The Case of the Drowning Duck

Chapter 15

Mrs. Dangerfield seemed for a moment almost dazed, then abruptly she said, “I must call my husband at once.”

Mason glanced at Della Street. “You can put through a call from here.”

Mrs. Dangerfield got to her feet, said, “No. I–I have some other things I want to do.”

Mason said, “There are one or two more questions I’d like to ask you, Mrs. Dangerfield.”

She shook her head with sudden firm decision. “No. I’ve said everything I care to, Mr. Mason. My husband didn’t know I was coming. I left a note for him that I was going to be away today. I didn’t tell him where I was going I... I took the car... I think I’d better let him know where I am immediately.”

“You can use this phone,” Mason said. “We can get a call through in just a few minutes.”

“No,” she announced definitely, and looked around the office somewhat as an animal might look at some new cage. “This the way out?” she asked, pointing toward the door into the hall.

“Yes,” Mason said, “but...”

“I’ll talk with you later, Mr. Mason. I’m leaving right now.”

She swept out through the door.

Mason said to Della Street, “Quick, Della. Drake!”

But Della Street’s fingers were already whirring the dial on the telephone. She said, “Drake’s office? A woman just left this office, a Mrs. Dangerfield. Fifty, looks forty, brunette, dark eyes, dark blue coat. She’s at the elevator. Get a tail on her right away. Follow her. See where she goes and what she does. Quick!... That’s right.”

She hung up and said, “They’ll pick her up right away.”

“Good work, Della.”

Della said, “I’d give a hundred dollars to know what she says over the wire to her husband.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What she’s most interested in is finding out where he was last night — when Milter was murdered. Rush me through a call to the chief of police at El Templo.”

Della Street put through the call, explaining to the operator that it was an emergency, and within less than a minute, Mason had the police officer at El Templo on the line.

Mason said, “This is Perry Mason, the lawyer, in Los Angeles. A Mrs. Dangerfield has just left my office. Her husband is there in El Templo. She’s going to put through a telephone call to him. If you can listen in on that telephone call, I think you’ll get some interesting information that...”

“You’re Mason?” the voice interrupted.

“Yes.”

“What’s this woman’s name?”

“Dangerfield.”

“Spell it.”

Mason spelled it.

“She’s putting through that call?”

“Yes. Right away.”

The voice said, “Hold the line a minute. There’s someone here wants to talk with you, but I’ll get busy on this first.”

Mason held the line, said to Della Street, holding his palm cupped over the transmitter, “At least we’re getting some intelligent co-operation down there. They’ll probably never tell us what’s said, and they may not admit they listened in on the conversation, but I’ll bet they manipulate things so they’re put in on the call.”

The man’s voice came over the wire again. “Hello. Hello. This Mr. Perry Mason?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Mr. Witherspoon wants to talk with you.”

Witherspoon’s voice was no longer the carefully controlled voice of a man who is accustomed to issuing orders and dominating every situation in which he finds himself placed. There was something almost pathetic in the eagerness of his voice as he said, “Is this you, Mason?”

“Yes.”

“Come down here. Come down at once!”

“What is the matter?” Mason asked.

Witherspoon said, “There’s been another one.”

“Another what?” Mason asked.

“Another murder.”

“You mean someone in addition to Leslie L. Milter has...”

“Yes, yes. Good God, it’s preposterous! The damnedest thing you ever heard! They’ve all gone crazy. They...”

“Who was murdered?” Mason asked.

“The man who was staying in my house, Roland Burr.”

“How?” Mason inquired.

“Same way. Somebody left a vase of acid in his room, dropped some cyanide in it, and walked out. The poor guy was laid up in bed with this broken leg. He couldn’t have got out even if he’d wanted to. He just had to stay there and take it.”

“When?”

“Just an hour or so ago.”

“Who did it?” Mason asked.

Witherspoon almost shouted into the telephone. “That’s why you have to come down here at once!”

“Who did it?” Mason repeated.

“These damn fool police claim that I did,” Witherspoon shouted.

“Are you under arrest?”

“I guess it amounts to that.”

