The Case of the Calendar Girl

Chapter Three

The drizzle which had been intermittent during the late afternoon and early evening had settled into a cold, steady rain by the time Mason’s headlights picked up the entrance to Meridith Borden’s grounds.

“Here you are,” Ansley said. “It happened right here. Right inside the gate there. If you’ll stop right here, you can see the gap in the hedge.”

Mason braked his car to a stop, opened the glove compartment and took out a flashlight.

“Now, we’re not going to get caught prowling in the grounds,” Mason said. “The first thing is to find out whether my suspicions are correct. If they are, we’ll take a quick look for this other young woman who was a passenger in the automobile. If we don’t spot her right away, we’ll go to Borden’s house and then you’ll have to notify the police. Do you know much about Meridith Borden?”

“Only his reputation and what little I know from talking with him,” Ansley said.

Mason said, “He’s supposed to have lots of enemies. This wall topped by broken glass and barbed wire is rather eloquent in itself. I understand that at a certain hour electrically controlled gates are swung shut. Moreover, savage watchdogs can be released to patrol the grounds in case of any alarm. Now, let’s stay together, carry on an organized search in an orderly manner and get out of here. First let’s take a look at the car. You can show us that.”

“The car’s right over here, Mr. Mason, through this gap in the hedge.”

Mason said to Della Street, “Perhaps you’d better stay in the car, Della. This is going to be wet and muddy and—”

She shook her head emphatically. “You’ll need witnesses if you find anything, and if it’s a woman, you’ll want me along.” She slid across the seat and out of the car.

Ansley led the way through the gate toward the overturned automobile. Mason directed the beam of his flashlight on the pathway, pausing to help Della Street through the tangled, wet, broken branches of the hedge.

“We’ll give the place one quick going over,” Mason said, “and then we’ll know what to do. Where was this young woman lying, Ansley?”

“Right over here on the other side of the car — around this way.”

Mason played the beam of the flashlight along the ground.

Abruptly Della Street said, “Someone with heels did a lot of walking around here, Chief.”

“Yes,” Mason said, “and you can see over here where she was dragging something. She braced herself. Look at those heel marks. She was digging in with her heels.”

“Then there were two women,” Ansley said.

“It looks like it,” Mason commented, the beam of his flashlight playing around on the ground.

“She couldn’t have dragged the other woman very far,” Della Street said. “Not in the brief time she had.”

Mason sent the beam of the flashlight in questing semicircles over the wet grass.

“Well,” Mason said at length, “it’s pretty certain that this other woman either recovered consciousness and walked off, or else someone came for her and carried her off. In the brief interval that elapsed from the time you left the automobile and started for the house, Ansley, and then returned to find the young woman struggling to a sitting position, a body could hardly have been dragged more than a few yards. Unless, of course, there were three people in the automobile, and one person continued to drag the body over the wet grass while the other one spread herself out to decoy you back.”

“Do you think that could have happened?”

“It could have,” Mason said, “but I doubt it. In the first place, there are lots of heel tracks in the wet soil there around the automobile, but we don’t find any others after that.”

“Miss Street isn’t making any heel tracks where she’s walking,” Ansley pointed out.

“Because she’s not dragging anything,” Mason said. “If she were trying to drag a body, she’d leave tracks.”

“So what do I do now?” Ansley asked.

“We’ll take a look inside of the automobile, then we’ll take one more quick look in the immediate vicinity. If we don’t find someone lying here unconscious or wandering around in a dazed condition, we get in the car and you go home and forget it.”

Mason turned his flashlight on the interior of the car. “There doesn’t seem to be anything there,” he said, “and I don’t want to leave finger-prints on it, making a detailed search.”

He moved the beam of the flashlight around the interior of the car.

“What about the car being stolen?” Ansley asked.

“I’ll let Paul Drake tell the police that a client of mine saw a car skid off the road and overturn, that he happened to remember the license number of the car, that it was driven by a young woman who gave the name of Beatrice Cornell, that she said she was unhurt, that he picked her up and took her to her home at the Ancordia Apartments. I’ll state that I was consulted simply because my client wanted to know whether it was necessary to report the accident to the police. That will be the truth, perhaps not all the truth, but it covers the essential facts. I’ll make it appear a routine matter, and the police may let it drop at that.”

“Suppose they don’t?”

“Then,” Mason said, “I’ll protect you as much as I can as long as I can.”

“That suits me,” Ansley said. “Let’s go. This place gives me the willies. I feel shut in.”

“Yes,” Mason agreed. “Wandering around these grounds at night with a flashlight without permission puts us in a questionable position. We—”

He broke off as an electric gong sounded a strident warning.

“What’s that?” Ansley asked apprehensively.

