The Case of the Deadly Toy

Chapter Twelve

Horace Livermore Selkirk’s house was spread out on the top of a sunny knoll.

The lower part of the knoll was parched and browned by the California dry-season sunlight, but the upper part which contained the house, the grounds and a small golf course, was dark with shade, green with grass, cool with the scent of growing vegetation. The house was of stainless steel, glass and aluminum.

The driveway wound up the slope until it came to the meshed wire fence which stretched a ten-foot barrier, topped with barbed wire. A caretaker’s cottage was just outside the electrically operated gate and Mason’s car came to a stop where the road narrowed in front of the gate.

The caretaker, a man in his early fifties with a deputy sheriff’s star pinned to his shirt, a belt with holstered gun and shells, came to the door and surveyed Mason and Della Street appraisingly.

“Perry Mason,” the lawyer said, “and this is my secretary. We want to see Mr. Selkirk.”

“What about?” the man asked.

“Mr. Selkirk will know when you mention the name.”

“We don’t disturb him unless we know what it’s about.”

Mason fixed the guard with cold eyes. “It’s about a matter in which he is very much interested,” he said. “I am Perry Mason and I wouldn’t have driven out here unless the matter was of considerable importance.”

“Why didn’t you telephone for an appointment?”

“Because I didn’t choose to,” Mason said. “I’m going to put some cards on the table and the manner in which Mr. Selkirk receives my information will depend on how many cards I put down.”

The man hesitated, said, “Just a minute,” stepped inside the house and picked up a telephone.

He spoke briefly, then a moment later hung up the telephone and pressed a button.

The huge steel gates moved silently back on their heavy roller bearings. The caretaker motioned Mason on and the lawyer sent his car through the gates up along the scenic driveway to the parking place in front of the house.

Horace Selkirk came strolling out from the rear portion of a huge patio to meet his guests. The patio contained a swimming pool, a barbecue grate, a picnic table and luxurious lounging furniture.

The patio had been ingeniously designed so that it could be opened to the sun or completely roofed over and glassed in, if desired. Wet splotches on the cement indicated the pool had been in recent use. Two inflated inner tubes floated on the water. A toy boat had drifted to one side of the pool. A floating rubber horse nodded solemnly in the pool, actuated by a faint breeze. Highball glasses were on the table, one partially filled. Ice cubes in the glasses had melted down to about half size.

“How do you do?” Selkirk said, somewhat coldly. “This is rather an unexpected visit.”

Mason said, “So it is.”

“Usually,” Selkirk said, “those desiring to consult with me telephone and ask for an appointment.”

“So I would assume,” Mason said.

Selkirk’s eyes were frosty. “It is a procedure I like to encourage.”

“Doubtless,” Mason said. “However, since you seem so well versed as to my movements, I thought perhaps it would be unnecessary.”

“I am not telepathic,” Selkirk said.

“You said that you relied on the services of private detectives.”

“I do.”

“If I were having you shadowed,” Mason told him, “I would know when you were coming to call on me.”

“You think I’m having you shadowed?” Selkirk asked.

“Someone is,” Mason said. “It was rather neatly done. I appreciate the technique.”

“What do you mean?”

“The manner in which the shadowing was done. A casual appearance from time to time of two different cars which would pass me, then turn a corner, appear once more behind me and then again pass me. And at times in the city I would notice that I was being shadowed by a car which must have been running on a course parallel to my own, some two blocks distant. That is, I believe, electronic shadowing which is made possible by means of a small device fastened somewhere to the underside of my car, which emanates a certain radionic signal that can be picked up and located by the shadowing car — I’ll have to have my car looked over by a mechanic, I suppose.”

Selkirk suddenly threw back his head and laughed. “It won’t do you any good, Mason. By the time you found one device, my men would have something else pinned on.”

“And,” Mason said, “I assume my car has been bugged so my conversations can be duly recorded?”

“No, no, not that,” Selkirk protested. “We’d get into difficulties with that and besides, I would want you and your very estimable secretary to be able to discuss business matters in private without feeling that I was eavesdropping. But do come in.

