The Case of the Daring Decoy

Chapter Four

Mason left the motel, stopped at a phone booth, called Paul Drake’s office.

“Anyone found out who the corpse is, Paul?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

“What?”

“I want that gun traced.”

“What’s the number?”

“Smith & Wesson C 48809.”

“It won’t be easy to get the dope on it tonight.”

“I didn’t ask you if it would be easy. I said I wanted it traced.”

“Have a heart, Perry!”

“I’m having a heart. I told you to get your men lined up. Now put ’em to work.”

“Will I be seeing you?”

“In an hour or two.”

Mason hung up the phone, drove to the Cloudcroft Apartments, and tapped gently on the door of Eva Kane’s apartment.

The door was almost instantly opened.

“Miss Kane?”

“Yes. Mr. Mason?”

“That’s right.”

“Come in, please. Mr. Conway telephoned about you.”

Mason entered a typical one-room furnished apartment, wide-mirrored doors concealing the roll-away bed. Here and there were bits of individual touches, but for the most part the apartment adhered to the standard pattern.

“Do sit down, Mr. Mason. That chair is fairly comfortable. Can you tell me what happened?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” Mason asked.

“You see, the last I knew Mr. Conway was going out to keep that appointment. I begged him not to. I had a premonition that something terrible was going to happen.”

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “We’re in the middle of a three-ring circus, and I’d like to start getting things unscrambled before too many people catch up with me.”

“But what happened? Is Mr. Conway—? He told me he was not in his apartment, and he couldn’t tell me where he was.”

“He’s temporarily out of circulation,” Mason said. “We’re going to be at the district attorney’s office at nine o’clock in the morning.”

“The district attorney’s office!”

Mason nodded.

“Why?”

“Someone got killed.”

“Killed!”

Mason nodded. “Murdered.”

“Who was it?”

“We don’t know. Some young woman. Blond hair. Blue eyes. Rather slender waist, but lots above the waist and quite a bit below. About... oh, somewhere along twenty-seven. Blue eyes. Tight-fitting blue sweater... Does that ring any bell?”

“That much of it rings too many bells, Mr. Mason. I know lots of girls that description would fit. How did it happen? Was she the woman Mr. Conway was to meet, the one who called herself Rosalind?”

“We don’t know,” Mason said. “I haven’t time to give you a lot of information. I have too many things to do between now and nine o’clock tomorrow morning. You’re going to have to give me information. Now, about that voice. I understand there was something vaguely familiar about that voice, about the tempo of it?”

She nodded.

“All right. Let’s think,” Mason told her.

“I’ve been trying to think. I... I’m so worried about Mr. Conway, I’m afraid— Oh, I just had a feeling it was a trap.”

“You like him a lot?” Mason asked.

She suddenly shifted her eyes. Her face colored. “He’s very nice,” she said. “However, he doesn’t encourage personal relationships at the office. He’s always very courteous and very considerate but— Well, not like Mr. Farrell.”

“What about Farrell?” Mason asked.

“Farrell!” she spat suddenly with dislike in her voice.

“What about him?” Mason asked. “I take it he’s different from Conway?”

“Very different!”

“Well,” Mason said, “you’re going to have to quit thinking about Conway, and start thinking about that voice, if you want to help him. You’re going to have to try and place what it was about the voice that was familiar.”

She shook her head. “I’ve been thinking and thinking, and somehow it just eludes me. Sometimes I feel that I almost have it and then it’s gone.”

“All right,” Mason said, “let’s start doing some methodical thinking. Rosalind, whoever she was, promised to deliver lists of those who had sent in their proxies.”

She nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “she was either baiting a trap for Conway — and the way it looks now she was baiting a trap — or she was offering genuine information. In either event, she had to be someone who was fairly close-to Farrell.

“If she was baiting a trap, then she was Farrell’s tool, because the Farrell crowd would be the only ones who would wish Conway any bad luck. If, on the other hand, she was acting in good faith, then she must have had access to information that only some trusted employee of Farrell’s would have.”

Eva Kane nodded.

“It was a woman’s voice,” Mason said. “Did it sound young?”

“I think so. I think it was a young woman.”

“Are many young women close to Farrell?”

She laughed and said, “Mr. Farrell is very close to many young women. Mr. Farrell is a man with restless hands and roving eyes. He doesn’t want any one woman. He wants women — plural. He doesn’t want to settle down and have a home, he wants to satisfy his ego. He wants to play the field.”

“A little difficult to work for?” Mason asked.

“It depends on the way you look at it,” she said drily. “Some of the girls seem to like it. And to like him.”

“He’s married?”

“Yes, he’s married, but I understand they separated a month ago.”

“What kind of woman is his wife?”

“Very nice. She’s—” Abruptly Eva Kane sucked in her breath. Her eyes became wide. “That’s it, Mr. Mason! That’s it!”

“What is?”

“The voice. Rosalind! It’s Evangeline Farrell!”

“Now, wait a minute,” Mason said. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, yes! I knew all along there was something about it that — I’ve talked with her on the phone, when Mr. Farrell was with us. She has that peculiar trick of holding onto one word for a beat and then speaking rapidly for five or six words, then pausing and speaking rapidly again.”

“She was trying to disguise her voice on the phone?” Mason asked.

“Yes. The voice was disguised. It was— Oh, very sweet and seductive and syrupy and— But that little trick of timing. That’s distinctive. That was Evangeline Farrell.”

“She’s not getting along with her husband?”

“So I understand. They’ve separated. It was— Oh, it’s been a month or so ago. There was something in the paper about it. One of the gossip columnists had an article. She walked out on him and... I don’t know what did happen. I don’t think she’s filed suit for divorce. Maybe she wants a reconciliation.”

“Do you know where she lives?” Mason asked.

“They had a rather swank apartment and... and I think she was the one who moved out. I think she left him.”

“No divorce?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Grounds?”

“There should be lots of them. Around us girls at the office he didn’t even bother to be subtle about it.”

“Where can I get her present address?”

“I may have it in our address book. You see, she’s a stockholder in the Texas Global. Because of the proxy fight, I’ve made lists of the names and addresses of all stockholders of record. There’s one at the’ office, Mr. Conway has one, and I have one.”

“Here?”

“Yes. I keep mine with me at all times.”

“How does it happen she’s a stockholder?”

“Part of Mr. Farrell’s compensation while he was with us was in stock, and those shares of stock were turned over to his wife.”

“When he got them, or as a result of some property settlement?”

“When he got them. He likes to keep all his property in the name of some other person. But I think she wrote about them after the separation. I’m certain we had a letter giving a new address.”

“See if you can find that address,” Mason said.

She said, “Pardon me,” went to a desk, pulled out a large address book, thumbed through the pages, then said, “I have it. It’s die Holly Arms.”

“I know the place,” Mason told her. “She’s living there?”

“Yes. Do you want to talk with her on the phone?”

He thought a moment, then said, “No, I’d better surprise her with this. Thanks a lot, Miss Kane.”

“Is there anything I can do — to help?”

“You’ve done it.”

“If Mr. Conway phones, should I tell him that I think I know the voice?”

“Tell him nothing,” Mason said. “Not over the telephone. You can’t tell who’s listening. Thanks a lot. I’m on my way.”