and he had a man staked out. If you hadn’t been so quick-witted...”

A red light came on, and the elevator slid to a stop. Mason and Della entered, and Mason, taking a quick glance at the other occupants, warned her to silence with a glance.

“Suppose he’s got a man waiting here to shadow you?” Della asked as they reached the lobby.

“Probably. However, it won’t make any difference. They’ll be certain to have someone watching Mildreth Faulkner so Tragg will be notified the minute we show up.”

Lois Carling, behind the counter at the flower shop, looked at them curiously as they entered. “Something I can do for you?” she asked. “Did you wish...”

Mildreth Faulkner came running out of the office to greet them. Lois Carling fell back to watch them with ill-concealed curiosity.

Mildreth said, “Take me to her at once, Mr. Mason. You must.”

Mason said, “Your line may be tapped. Della, go into the drugstore on the corner and telephone the Clearmount Hotel. Ask to talk with Mrs. Dunkurk. When you get her on the phone, tell her who you are, ask her if she called her sister recently.”

“Oh, but she did,” Mildreth insisted. “I’d know her voice anywhere.”

“Just check on it,” Mason said to Della Street.

She walked rapidly down the aisle, and out of the door. Mason glanced curiously through the office windows at the array of potted flowers.

“Just atmosphere,” Mildreth explained. “We fill our orders from...”

“How sound-proof is this glass?”

“It’s all right.”

“I notice that that girl behind the counter seems to be taking quite an interest in us.”

“Oh, she’s all right — a little curious, that’s all.”

“She was friendly with the girl that worked here before — the one who had the five shares of stock?”

“Yes.”

“Seen her since she was married?”

“Oh, yes. They’re great cronies.”

“Then she’s probably met Peavis.”

“Oh, she knew Peavis long before that. Peavis used to try to pump her about the business. He’d bring her candy, and try a little flattery, but he never got very far. Peavis always tries to bribe the girls with candy. He’s crude and naïve — and dangerous, and that girl is too high-powered for this job — that’s all.”

Mason said, “I don’t want to go to your sister until I know more about this. I’m afraid it’s a trap. Lieutenant Tragg is clever.”

“But, good heavens, I know my own sister’s voice. I heard...”

She broke off as Harry Peavis, accompanied by a weasel-faced, narrow-shouldered man in a flashy suit, opened the door and started rapidly toward the enclosed office.

“That’s Peavis. He...”

“I know,” Mason interrupted.

Peavis reached the door of the office, opened it, said, “I’m sorry to do this, Mildreth.” He turned to the little, nervous individual at his side. “That’s her.”

The man stepped forward. “Mildreth Faulkner, as president of the Faulkner Flower Shops, Inc., I hand you this complaint, summons, order to show cause, preliminary injunction and restraining order.”

Mildreth shrank back.

“Go ahead and take them,” Mason instructed her, and to Peavis, “What’s the suit?”

“Civil suit,” Peavis said, watching Mildreth’s face. “I don’t want anyone else to show up with that stock certificate before I’ve had a chance to present my claims.”

“What are your claims?” Mason asked as Mildreth Faulkner uncertainly extended her hand to receive the documents which the bright-eyed, nervous man was holding out to her.

The process server said glibly, “An action to declare a certificate of stock lost or destroyed, and have a new one issued in its place; an indemnity bond protecting the corporation and the officers thereof against any liability in the event the old certificate, properly endorsed, should be presented; a summons and order to show cause returnable at two o’clock tomorrow afternoon with the defendant corporation having the right to have a continuance at its option; a restraining order preventing the corporation from transferring the stock in the meantime to anyone except Peavis. That’s all for now, Miss Faulkner.”

Mildreth Faulkner seemed dazed at the barrage of legal phraseology.

“Sounds complicated,” Mason said to her, “but don’t worry about it.”

“It’s really simple,” Peavis explained. “I own those shares of stock. Something happened to the stock certificate. The man who held it for me was murdered. The stock certificate seems to have vanished.”

“He was your agent?” Mason asked.

“Read the papers I’ve just served.”

Mildreth Faulkner said, “Harry Peavis, do you mean to stand there and admit that you hired gamblers to entice my brother-in-law...”