“It’s a little warm today but not really warm enough here in the patio where it’s really delightful, just shirtsleeve weather, and if Miss Street has no objection you might as well slip off your coat and be comfortable.”

“Thanks,” Mason said, removing his coat.

Selkirk led the way to a shaded corner where a breeze blowing up the hill was somehow funneled through steel latticework to cool a deeply shaded L-shaped nook. Light filtered in through heavy plate-glass windows which had been tinted a dark green.

“I took the liberty of having a couple of mint juleps prepared for you,” Selkirk said. “I was drinking one and I thought you and Miss Street would care to join me.”

He indicated a table on which there was a tray and two frosted glasses decorated with sprigs of mint.

“Perfect hospitality,” Mason said, as Della Street seated herself and picked up one of the glasses. “Next time you might telephone your guard that we’re coming so that the gates can be opened.”

Selkirk shook his head. “I trust my detectives, but not quite that far. I like to have visitors inspected before they arrive.”

Selkirk tilted his glass toward his visitors. “Regards,” he said.

Mason sipped the drink.

Selkirk raised his eyebrows inquiringly.

“Excellent,” Mason said.

“Thank you. Now what was the object of your visit?”

“Your grandson,” Mason said.

Selkirk’s body became instantly motionless; his face was a frozen mask. The man seemed to be holding his breath, yet without displaying even a flicker of changing expression. “What about Robert?”

“His mother,” Mason said, “seems to have arranged for him to be taken to Mexico City by a baby sitter named Grace Hallum.”

“Mexico City?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Apparently because sometime Friday night Robert fired a Colt .22 Woodsman in the general direction of a prowler — or someone who was moving around outside his tent, perhaps with the idea of taking Robert away while his mother and Barton Jennings were at the airport greeting Norda Allison.”

“Do you know this or do you surmise it?” Selkirk asked.

“I know it.”

“How do you know it?”

“That is something else,” Mason said. “I thought you would be interested in the information.”

“They’re in Mexico City?”

“No. I said that Robert’s mother had arranged for him to be taken to Mexico City. I don’t think they made it.”

“What do you think happened?” Selkirk asked, still holding his glass motionless halfway to his lips, his body tense, leaning slightly forward, his eyes cold, hard and watchful.

“Detectives?”

“I think so,” Mason said. “A porter remembers two men with that indefinable air of authority which sometimes characterizes police officers. They removed the baggage from the scales at the checking-in counter of American Airlines. Robert and Miss Hallum accompanied these two men.”

Selkirk digested the information for a moment, then settled back in his chair, raised the mint julep glass and took a long sip of the cooling contents.

“Why did you come to me?” he asked after a moment.

Mason said, “It is possible that your grandson is being subjected to suggestion and repetitious assertion of certain things which he is told must have happened while he was asleep. There is also, of course, the possibility that your son was planning to take Robert outside the jurisdiction of the California courts before new guardianship or custody proceedings could be instituted, and that Robert, hearing a prowler, pointed and discharged Barton Jennings’ .22-caliber automatic.

“In any event, there is persuasive evidence that the shot fired from the tent where Robert was sleeping found a human target.”

“What sort of persuasive evidence?” Selkirk asked.

“A blood trail which led from the vicinity of the tent to the curb where a car was parked. The blood trail was removed, at least in part, by a stream of water played on the grass and the sidewalk through a hose early yesterday morning.”

“Barton Jennings?”

Mason nodded.

Selkirk toyed with his glass for several seconds, his eyes hard with concentration, his face a mask.

“Just what do you expect me to do, Mason?”

“There are two things which can be done. You can do one. I can do the other.”

“What would you suggest that I do?”

“As the child’s grandfather, you might insist that the police detention is violating the law. You might allege that Grace Hallum was contributing to the delinquency of a minor in trying to lead your grandson to believe that he had fired the shot which had resulted in his father’s death. You might file a writ of habeas corpus stating that Grace Hallum, an entirely unauthorized person, has the child in custody. This would force Lorraine Jennings, the child’s mother, either to yield the point or to come out in the open and state that she had ordered the child removed from the jurisdiction of the court.”

