The Case of the Fabulous Fake

8

Mason returned to Room 767 at the hotel, knocked at the door, and when Stella admitted him said, “Well, I got rid of the bait in the case. She’ll join me at the airport. Let’s hope nothing happens until we get off.”

“You think she’s in danger?”

“Not danger exactly, but this guy Cassel worries me. He may be smarter than I had him pegged. I’ve had an uneasy feeling about Diana ever since I arrived here at the hotel. She left too wide a back trail and—”

The lawyer paused as the sharp rap of knuckles sounded on the door. He turned back and said to Stella Grimes in a low voice, “Those are masculine knuckles and they sound imperative.”

“Cassel coming back?” she asked.

Mason shook his head. “He’s a soft, sneaky knocker. These are the knuckles of authority — either the house detective, or—”

He was interrupted by another knock and a voice said, “Open up, please. This is the police.”

Mason said to Stella Grimes, “Let me do as much of the talking as possible.”

Mason opened the door.

Two plain-clothes men, standing in the hallway, showed surprise as they recognized the lawyer.

“Perry Mason,” one said, “what are you doing here?”

“The question,” Mason said, “is what you are doing here.”

“We prefer to discuss it inside rather than in the corridor,” the spokesman said, and pushed his way into the room, holding in his hand a leather folder displaying a badge. “Los Angeles police,” he said.

“And what brings you here?” Mason asked.

The officers ignored him temporarily, looked at Stella Grimes. One of the officers nodded at the other. “Age twenty-two, five-feet-two, a hundred and sixteen pounds, blonde, blue eyes, good figure,” he said.

The other nodded.

The two officers helped themselves to chairs, and one said, “We want to ask a few questions.”

“Very well,” Mason said, “go ahead.”

“Is your name Diana Douglas?” one of the officers asked Stella Grimes.

“Now, just a minute,” Mason said. “Let’s do this thing in an orderly manner. Why do you come here?”

“We don’t have to tell you that.”

“No, but you have to tell the young woman that. Do you suspect her of a crime?”

“We’re acting on telegraphed instructions from the San Francisco police. We’re trying to get some information. We want to ask some questions, that’s all.”

“Do you suspect this young woman of any crime?”

“We don’t know. We haven’t the faintest idea.”

“You’re acting for the San Francisco police?”

“Yes.”

“Do the San Francisco police suspect her of any crime?”

“We’re not mind readers. We don’t know.”

“Then,” Mason said, “since you’re acting for and on behalf of the San Francisco police, and since you don’t know whether the San Francisco police suspect her of any crime, before she answers any questions you had better advise her as to her constitutional rights.”

“As if she didn’t know them,” the officer said.

Mason smiled. “Tell that to the Supreme Court.”

“All right, all right,” the officer said. “We want you to answer a few questions, Miss. We’re not making any specific charges. We’re not here to take you into custody, but we do want to ask you some questions.

“You are entitled to remain silent if you wish. You don’t have to make any statement. You are entitled to have an attorney represent you at all times. If you don’t have money enough to secure an attorney, we will secure one to act on your behalf. However, we want it understood that anything you do say may be used against you. Now then, do you wish an attorney?”

Stella started to say something when Mason motioned her to silence. “She’s got one,” he said.

“You’re representing her?”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing here — Miss Douglas, is it?”

“She’s here on business,” Mason said.

“What sort of business?”

“Personal business.”

“Miss Douglas, were you aware that a relatively large sum of cash was being kept in the vault at the Escobar Import and Export Company where you work in San Francisco?”

“No comment,” Mason said.

“Now, wait a minute,” the officer said. “You’re injecting yourself into this thing and you’re just making it worse for this young lady. All we’re trying to do is to elicit information.”

“Why?”

“Because San Francisco wants that information.”

“I take it there’s a crime involved?”

“We’re not sure. San Francisco isn’t sure.”

“I think, under the circumstances, my client doesn’t care to answer any questions until the situation is clarified,” Mason said.

“You’re forcing us to report to San Francisco that there’s every likelihood that your client is guilty of a substantial embezzlement.”

“Indeed!” Mason said. “How much of an embezzlement?”

“The audit hasn’t been completed,” the officer said, “but it’s a substantial amount — over twenty thousand dollars.”

“How much?” Mason exclaimed, surprise showing in his voice.

“You heard me, over twenty grand.”