“I didn’t hire anybody to entice anyone,” Peavis said doggedly. “I found out that Lawley was playing the ponies, running into debt, and cutting a wide swath. I found out he’d hocked everything your sister had given him once before in order to get out of a financial jam. He’d come out on top of the heap that time, and had kept right on with his gambling. I knew that it would be only a short time before he’d do it again. Someone was going to be lucky and get this flower shop stock. I decided it might as well be me.”

Mildreth said scornfully, “That was setting a trap.”

“All right,” Peavis said, “have it your own way. I may have baited it, but he set it himself.”

Mason, looking toward the door, saw Della Street returning. “All right, Peavis, you’ve made your service. We’ll be in court and thresh the matter out there.”

Peavis said, “We might be able to work out some sort of a settlement.”

“No,” Mildreth Faulkner exclaimed indignantly.

Della Street, standing outside the door, took a notebook from her purse, scribbled a brief note, and entered the office. Peavis said, “Good afternoon, Miss. Looks as though I’d interrupted a conference.”

“You did,” Mildreth told him.

Della handed the folded sheet of notebook paper to Mason. He opened it and read, “Mrs. Dunkurk checked out. A man called for her about an hour ago.”

Mason passed the message on to Mildreth.

She read it, glanced swiftly at Mason, then averted her eyes.

Peavis said, “I’m sorry, Mason, but I can’t leave yet because I’m not finished.”

“Why not?”

“I’m waiting for some more papers. Here they come now.”

The door of the flower shop swung open. Lieutenant Tragg, accompanied by a woman in the middle forties, entered.

“No,” Peavis said, “my mistake. I’m waiting for a messenger.”

“What are those other papers?” Mason asked.

Peavis smiled and shook his head.

Della Street, moving closer to Mason, squeezed his arm — hard. Mason, feeling the force of those digging fingers, flashed her a smiling reassuring glance. At what he saw on her face, he turned quickly to study the woman who was being escorted into the shop by Lieutenant Tragg.

She had high cheekbones, stiff, lackluster, black hair, and a rather wide mouth with thin lips. Her eyes looked out through large-lensed spectacles with calm competence.

“The cashier?” Mason mumbled.

“Yes.”

“Any other door out of here?” Mason asked, moving casually so that he interposed his shoulders between Della and the door.

Mildreth Faulkner shook her head.

Peavis studied Mason curiously.

The office was in the back of the store. Two of its sides were the side and back walls of the flower shop. The other two sides were of wood to a height of about three feet from the floor the rest being composed of glass windows divided into panes of about ten inches by twelve.

Tragg’s progress down the long aisle of the store was utterly devoid of haste, nor did he seem to pay the slightest attention to the group that was gathered in the office. There was, in the very calmness of his unhurried approach, the element of remorseless pursuit. Nothing Tragg could have done could have been more calculated to upset the nerves of anyone who had a guilty conscience than the even-paced, ominous rhythm of his march.

He reached the door of the office, held it open for the woman. She entered.

Tragg said, “Hello, you seem to have a little gathering here.”

No one said anything.

Tragg said, “I had a matter I wanted to take up with Perry Mason, and I...”

“That’s the woman!”

The startled voice of the cashier, raised in high-pitched accusation, showed that Lieutenant Tragg had not advised her of what he expected to find.

Mason slipped his arm protectingly around Della Street’s shoulders, held her to silence by the pressure of his hand on her arm. “Meaning the woman who tried to cash the travelers’ check?” he asked conversationally.

“Let’s let Miss Street tell about that,” Tragg said.

Mason shook his head. “There’s no need for that.”

Tragg’s face showed his irritation.

“That is she,” the cashier said in a lower voice this time, but with the ring of conviction.

“Of course it is,” Mason remarked casually.

“I’m afraid,” Tragg said, “that unless Miss Street can explain matters, I’ll have to arrest her.”

“On what ground?”

“Intent to defraud and forgery.”

Mason said, “You’d better read up on your law before you get your fingers burnt, Lieutenant.”

Tragg was unable to keep some of the irritation out of his voice. It was plain that he had hoped to get some admission directly from Della Street. “You’re a pretty good lawyer, Mason,” he said. “I don’t know much law. I’m just a dumb cop. I suppose that there’s a section in some law some place providing that your secretary can walk into a store, say she’s Carlotta Lawley, and forge Carlotta Lawley’s name to a check on which she gets money without violating any law in the world.”