Selkirk thought the matter over for a moment, then said, “Just sit here and cool yourselves with these drinks. If you want a refill, just press that button. I’m going to telephone my legal department. Excuse me for a moment, please.”

Selkirk took another swallow of his mint julep, put down the partially empty glass and walked around the corner of the L-shaped alcove. Presently they heard the sound of a heavy glass partition sliding on roller bearings.

Della Street started to say something. Mason motioned her to silence, said conversationally, “Nice place Selkirk has here.”

“It must cost him a fortune to keep it up.”

“He has a fortune.”

“Why should he be having your car shadowed?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mason said. “We weren’t shadowed earlier in the day. However, that’s entirely up to Selkirk. If he wants to spend his money on detectives, finding out where I go, it will at least be a bonanza for the detectives and will keep some of Selkirk’s money in circulation.”

Mason closed his eye in a broad wink to Della Street, then stretched, yawned and said sleepily, “I’ve been losing too much sleep lately. I guess there’s nothing I can do from now on except... I guess we can afford to slow down until Norda Allison’s preliminary hearing comes up... ho... ho... hummmm! This place certainly is relaxing. It’s making me sleepy.”

Once again Mason closed his eye in a broad wink.

“That mint julep hits the spot,” Della Street said. “It also has a relaxing effect.”

Mason said sleepily, “It does for a fact — well, Della, drink it up because as soon as Selkirk returns we’re going to get away from here. We’ll check with Paul Drake to see if there’s anything new, then call it a day and I’ll see you at the office in the morning.”

“Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” Della asked.

“I’m driving,” Mason said. “The drink was so tempting I had to taste it, but I’m limiting myself to a couple of swallows. I have an aversion to drinking and driving.”

“One drink isn’t going to affect your driving,” Della Street said.

“It isn’t that so much,” Mason told her, “as the fact that I dislike to lose lawsuits. Suppose someone runs into me at an intersection. He may have gone through a red light, may have been going too fast and have defective brakes, but an officer comes up to investigate, smells liquor on my breath and I tell him that I’ve had one mint julep. You know how a jury would react to that. They’d say, ‘Yeh, the guy admits to having one. That means he must have had a dozen.’ ”

“Under those circumstances,” Della Street said, “you can have the sole responsibility. I’m going to finish this drink. It’s the most wonderful mint julep I’ve had in a long time.”

“Thank you,” Selkirk’s voice said, as he came unexpectedly around the corner of the alcove. “I’ve telephoned my legal department, Mason, and they’ll get on the job immediately.”

“That’s fine,” Mason told him, getting to his feet. “Your relaxing atmosphere has made me drowsy.”

“Care for a swim and a little relaxation by the pool?” Selkirk asked. “I have plenty of suits and dressing rooms.”

“No, thank you,” Mason told him. “I’m a working man and have to be on my way.”

“I hope you and Miss Street come back again,” Selkirk said, and then with his voice suddenly taking on an authoritative note, said, “And it will be better if you telephone.”

“Thank you for the invitation,” Mason told him.

They shook hands. Selkirk escorted them past the pool, to the parking space.

Della Street jumped in the car, slid under the steering wheel and over to the far side of the seat. Mason got in behind the steering wheel.

“Just drive right on through the other end of the parking place and around the circle,” Selkirk said. “The gate will be open for you as you go out.”

Mason nodded, swept the car into motion.

It was a neighborhood of rolling hills and vistas of country estates. Glistening white houses and hillside subdivisions met their eyes as they swung down the long driveway to the highway.

Mason made the boulevard stop, then put his car into motion, swung over to the stream of fast-moving traffic and stepped on the throttle.

“You’re very anxious to get where you’re going, all of a sudden,” Della Street said.

“Yes,” Mason told her, “I have decided there’s no use working too hard. Let’s get where we can relax. I know a cocktail bar about a mile down the road. We can pull in there and—”

“But I thought you wouldn’t have a drink when you were driving.”

“I won’t be driving for a while,” Mason said. “We’ll get in there where it’s cool and dark and comfortable and forget about the case. There’s nothing more I can do now until the matter comes up for the preliminary examination... not unless Paul Drake’s men uncover some new information.”

Della Street started to say something, then checked herself.