“I don’t know,” Mason said. “It may be we’ve set off an alarm. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

“Which direction is your car?” Ansley asked.

“This way,” Mason said. “Now, let’s keep together. Della, hang onto my coat. Ansley, keep at my right hand.”

A peculiar whirring sound came from the darkness ahead. As they came through the hedge, they heard the clang of metal. The flashlight disclosed that the heavy iron gates had shut. A lock clicked.

“Now what?” Ansley asked in dismay. “We’ll have to go to the house to have the gates opened for us.”

Mason went to the gates, studied the lock.

Ansley reached for the gates.

“Don’t touch them,” Mason warned. “There may be a—”

The warning came too late. Ansley pulled at the gates. Almost instantly a siren screamed from someplace in the yard. Big floodlights came on, dispersing the shadows in a blaze of light.

Suddenly they heard the barking of a dog.

“Come on,” Mason said, breaking into a run and dashing through the break in the hedge. The others followed his lead.

The brick wall loomed ahead of them.

The barking dog had now been joined by another dog, and the frenzy of barking was drawing unmistakably closer.

“All right,” Mason said, “there’s only one way out of this fix. Della, we’re boosting you up the wall. Help me put her up, Ansley, then I can give you a boost to the top of the wall. Then you can help me up. Here, take off your coat.”

Mason whipped off his own coat and threw it up over the broken glass at the top of the wall. Ansley, after a moment, followed suit.

“Come on,” Mason said, picking Della Street up in his arms. Then, cupping his hand under her foot, said, “Put a hand on my head, reach up to the top of the wall. Be sure to grab the coat. Straighten your knees. Keep your legs rigid. Up you go.”

Mason boosted Della Street up to the wall. “Watch your hands,” he warned. “Keep the coats between you and the glass and barbed wire.

“All right, Ansley, you try it. Della, give him a hand. Ansley, put your foot here on my leg. Now get your hip up on my shoulder. Hold your legs rigid as soon as I get hold of your feet and ankles. Then after I’ve raised you, you can— We’re going to have to hurry.”

Ansley scrambled up, extended a hand to Della Street.

“Careful now,” Mason warned. “Don’t pull Della off. Let me give you a shove.”

The lawyer pushed Ansley up, then caught his shoes and said, “Straighten your legs now. That’s it! Get hold— All right, quick! You’re going to have to grab me — both of you.”

Della Street, crouched on the wall, reached down a hand. Ansley did likewise. Mason caught the two hands and jumped. They slowly straightened, pulling the lawyer up to where he could get his feet on the wall. Mason had no sooner reached the top of the wall than a dark object came streaking out of the dazzling light to hurl itself against the wall, leaping almost to the top.

“Doberman pinscher,” Mason said, “and he’s trained for this sort of stuff. Come on, let’s get down on the other side. We lower Della first, Ansley. Then you and I make a jump for it.”

The dog was jumping up against the wall, snapping his teeth in an ecstasy of rage, coming within a matter of inches of the feet of the trio as they stood on the wall.

Della Street backed over the edge of the wall. Mason and Ansley lowered her.

“Go ahead, jump,” Mason said to Ansley. “It isn’t over six feet.”

Ansley placed a hand on the folded coats, vaulted to the ground. Mason followed.

“What about your coats?” Della Street asked.

Mason said, “I’ll lift you on my shoulders. Try to salvage the coats. You won’t be able to keep from tearing them when you pull them loose, but try not to leave enough for evidence. We’ll have to hurry! Those confounded lights will make us the most conspicuous objects on the highway.”

Mason picked up Della Street. “All right,” he said, “straighten your knees, Della. Don’t get panicky and don’t scratch your hands.”

“I can help hold her,” Ansley said, “if—”

“No. You get the coats as she hands them down,” Mason said. “This is all right. I can hold her.”

Della Street worked at the garments. “They’re pretty badly tangled on the barbed wire,” she said.

“Tear them loose,” Mason said, “a car’s coming.”

The dog continued its frenzied barking from the other side of the wall. Della Street glanced down the highway at the headlights which were coming through the rain-swept darkness, tugged at the coats, got them loose, tossed them to Ansley, then said, “Okay, Chief, I’ll slide down.”

A moment later she was on the ground.

Mason said, “Get your coat on quick, Ansley. Let’s be walking along here and try to look inconspicuous.”

The twin headlights became two dazzling eyes. The car swerved, slowed for a moment, then hissed on past, throwing out a stream of moisture which splashed drops on the trio as they stood motionless.

“Let’s go,” Mason said, “before another car comes.”

The lawyer fished the flashlight from his hip pocket, illuminated the way along the shoulder of the road, disclosing a muddy path at the base of the masonry wall.