Mason said, “Say nothing. Sit tight. I’m on my way down.”

He hung up the telephone, motioned to Della Street, said, “Get your things, Della. We’re headed for El Templo.”

Della Street said, “You’re forgetting Allgood. He’s on his way down.”

Mason had pushed back his chair, and was starting for the coat closet. He stopped abruptly, standing by the corner of the desk. “That’s right. I’d forgotten all about Allgood.”

The telephone rang. Della Street, picking up the receiver, said, “Just a moment,” held her hand over the mouthpiece, and said, “He’s in the office now.”

Mason settled back in his swivel chair. “Bring him in, Della.”

Allgood tried to look frowningly impressive as he followed Della Street into the office. His glasses were pinched on his nose. The black ribbon, hanging down until it merged in the lapel of his coat, gave his face a certain stern severity.

A smile twinkled at the corners of Mason’s mouth. “Sit down, Allgood,” he said.

Allgood made something of a ceremony of seating himself. “Thank you, Counselor.”

“What about this visit your secretary made to Milter?” Mason asked.

“I am most distressed by it, Counselor. I wanted to explain to you.”

“Explain what?”

“How it happened.”

Mason said, “I have only a few minutes. Go ahead.”

Allgood’s index finger twisted itself nervously around the narrow silk ribbon which dangled down from his glasses. “I want you to understand that Miss Elberton is an exceedingly loyal young woman,” he said.

“Loyal to whom?”

“To me — to the business.”

“Go ahead.”

“It happens that Milter had kept in touch with her. Milter has the annoying habit of persistence in such matters.”

“Even when he’s not wanted?” Mason asked.

“Apparently.”

“All right,” Mason said impatiently, “she knew where Milter was. How did it happen she was listening in on our conversation?”

Allgood admitted, “That was due to an inadvertence on my part and a certain amount of natural curiosity upon hers. There’s an interoffice communicating system in my office, and just before you came in I happened to have been conversing with her. I left the lever in such a position that our conversation was audible in the outer office. She took it upon herself to communicate with Milter — that is, to try to do so.”

“She didn’t do it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“She says that Milter was otherwise engaged when she arrived at his apartment.”

“Was he alive?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Why not?”

“She didn’t go up. Someone else was up there.”

Mason said, “Baloney! She had a key to his apartment.”

“Yes, I understand that. She explained how that happened. It seems that...”

“Never mind,” Mason interrupted. “If you fall for those explanations, I don’t. Let’s get down to brass tacks. Milter was a blackmailer. I took your word for it when you told me that you were very much distressed at his talking and had dismissed him from your employ. In view of what’s happened since, I’m not so certain.”

“Not so certain about what?” Allgood asked, his eyes looking all over the office, except at that particular portion of it which was occupied by Perry Mason.

Mason said, “Your agency seems to be mixed in it right up to its necktie.”

“Mr. Mason, are you intimating that I...”

Mason said, “I haven’t time for the dramatics. I’m simply telling you that at first I took your word and your explanation. I’m not taking either, now, without checking up. There’s altogether too much coincidence. I talk with you about one of your operatives who’s gone in for blackmail. You ‘inadvertently’ leave the intercommunicating office system on so that my conversation is audible to your secretary. She goes down to El Templo. She has a key to this man’s apartment. You know, Allgood, it could be that you were engineering a little shakedown. Having got all the money you could legitimately gamer from Witherspoon, you used Milter as a stalking horse to put the finger on Witherspoon and get some more.”

Allgood jumped to his feet. “I came here to make an explanation, Mr. Mason, not to be insulted!”

“All right,” Mason said, “that’s why you came here. You’re here. You’ve made your explanation. Please consider the insult as a purely gratuitous interpolation which was not on the original program as planned.”

“It’s not a joking matter,” Allgood said blusteringly.

“You’re damn right it isn’t.”

“I’ve tried to be fair with you. I’ve put all of my cards on the table.”