Mason drove silently until he came to a small hotel, said, “There’s a parking lot here. We’ll leave the car and go relax for a while. It will do us good.”

He swung into the parking lot and led Della Street into the hotel.

“What in the world are you doing, Chief?” she asked.

“I don’t know whether the car is bugged or not,” Mason said. “But we do know one thing. They have it rigged up so they can follow us by using electronics. Quick, Della, right through the cocktail bar and... there’s a taxi stand right outside and... thank heavens there’s a taxi there.”

Mason signaled a cab driver, caught Della Street’s elbow in his hand, hurried her across to the taxicab, jumped in beside her, slammed the door shut and said to the driver, “Straight on down the street. I want to catch a party who just left here.”

The driver put the cab into motion.

Mason, looking through the rear window, said, “Turn to the left at the first street and then turn to the left once more.”

The cab driver obediently followed instructions.

Della Street said in a low voice, “What’s the idea, Chief?”

Mason said, “Horace Livermore Selkirk has Grace Hallum and Robert up there in the house with him.”

“You’re certain?” Della Street asked.

“Pretty certain,” Mason said. “There was a toy boat in the swimming pool when we went in. When we came out it was no longer there. Horace Selkirk could well have been one of them with the aura of authority who stopped the trip to Mexico City.”

Mason said to the cab driver, “Turn to the left once more and then to the right. I’ll tell you where to go.”

“But, Chief,” Della Street protested, “we can’t go back up there in a taxicab and even expect... Why, he won’t let us inside the gates.”

“That’s true,” Mason told her. “But I think he’s afraid now that I’m suspicious and my best guess is he’s going to get rid of the boy — after all, he’s in a very vulnerable position.”

“He is if he gets caught,” Della Street said. “But... I’m afraid I don’t get it.”

“Well,” Mason told her, “our car is hotter than a firecracker. He’s got it bugged up so his private detectives can follow it. We put it in the parking place there at that hotel and cocktail lounge, and you can bet that his detectives followed right behind us. We went into the cocktail lounge and they probably watched where we were going, then went to telephone a report to Horace Selkirk.

“We fooled them by going right on through and jumping in a cab. There’s a good chance they didn’t even see us take the cab. If they did, they didn’t have a chance to follow us because there’s no one on our tail now, and they certainly don’t have these cabs bugged so they can be followed by electronics — it is, of course, taking a chance but it’s a chance worth taking. If we hit anything, we hit the jackpot. If we lose out, we’re out the price of one taxi trip and we can go back and sit in the cocktail lounge for an hour or so, and then lead Horace Livermore Selkirk’s spies back to the office.”

“They’ll tell him we took a taxi ride?” Della Street asked.

Mason shook his head. “They won’t be certain just what we did. Therefore, they’ll simply state, ‘Subjects parked their car, entered the hotel, went into the cocktail lounge and emerged two hours later to get in their car and drive to the office.’

“Later on, if it should appear that the point was important, they would say, ‘Why, yes, we missed them for half an hour or so but we assumed they were around the hotel somewhere because their car was there so we didn’t consider the matter worthwhile reporting.’ On a shadow job of that kind, you can’t stand right at the subject’s elbow all the time.

“Turn off up here at the right,” Mason said to the cab driver after some ten minutes.

“That road doesn’t go anywhere,” the cab driver said, “except up to some private property. There’s a gate—”

“I know,” Mason told him, “but I’m expecting a person to meet me... slow down... slow down, cabbie. Get over to the side of the road and take it easy.”

Mason nudged Della Street as a cab came down the road headed toward them. The cab passed them and they got a glimpse of a woman and a boy in the back seat.

Mason said to the cab driver, “I think that’s the couple we want but I can’t be certain of it until I get a closer look. Turn around and follow that cab. Let’s see if we can get a closer look and find out where they’re going.”

“Say, what is this?” the cab driver asked.

“It’s all right,” Mason told him, “you’re driving a cab.”

“That’s all I’m doing. I’m not mixing in any rough stuff,” the driver said.

