The Case of the Careless Kitten

Chapter 5

In Mason’s car, driving toward the Castle Gate Hotel, Della Street asked, “Did Franklin Shore put all of his property in his wife’s name?”

“Just about all, as I understand it. There were joint accounts in the bank.”

“How long before the disappearance?”

“It had been going on for three or four years.”

“Then if she wants to keep him from coming back, she could...”

“Couldn’t keep him from coming back physically,” Mason interrupted, “but she certainly could embarrass his come-back financially. Suppose the moment he showed up, she filed suit for divorce, asked for a property award, and all that out of what little property remains in his name? Get the sketch? She’d claim the other property was all hers.”

“You think that’s what she’s planning?”

Mason said, “He certainly has some reason for wanting me there at the conference. I don’t think he wants me to play tiddlywinks.”

They were silent for several blocks, then Della Street asked, “Where do we meet the others?”

“A block from the Castle Gate Hotel.”

“What kind of a place is it?”

“Second-rate, down-at-the-heel hotel, an outward front of respectability, but it’s a thin veneer.”

“And Henry Leech wanted Helen Kendal and you to come alone?”

“Yes.”

“Think he’ll object to the four of us?”

“I don’t know. There are some peculiar angles, and I want notes taken so I’ll know what is said, and what isn’t said... Up on the next corner is where we meet the others. Here’s a good parking place.”

Mason eased the car into the curb, switched off the lights and ignition, helped Della Street out, and locked the door. Two figures detached themselves from the shadows of a doorway. Gerald Shore came forward to shake hands. Introductions were performed in a low voice.

“Coast all clear?” Mason asked.

“I think so, yes.”

“You haven’t been followed?”

“Not as far as we can tell.”

Helen Kendal said, “I’m quite certain no one has followed us.”

Mason nodded toward the building in the middle of the next block where a section of blank wall rising above the top of the nearest house had been lettered “CASTLE GATE Hotel. Rooms One Dollar and Up. MONTHLY RATEs, TRANSIENTs. Restaurant.” The sign had been faded and sooted by the grime of a big city.

Mason took Helen Kendal’s arm. “You and I will go first,” he said. “Shore, you and Miss Street can follow, after an interval of twenty or thirty seconds. Don’t appear to be with us until we start up in the elevator.”

Gerald Shore hesitated. “After all,” he said, “the person I want to see is my brother Franklin. I don’t care about seeing this man Leech. If my presence may frighten him, I’d prefer to sit and wait in the automobile.”

Mason said, “Miss Street is going with me. That’ll make three of us. You may as well make four.”

Shore reached a sudden decision. “No, I’ll wait here in the automobile, but the minute you meet my brother, I want you to tell him I’m here and that I simply must see him before he talks with anyone. Do you understand? Before he talks with anyone.”

Mason regarded the man quizzically. “Before he talks with me?”

“With anyone.”

Mason shook his head. “If you want any such message delivered, deliver it yourself. The man has sent for me. He probably wants to consult me professionally.”

Shore’s bow was courtly. “My mistake, counselor. I’m sorry. But I’ll wait here just the same. I doubt that my brother is in that hotel. When you come out with Leech, I’ll join you.”

He walked back to a place near the corner where he had parked his automobile, unlocked the door, got in, and sat down.

Mason smiled reassuringly at Helen Kendal. “We may as well go.”

They walked along the echoing, all but deserted sidewalk to the drab entrance of the out-dated hotel. Mason held the door open for the two young women, followed them in.

The lobby was some twenty feet wide, running back to terminate in a U-shaped desk and counter behind which was a switchboard. A somewhat bored clerk sat, reading one of the more lurid “true” detective magazines. Across from the clerk were two automatic elevators. There were some fifteen or twenty chairs in the lobby, for the most part arranged in a row along one wall. Half a dozen individuals sprawling dispiritedly in these chairs raised their eyes to look, at first casually, then with sharpened interest at the two trim, slim-waisted young women followed by the tall figure of the lawyer.

The clerk at the desk glanced up from his magazine, and did them the honor of letting his attention remain on them.

“You have a Henry Leech registered here?” Mason asked, as he reached the desk.

“Yes.”

“Been here long?” Mason asked.

“About a year.”

“Indeed! What’s his room?”

“Three-eighteen.”

“Will you ring him please?”

The clerk, who apparently was also the telephone operator, moved over to the switchboard and plugged in a line. He pressed a button several times while holding an earpiece against his left ear. His eyes studied Della Street and Helen Kendal with an interest which he made no effort to conceal.

“I’m sorry. He isn’t in.”

Mason looked at his watch. “He was to meet me here at this time.”

The clerk said, “I didn’t think he was in. A man came to see him two or three hours ago. He was out. I haven’t seen him come back. I...” He broke off as a special delivery messenger came up to the desk.

“Got a special delivery for the clerk at the Castle Gate,” the boy said.

The clerk signed for the special delivery, opened the letter, read it, then looked up at Mason. “Are you Mr. Perry Mason?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Well, I guess Leech was to meet you all right. It’s really for you — but he addressed it to me.”

The clerk handed Mason a sheet of paper on which a message had been neatly typewritten:

The signature as well as the message was typewritten. The map which was enclosed with the letter was an Auto Club map of Hollywood and vicinity. An ink line had been traced along Hollywood Boulevard, turning to the right on Ivar Street, then following a winding course to a spot on the map marked STORAGE RESERVOIR.

The clerk said, “I thought he went out — a couple of hours ago. I haven’t seen him return.”

Mason studied the special delivery letter, abruptly folded both letter and map, and shoved them down into the side pocket of his coat.

“Let’s go,” he said.