“You put a deuce spot on the table,” Mason said. “The picture cards didn’t get there until I shook them out of your sleeve. When I entered your office, your secretary went in to your office to tell you I was there. I couldn’t hear your conversation because at that time the interoffice communicating lever wasn’t thrown over. You must have done that after she went out and while I was on my way in. That means you did it deliberately. How about this column in the Hollywood scandal sheet?”

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

“You don’t?”

“No.”

Mason nodded to Della Street. “Get me Paul Drake on the line.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence before Della broke it by saying, “He’s on the line, Chief.”

Mason picked up the telephone. “Paul, Allgood is here in the office. The more I think things over, the more I think that whole blackmailing business may have been thought out in advance — sort of a sequel to employment, if you know what I mean.”

Drake said, “I see.”

“Allgood’s here in the office now. I’m wondering if that Hollywood scandal sheet didn’t get its tip through Allgood. You said they didn’t pay anything?”

“That’s right, not in money. They pay in advertising and hot tips.”

Mason said, “See if they’ve been boosting Allgood’s agency, will you? And don’t leave the office. I’m going out. I’ll stop by on my way to the elevator and give you some interesting news. Check up on that scandal sheet and see if it looks as though Allgood is the fair-haired boy-child.”

Mason dropped the receiver into place, said to Allgood, “Well, I won’t detain you. I just wanted you to understand the way I felt about it.”

Allgood started for the door, paused, turned, and jerked his head toward Della Street. “Get her out of here.”

Mason shook his head.

“I have something to say to you.”

“Go ahead and say it then.”

“I notice that police picked up Marvin Adams when he got off the train this morning.”

“Well?”

“I also am advised that you had a highly confidential talk with Marvin Adams before the train pulled in at the depot. He handed you a letter.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“I’m wondering if you told the police about that talk and about the letter.”

Mason said, “I have lots of talks about which I don’t tell the police. My talk with you, for instance. I haven’t told them about that — yet.”

Allgood said, “How would you like it if this Hollywood paper published a little quip to the effect that the police might do well to check up on the distinguished lawyer with whom a certain young man was talking just before the train from El Templo pulled into Los Angeles; that it might be well to ask this young man what the lawyer told him not to mention to the police — and what was in the letter he gave the lawyer. You see, Counselor, when it comes to being nasty, two people can play at that game very nicely.”

Mason motioned to Della Street. “Get Paul Drake on the phone,” he said.

Once more there was a silence while Della Street got the detective on the wire. This time, however, Allgood’s eyes were not shifting around the office. Hard and glittering, they stared defiantly at Perry Mason.

“Here’s Drake,” Della Street said.

Mason said, “Hello, Paul. I’m countermanding that order about having you look up Allgood’s connection with that scandal sheet.”

A triumphant smile twisted Allgood’s face. “I thought you’d see the light, Counselor. After all, we may as well be reasonable. We’re both businessmen.”

Mason waited until Allgood had finished, then said into the telephone, to Paul Drake. “The reason I’m telling you that is because there’s no use wasting time on that angle. Allgood didn’t tip off the man who writes that column... He writes it himself. He owns the damn paper. He’s just given himself away.”

Once more Mason dropped the receiver into place.

Allgood looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach.

Mason said, “You’re not dealing with a tyro now, Allgood. I know my way around. You gave yourself away with that last threat. It’s rather a neat racket. You publish these little innuendoes and hint at scandal. The persons who are affected come running to the office of the publication to find out what can be done about it, and wind up in the hands of the Allgood Detective Agency. In the meantime, some of the big Hollywood moguls are considering buying the paper out so as to put a muzzle on it, and your price is one that will give you about ninety-nine per cent clear profit.”

“You can’t prove one word of that,” Allgood said.

Mason indicated Della Street. “I’m making the statement in the presence of a witness,” he said. “Go ahead and sue me for slander, and give me a chance to prove it! I dare you.”

Allgood paused for a moment uncertainly, then turned and stormed out of the room.

Mason looked at Della Street, smiled. “Well,” he said, “that clears up one angle.”

“What?”

“Where that tip-off came from in the paper. Allgood thought he was going to put the squeeze on Witherspoon. He thought he’d pull the wool completely over my eyes.”