“Neither am I,” Mason assured him. “Just keep that cab in sight. I want to find out where it goes. If you’re really interested, I’m getting evidence in a divorce case. Here’s twenty bucks. Any time you don’t like the job, quit it, but when you get finished, if you make a good job of it, you get another twenty on top of this. Now are you satisfied?”

“I’m satisfied,” the driver said, and accelerated the car.

“Not too fast,” Mason warned. “I don’t want them to get nervous.”

“They’re looking straight ahead,” the driver said, “but the cabbie up front will spot me. A good cab driver keeps his eye on the rearview mirror from time to time.”

“Fix it so he doesn’t notice you,” Mason said. “Don’t drive at a regular distance behind him. Where there’s not much chance he’s going to turn off, drop way behind, then close the gap when you get into traffic.”

The driver handled the car skillfully, keeping some distance behind the car in front until traffic thickened, then moving up and, from time to time, changing lanes so that the relative position of the two cars varied.

The cab ahead eventually came to a stop at a relatively small hotel. The woman and the child got out. The cab driver lifted out suitcases.

“Around the block and stop,” Mason told the driver, handing him another twenty-dollar bill.

As soon as the cab rounded the corner, Mason had the door open. Della Street jumped out and the two hurried around the corner and into the hotel.

The well-tailored blond had just finished registering as Mason and Della Street approached the desk.

The clerk smacked his palm down on a call bell, said, “Front!.. take Mrs. Halton to 619.”

Mason approached the desk. “Do you have a J. C. Endicott in the house?” he asked the clerk.

The clerk frowned at him impatiently and motioned toward the room phone. “Ask the operator,” he said.

Mason went to the room phone, picked up the receiver, said to the operator, “Do you have a Mr. J. C. Endicott in the house?”

“From where?” the operator asked.

“New York,” Mason said.

There was a moment of silence; then she said, “I’m sorry. He doesn’t seem to be registered.”

“Thank you. That’s all right,” Mason said.

The lawyer hung up the telephone and walked across to where Della Street was waiting within earshot of the clerk.

“He’s in,” Mason told her. “He says for us to come right up. Boy, it’s sure going to seem good to see good old Jim and hear all about that hunting trip.”

He led Della Street to the elevators, said, “Seventh floor, please,” and then after the cage came to a stop, led Della Street to the stair door. They opened the door, walked down one flight to the sixth floor.

The bellboy who had taken the woman and the boy up to 619 was just getting aboard the elevator on the way down when Mason and Della Street entered the sixth floor hallway. They walked down to 619 and Mason tapped on the door.

“Say it’s the maid with soap and towels,” Mason said to Della Street in a whisper.

After a moment of silence, a woman’s voice on the other side of the door said, “Who is it, please?”

“Maid, with soap and towels,” Della Street said in a bored voice.

The door was unlocked and opened.

Della Street walked in, followed by Perry Mason.

They found themselves in a two-bedroom suite with a central parlor and two bedrooms.

Mason kicked the door shut and turned the bolt.

The tall blonde moved back, her eyes wide with alarm, alarm.

“Sit down, Mrs. Hallum,” Mason said. “You’re not going to get hurt if you tell the truth. Why didn’t you go to Mexico City the way you were supposed to?”

“I... I... Who are you? What do you want? And—”

“I want to know why you didn’t go to Mexico City,” Mason said.

She bit her lip. “I suppose you’re representing Mrs. Jennings. I... well... I’ve been wondering if what I did was right, but...”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I don’t know as I should tell it to you.”

“Want to talk with the police?” Mason asked, moving toward the telephone.

“No. Heavens, no! That’s the one thing we must avoid at all costs.”

“All right,” Mason told her. “Talk to me.”

He turned to Della Street who had taken a shorthand notebook from her purse. “Sit over at that table,” he said. “Take down what she says. All right, Mrs. Hallum, let’s have it.”

She walked through to the connecting room, said, “Robert, you stay in there for a little while. Just sit down and wait until I come for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Robert said politely.

Mrs. Hallum came back and closed the door.

“Just what is it you want to know?” she asked.

Mason said, “You were supposed to take Robert to Mexico City. You didn’t do it. Why?”

“Because his grandfather told me I’d be arrested if I did.”

“And what did you do?”