Mason said calmly, “In the first place, Della didn’t get any money. In the second place, she didn’t say she was Carlotta Lawley. She said she had a travelers’ check she wanted to cash. Get this, Tragg. A travelers’ check is different from any other check. There isn’t any such thing as a valid travelers’ check issued without any funds. The checks are paid for when they’re purchased, and the money remains on deposit.”

“And I suppose it’s quite all right for her to go around signing Carlotta Lawley’s name,” Tragg said.

Mason casually took the folded paper, which Carlotta Lawley had signed, from his pocket. He handed it to Tragg.

Tragg read it, and for a moment, there was a grim tightening of the line of his lips. Then an expression of triumph glittered in his eyes. He folded the document and pushed it down into his pocket. “All right, Mason,” he said, “the swap is satisfactory.”

“What swap?”

“You’ve got Della Street out of it at the expense of getting yourself in.”

“In what way?”

“This document shows on its face that it’s either a forgery or else you had a contact with Carlotta Lawley this morning.”

“I had that contact,” Mason said. “The document was signed then.”

“You realize what that means?”

“What?”

“You’ve been aiding and abetting in the commission of a felony.”

“I don’t think she committed any felony.”

“Well, she’s a fugitive from justice.”

“I wasn’t so advised.”

Tragg strove to keep his temper. “Well, you’re advised of it now. I want her.”

“For what?”

“I think she’s committed a felony.”

“What?”

“Murder.”

“That,” Mason said, “is different.”

“All right. Now, I’m going to ask you where she is.”

Mason said, quite calmly, “I don’t think she’s guilty, but, in view of your statement, I have no recourse except to tell you that last night while you were talking with Mildreth Faulkner, I heard a car drive up. I went out to the curb. It was Carlotta Lawley. I realized that the condition of her health made it imperative that she get immediate rest, that the strain of a long questioning might prove fatal. I instructed her to go to the Clearmount Hotel, register as Mrs. Charles X. Dunkurk of San Diego and wait for me, getting as much rest as she could in the meantime.”

Lieutenant Tragg’s eyes showed surprised incredulity which gave place to hot anger. “Dammit, Mason,” he said, “is this a story you’re making up out of whole cloth in order to put me off on a false trail? If it is, I’ll swear out a warrant for you myself and drag you down to headquarters.”

“You won’t drag me anywhere,” Mason said ominously.

“Where is she now?” Tragg asked. “Still at the hotel?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve told you all I know. When I entered this office, so far as I knew, Mrs. Dunkurk was still in the Clearmount Hotel.”

A uniformed figure came hurrying through the door of the flower shop. A messenger boy walked rapidly to the office, jerked the door open, and said, “Is Mr. Peavis here?”

“Here,” Peavis said with a grin.

The boy handed him some folded documents which Peavis in turn handed to the process server. The process server said, “Mr. Mason, I hand you herewith a subpoena duces tecum ordering you to appear in court at the time set for the restraining order, and order to show cause in the case of Peavis versus Faulkner Flower Shops, Inc. You’ll note that by this subpoena you are ordered to bring into court any stock certificate in your possession or under your control, covering stock in the defendant corporation issued to one Carlotta Faulkner who subsequently became Mrs. Robert Lawley.”

The anger left Tragg’s face. He smiled, and the smile broadened into a grin. He looked across at Peavis approvingly, then at Mason. “And what a sweet fix that leaves you in, Counselor!”

He strode over to the telephone, dialed a number, and said, “This is Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. I want some action. Get through to Sergeant Mahoney. Tell him to sew up the Clearmount Hotel. Do it fast. Get a couple of radio cars on the job first. There’s a Mrs. Dunkurk of San Diego registered there. I want her, and want her bad.”

He slammed up the telephone, said to the cashier, “That’s all, Miss Norton. You can return to work.”

He gave Mason one quick glance. For a moment, the triumph in his eyes changed to sympathy. “Tough luck,” he said, “but you asked for it.” Then he pushed open the door of the glass-enclosed office and all but ran down the long length of the store.