Della Street took the lead, running lightly. Ansley came behind her, and Mason, holding the flashlight, brought up the rear.

The path followed the wall until it came to the driveway.

Mason said, “Let’s have a look at these gates.”

“Do we have to do anything more? Can’t we just go on?” Ansley asked.

Mason said, “Suppose that other woman who was in the car didn’t get out of the grounds, but is wandering around the grounds. Think what the dogs will do to her.”

“Good heavens!” Della Street said.

Mason said, “In all probability she got out of the grounds, or else she got to the house. However, there’s always the probability. Let’s— Here’s a button.”

Mason’s flashlight disclosed a call button set in solid cement in the masonry. Over the button was a bronze plaque bearing the words, PRESS THIS BUTTON THEN OPEN THE DOOR ON THE LEFT. PICK UP THE TELEPHONE AND STATE YOUR BUSINESS.

Mason jabbed his thumb against the button, opened the door of a metallic box imbedded in the cement, picked up a telephone, and held it to his ear.

Seconds elapsed during which he pressed the button repeatedly and listened at the telephone.

Ansley, plainly nervous, said, “Well, we’ve done all we can.”

“You and Della get in the car,” Mason instructed. “Get out of the rain. I’ll give this another try.”

Mason again pressed the button in a series of signals and held the receiver to his ear.

There was a faint buzzing noise on the line, but nothing else.

Ansley hurried to the car. Della Street stood in the rain at the lawyer’s side. “Isn’t there any other way of reaching the house? Couldn’t we—?”

A feminine voice came over the telephone. “Hello, yes, what is it, please?” she asked.

Mason said, “There’s been an accident. A car is wrecked in your driveway. A young woman may be wandering around the grounds.”

“Who are you?” the voice asked.

“We just happened to be passing by,” Mason said.

“I’ll see what I can do. I don’t think Mr. Borden wants to be disturbed, but—”

An abrupt click at the other end of the line indicated she had hung up.

Mason jabbed the button repeatedly.

After a few moments, he said to Della Street, “Take this, will you, Della? Keep jabbing away. Something caused the woman to hang up. She may be calling Borden. I’ll get things straightened out in the car.”

Della Street put the receiver to her ear, continued to press the button.

Suddenly she said, “Yes, hello.”

There was a moment’s pause. She looked at Mason, nodded, and said, “Mr. Borden, this is an emergency. We’re the party at the gate who reported the auto accident. There’s a possibility that a young woman may have been dazed and thrown out of the car, and may still be wandering around the grounds.”

There was silence for a few moments, broken only by the squawking noises coming from the receiver in the telephone.

Then, as the receiver ceased making noise, Della Street said with dignity, “I see no reason to give you my name. I’m simply a passer-by.”

She hung up.

Mason raised his eyebrows.

“That was Borden himself,” she said. “He told me that someone had set off a burglar alarm by tampering with the gates. He said that the burglar alarm automatically releases watchdogs and turns on the floodlights. He’s going to call the dogs back into their kennels and switch off the floodlights. He insisted someone had tried to open the gates from the inside. We’d probably better get out of here. I think he’ll send someone to investigate.”

Mason grabbed Della Street’s arm and hurried over to the car.

“Well?” Ansley asked.

“We’ve done our duty,” Mason said. “We’ve warned them that someone may be inside the grounds. There’s nothing more we can do. Let’s get out of here. There’ll be someone at the gates any second now.”

“I’m a mess,” Ansley said. “My coat has a tear in it and I’m soaking wet.”

Della Street laughed nervously. “Who isn’t a mess?”

Mason eased the car into gear. “I’ve got to make up some excuse that will get Paul Drake off the hook as far as that stolen-car report is concerned.”

He turned to Ansley. “I’m going to take you back to where you left your car. Get in it and drive home. Don’t send your clothes to the cleaners. Take them off, hang them in a closet and forget about them. Say nothing to anyone about what happened. I’ll take care of the rest.

“In due course I’ll send you a bill for my services.”

Mason drove back to the night club. “Okay, Ansley, pick up your car. Go home. Keep quiet. Notify me if anything happens. I think you’re in the clear.”

Ansley got out in the drizzle. “I’m sure glad I put it in your hands,” he said. “You don’t think I have to tell the police about the accident?”

“You have to report an accident in which someone was injured,” Mason said. “You don’t know anyone was injured. Moreover, the accident took place on a private driveway, not on a public road.”

“Then I don’t need to report it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Mason told him. “I’m simply suggesting that you leave all of that to me.”

“That I’ll gladly do. Exactly what am I supposed to do now?”

“Get in your car and go home.”

Ansley shook hands with Mason and went across to the place where he had parked his car.