“I accompanied him to his house up on the hill, then a short time ago he told me that I had to leave, that I was to go to this hotel, that rooms had been arranged for me.”

“And why were you to take Robert to Mexico City?” Mason asked.

“Because,” she said, “Robert...”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Robert may have killed his father,” she said.

“And they want to keep Robert from finding that out?”

“They want to protect Robert until there can be a more complete investigation. Robert knows he shot somebody. It’s a horrible thought for a child to have in his mind. He hasn’t been told that his father is dead.”

“What do you think?” Mason asked.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Barton Jennings, that’s the man who married Robert’s mother, keeps telling Robert that he mustn’t worry, that it was just a dream. He can’t quite convince Robert that it was.”

“How did Robert happen to have the gun?” Mason asked.

“His mother had a baby sitter who let him play with the gun. She would always unload it before she gave it to him. The boy had a habit of looking at Western pictures and Western shows. He feels a gun is a symbol of protection, of security, of manhood. He’s nervous and sensitive and — well, he’s resourceful.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“It wasn’t long before Robert wanted a loaded gun. Without this baby sitter, a Mrs. Hannah Bass, knowing any thing about it, he got hold of a .22-caliber cartridge. He’d amuse himself by putting that shell in the magazine, then working the recoil mechanism by hand.

“About a week ago Mr. Jennings, the boy’s stepfather, found Robert had been playing with the gun. At first he was angry, but then he got over it.

“Friday night they both drove to the airport. Robert knew they were going and hadn’t been able to get a baby sitter. They told him they’d only be gone for an hour.

“Robert asked for the gun and Mr. Jennings let him put it under his pillow in the tent in the patio. Robert loaded the gun with the .22 cartridge and put it under his pillow.

“I’ve never seen a boy with such an obsession about guns.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What happened Friday night?”

“Robert must have had a nightmare. He says he heard steps coming toward his tent, then he saw the form of a big man looming in the doorway. He says he groped for the gun — and it went off. He really wasn’t conscious of pulling the trigger, but there was the roar of an explosion, then he heard somebody running away. Robert says he fired the gun. I’m not certain but what someone else, standing just outside the tent, fired a shot. That’s my own idea for what it’s worth. Mr. Jennings says Robert should be led to believe it was all a bad dream. Robert knows better.

“Of course, Robert was only half-conscious at the time. He knows he was holding the gun. He thinks he fired it. Probably he could be made to think it was a dream. Mr. Jennings thinks it can be managed.”

“What did Robert do after the shot?”

“He ran into the house and wakened his mother. She told him Barton Jennings was asleep and had been suffering pain from his arthritis. She told Robert his stepfather had taken medicine to deaden the pain, had gone to sleep and mustn’t be wakened. She told Robert that it was simply an accident; that accidents happen to everyone; that if Robert had heard somebody running away it meant that he had only frightened someone and hadn’t hurt the man. Robert was reassured. After a while he was persuaded to go back to the tent.

“Mrs. Jennings took the empty gun and started to take it back upstairs to put it where it belonged, then remembered a guest, Norda Allison, was in the room. So she left the gun on the stand in the front hall at the foot of the stairs and went back to bed.”

“Where was her husband?” Mason asked.

“Asleep in another downstairs bedroom. When he has his attacks of arthritis, he takes codeine and sleeps in a separate room.”

“How did he find out about it?” the lawyer asked.

“Mrs. Jennings was worried. She slept for an hour or two and then wakened and couldn’t go back to sleep. She heard her husband moving around in his room. That was about daylight. She went to him and told him what had happened. He became very much alarmed. He went out to look around and evidently found something which caused him great concern. He told Mrs. Jennings to take the gun from the place where she had left it on the hall stand and as soon as Norda Allison got up to return it to the drawer where they kept it. Then Mr. Jennings took Robert and brought him to me. I kept Robert all day yesterday and reassured him as best I could. Mr. Jennings said I should do a job of brain washing.

“Then this morning Mr. Jennings brought some of Robert’s clothes to me and said I was to leave at once and take Robert to Mexico City. He said we had reservations at the Hotel Reforma. He gave me money for the fare, told me that we had reservations on a plane and everything was all cared for. We were to leave this morning.