“But you were onto him?”

“Not entirely. I did notice that he’d left the lever depressed on that interoffice communicating system, so the girl in the outer office could hear everything we said. That’s why I told Drake to shadow her. Come on. Let’s beat it for El Templo.”

Della grabbed up her shorthand notebook. “Well,” she said, “our suitcases are still in the car. We might well be commuting. Don’t forget to stop in and see Paul Drake.”

“I won’t. Did you get the gist of that telephone conversation?”

“There’s been another murder?” she asked.

“That’s right.”

“Who?”

“Roland Burr.”

“Have the police made an arrest?”

“Yes.”

“Adams?”

“No. Our esteemed contemporary, John L. Witherspoon. Think that one over.”

They stopped in at Drake’s office. Mason talked, while he kept his eye on the minute hand of his wrist watch. “Get this straight, Paul, and get it fast. There’s been another murder. Roland Burr. The police have arrested John L. Witherspoon. Looks as though they have something of a case.”

“Know what the evidence is?” Drake asked.

“Not yet. Here’s the angle that interests me. Diana Burr, Roland Burr’s wife, originally came from Winterburg City. She was eighteen or nineteen years old at the time of the murder. Latwell and Horace Legg Adams had a fist fight the day Latwell was murdered. Latwell went home, got a gun, and disappeared. That was the last his wife ever saw of him. Looks as though it may have been self-defense.”

“Fight over a woman?” Drake asked.

“Mrs. Dangerfield gave me the information. She wouldn’t say. She’s going to play her cards close to her chest, won’t let me use that statement except privately. But it’s something to work on.”

“Only that we can’t prove it except through her.”

Mason nodded impatiently, said, “All this is preliminary to the point I’m making.”

“What’s that?”

“Diana Burr was a local product. She kept going away and getting married and coming back in between marriages. Roland Burr was her third venture, perhaps her fourth. Now then, if she’d been playing around, there’s just a chance she might have come back to one of her first lovers for her final marriage. Just on the off-chance, Paul, look up Roland Burr. See if he doesn’t have a Winterburg City background.”

“What would it mean if he does?”

“Then see if he knew Corine Hassen,” Mason said.

“Isn’t that all pretty much of a coincidence?” Drake asked.

“Coincidence, hell! If it’s what I think it is, it was careful, deliberate planning. Witherspoon was wide open. Anyone could have laid the foundation to play him for a sucker. His pride in the things he owns, his desire to show them, his enthusiasm for fly-fishing and color photography. Hell’s bells, Paul, it all checks.”

“Checks with what?” Drake asked.

“A design for deliberate, premeditated murder.”

Drake said, “I don’t get you.”

“I haven’t time to explain,” Mason said, starting for the door. “You’ll get it as you dig out the facts.”

“What were you doing with Allgood?”

Mason grinned. “Putting a little pressure on him. The guy gave himself away. Bet you a hundred to one, he’s running that Hollywood scandal sheet. It feeds him business, gives him a chance to utilize the information he gets in his business, and is laying the foundation for a big chunk of money when he gets ready to let go.”

“Then this blonde was acting under his instructions?”

“Darned if I know. They all may have been working on an individual double-cross, but you can bet one thing. He’s the one who published that dope in the scandal sheet. I called on him and gave him something to think about, so he handed it right back to me by cutting out the portion of the column relating to Witherspoon and sending it on to me. If it hadn’t been for my call, he’d probably have sent it on to Witherspoon direct. Witherspoon would have called Allgood to find out about it, and Allgood would have sold him on another investigation at some fabulous price.”

Drake said, “I’ve heard talk about Allgood playing both ends against the middle, but you went pretty far with him, didn’t you, Perry? You can’t prove any of that stuff and...”

“The hell I can’t,” Mason said. “Let him sue me. I’ll start taking depositions, looking at books, and I’ll prove it fast enough.”

“If you’re right,” Drake said, “he won’t sue.”

“He won’t sue,” Mason remarked positively. “Come on, Della. We’re headed for El Templo.”