Mason said, “All right, Della, I’m driving you home where you can get into some dry clothes, then I’m going up to talk with Paul Drake.”

“And what about you?”

“I’ll change a little later on.”

“Now look, Chief, you’re not going to go wandering around in those wet clothes. Paul Drake isn’t in such a jam that it can’t wait, and I’m going up with you.”

“Oh no, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am. I’m going to see that you get into some dry clothes before you start running around. You can drive by my apartment. It’ll only take me a minute to change. Then we’ll stop at your place on the way to see Paul Drake.”

“All right,” Mason said after an interval. “Remember what I told Ansley. Don’t send any torn clothes to the cleaners. You didn’t leave any part of your wearing apparel on the barbed wire, did you?”

“Not of my wearing apparel,” she said, “but I’m afraid I left a little skin.”

“Where?” Mason asked. “Where were you scratched?”

She laughed. “Where it won’t show. Don’t worry.”

“You’d better get some antiseptic on the places where you’re scratched,” Mason told her.

“It’s all right. I’ll take care of it.”

Mason drove to Della’s apartment.

“Come on up and have a drink,” she invited, “while I change. It will at least warm you up a bit.”

They went to Della Street’s apartment. She opened the door, said, “The liquor is in the closet over the icebox. While I change, get out some water, sugar and nutmeg and you can mix a couple of those hot buttered rums you make so well. I’m so cold the marrow of my bones feels chilly.”

“You get into a hot bath,” Mason told her. “I’ll go see Drake and—”

“No, I’m going to stay with you and see that you get into some dry clothes. Otherwise you’ll put off changing until after you’ve seen Drake. And, for your information, Chief, there’s a very nasty, jagged tear in the back of your coat.”

“That confounded wall,” Mason said. “It certainly was armed to the teeth with barbed wire and broken glass.”

“I’ll only be a minute,” she told him.

“At least take a hot shower,” Mason said.

She laughed. “Just get that water hot and use plenty of Bacardi, Chief.”

“In yours,” he said, “not in mine. When I’m driving I’m sober.”

She hurried into the bedroom. Mason went to the kitchenette, fixed a hot buttered rum for Della Street, a hot, black coffee for himself. Ten minutes later they were on the road to Mason’s apartment, where the lawyer hurriedly changed into dry clothes. Then he and Della Street went to Paul Drake’s office, which was on the same floor of the building where Mason had his offices.

Paul Drake, tall, quizzical and quiet, looked up in annoyance. “It took you two long enough to get here,” he said. “The police have given me a bad time. They don’t like it.”

Mason said, “Go ahead. Get the call through.”

Drake sighed with relief, put the call through to the stolen-car department, said, “This is Paul Drake. My client who wanted to know about that car, Number CVX-266, just came in. I’ll put him on the line. Here he is now.”

Mason took the phone from Drake, said, “Hello. Perry Mason talking... That’s right, Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

“Now, what’s the idea of the lawyer?” the voice at the other end of the line complained. “We’re trying to trace a stolen car and we keep getting a run-around.”

“No run-around at all,” Mason said. “I had a client who called me in connection with an automobile, CVX 266. The car had gone out of control, skidded into a private driveway and turned over. He had picked up the young woman who was driving the car and wanted to know whether he should report the accident to the police.”

“Anyone injured?”

“Apparently not.”

“That’s a stolen car.”

“So I understand — now.”

“Well, where is it?”

“It’s lying in the grounds of Meridith Borden, a public relations expert. He has a country estate about twelve miles out of town, and—”

“I know the place. You mean the one with the wall around it?”

“That’s the one.”

“And the car’s there?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, it sure took us long enough to get the information,” the officer said irritably. “Why didn’t you let us know so we could pick up the car?”

“I didn’t know it was that important,” Mason said. “I just thought it would be a good idea to trace the registration.”

“All right. Who’s this client of yours?”

“That,” Mason said, “is a confidential matter. I can’t divulge the name of a client without the client’s permission. I can, however, tell you where to recover the automobile, and I have done so.”

“Now look here,” the officer said, “we’re trying to find out about a stolen car, and—”

“And I’ve told you where the car is,” Mason said. “I have no other information I am at liberty to give. You’re interested in a car. I’m interested in a client.”

Mason hung up the phone.

He grinned at Della Street, said, “Go on home, Paul. If anyone tries to get tough with you, put the blame on my shoulders. I’m going to leave the car parked down here in the parking lot, and Della and I are going down to the Purple Swan, have about three of their hot buttered rums and go home in a taxi. I won’t drive when I’ve been drinking, and I need a drink.

“Get out of here. If you stick around you may get—”

Paul Drake lunged for his hat.

“Save the rest of it,” he said. “I’m halfway down in the elevator right now.”