“So we went down to the airport and Mr. Horace Selkirk, the boy’s grandfather, showed up. I had never met him, but he identified himself to me and told me that under no circumstances was Robert to leave the jurisdiction of the court. He said we were to come with him and that he would take the responsibility. He said he would send for Barton Jennings and get the thing straightened out.

“He had a man with him and they put us in an automobile and took us up to Horace Selkirk’s big house. Robert was happy there but I was worried because Mr. Jennings didn’t show up to tell me that I had done the right thing.

“I took Robert in swimming and he had a wonderful time in the pool. He’s visited there several times and always has the time of his life. His grandfather keeps toys and things for him and Robert loves it.

“Well, almost as soon as we had finished dressing after our swim Mr. Selkirk came rushing in to the rooms he had assigned us in the west wing of the house. He was very excited and said we were to pack up at once, get ready to leave and were to come here and wait here until he gave us further orders.”

“What about Barton Jennings?” Mason asked. “Did he ever find out you weren’t going to Mexico City?”

“No. Mr. Horace Selkirk had us write postal cards which he said would be flown to Mexico City and then mailed to Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. He told us that police were questioning the Jennings and that it was absolutely essential that we remain concealed so no one would know where we were. We had an understanding with Mr. Jennings that we would send postal cards that would simply be signed G.R. That stood for Grace and Robert.”

“And you wrote some of those cards?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“There must have been a dozen or so. Horace Selkirk almost threw them at us. He said he’d have them sent to Mexico City and mailed at intervals so no one would become suspicious. He had me scrawling postal cards until I became dizzy.”

Mason studied her carefully for a moment, then said, “All right, now tell me the rest of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s something else. How much did Selkirk promise you, or how much did he give you?”

She lowered her eyes.

Mason stood silent, his eyes steady, waiting.

At length she sighed, raised her eyes. “He gave me a thousand in cash and promised me five thousand more if I followed instructions.”

Mason thought things over for a moment, then said, “Ever hear about the kidnaping law?”

“What do you mean?” she flared. “He’s the boy’s grandfather!”

“And as such has no more to say about his custody than anyone you’d meet on the street,” Mason said. “Right at the moment the child’s mother is the only one who has any say about where he’s to be kept. She told you to take him to Mexico City.”

“It was her husband who told me.”

“But he was speaking for her. You were given custody of the boy to take him to Mexico City. If you take him anywhere else it’s kidnaping.”

“Mr. Selkirk said he’d fix it up with the Jennings.”

“And did he do so?”

“He said he would.”

“Then why promise you money?”

She was silent for several seconds. Then abruptly she said, “I knew I was doing something wrong. Okay, you win. I’m going to Mexico City.”

“That’s better,” Mason told her. I’m going down and get a taxicab. Give me your suitcases. This is Miss Street, my secretary. We’ll take the suitcases down and handle things so no one will know you checked out. You wait exactly twenty minutes, then take Robert, go down in the elevator, ask if there’s a drugstore near here, walk out of the hotel and turn to the right. Miss Street and I will be waiting in a taxicab on the corner. You’ve made a wise decision. We must keep Robert away from all these emotional stresses. Now you go to Mexico where you can take Robert’s mind off what has happened. It’s particularly important you stay where Horace Selkirk won’t know where you are.”

“But how can we do that?” Grace Hallum asked. “He’ll be furious. He’ll find us.”

Mason said, “No, he won’t. You’ll be at the one place where he’d never expect you to be. The Hotel Reforma in Mexico City.”

Grace Hallum said, “The suitcases are all packed. We haven’t unpacked. We just got here.”

Mason nodded to Della Street, said, “If you don’t mind, we’ll take the suitcases to another floor. We don’t want it to appear that you’re checking out.”

“But what about the bill on these two rooms?”

“The reservations were made by Horace Livermore Selkirk,” Mason said. “Let him pay the bill.”

“How long will it be before anyone finds out we’re not here?”

Mason grinned. “It could be a long time.”

“And then?” she asked.

“Then,” Mason said, “when Horace Livermore Selkirk finally puts two and two together, he may quit being so damned patronizing.”