“That’s a lot of money to embezzle from one company,” Mason said.

“There have been embezzlements involving larger sums,” the officer said.

“Then there has been a crime committed in San Francisco?”

“If you’re referring to the embezzlement, it looks that way.”

“And San Francisco suspects my client of embezzling the money?”

“I haven’t said that — yet.”

“But you want to ask questions about it?”

“Listen, Mason, you’re making things rather difficult and you’re getting mighty hard to get along with. All we want to do is to ask your client some questions about how the cash is kept in that company, about who has the authority to draw out cash, and, generally, things about the bookkeeping end of it. For your information, that company seems to keep perfectly huge sums of liquid cash available, and we’d like to know why.

“We’d also like to know how many people have the combination to the vault and how it is possible for a company to run up a shortage of that sort without somebody checking it earlier.”

“It’s been going on for a long time?” Mason asked.

“We don’t know,” the officer said. “That’s what we’re trying to find out. We’re simply trying to get information.”

“But you think my client may have embezzled that money?” Mason asked.

“Not exactly,” the officer said. “I’ll put it this way. We won’t say that we’ve uncovered any evidence which makes it appear that it’s a physical impossibility for her to have been guilty of embezzlement, but, on the other hand, we haven’t uncovered any evidence which points to her — as yet.”

“Except in a circumstantial way,” the other officer said.

“Well, yes,” the spokesman conceded.

Mason smiled and said, “That makes it very plain, gentlemen. My client is entitled to the advice of counsel.”

“That’s right. We told her that. There’s no question about that.”

“And, as her counsel,” Mason said, “I advise her to say absolutely nothing.”

“You won’t even let her talk about the methods of bookkeeping, about the business background of the company?”

“Not a word,” Mason said. “Not even to admit her identity.”

The two officers looked at each other in frustration and disgust.

“That may not be a very smart thing to do,” the spokesman said to Mason.

“Perhaps so,” Mason conceded. “I’m not infallible. I make mistakes every so often... How did San Francisco know enough about the situation to send you two hot-footing to the hotel here?”

The officer grinned. “On the advice of counsel, I decline to answer, Mr. Mason.”

The lawyer was grave. “You’re absolutely entitled to adopt that position. It’s a constitutional privilege. You don’t need to say a word.”

The officers got up, looked belligerently at Stella Grimes.

The spokesman said, “Okay, sister, it’s up to you, but let me tell you, you’re not being very smart. When we walked in we just wanted information.”

“What do you want now?” Mason asked.

“At least twenty grand,” the officer said, and then made a parting shot at the lawyer. “Remember it won’t do you any good to collect a fee out of embezzled money. It can be traced and impounded... I guess that’s all.”

“See you later,” Mason said.

“In court,” the officer promised, and walked out.

Mason motioned for silence, said to Stella Grimes in a low voice, “Be careful what you say. They sometimes wait just outside the door.”

They were silent for more than a minute; then Mason tiptoed to the door, abruptly jerked it open, and looked up and down the hall.

When he saw there was no one there, the lawyer closed the door and said, “Well, that’s a kettle of fish.”

“Twenty thousand dollars,” Stella Grimes said.

Mason shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said, “but I’m on my way to the airport. I’ll take the baggage out of my room which has Diana’s stuff in it and be on my way. I’m catching that six-twenty-seven flight to San Francisco.”

“You’re going to see Diana at the airport?”

Mason nodded, said, “She’ll join me there. Hold the fort, Stella, and play it by ear. Keep in touch with Paul Drake... Better have your meals sent up to the room for at least twenty-four hours. If you leave the room they may bug it.”

She said, “I can get by all right now. What about the switchboard?”

“You’ll have to take a chance on that,” Mason said. “But don’t scatter information around like birdseed. Be cryptic when you call your office, but be sure you get the idea across.”

She nodded.

The lawyer left Room 767, walked down to 789, picked up his suitcase and that of Diana Douglas, and called the desk for a boy to assist him.

“Please ask the cashier to have my bill ready,” Mason told the desk clerk. “I’ve received an unexpected longdistance call and I’ve got to leave at once.”

Mason waited until the boy arrived, gave him the bags and a tip, hurried down to the cashier’s desk, and explained the situation. “I’m Mr. Mason in Room Seven-eighty-nine. I wanted to stay for a day or two, but I’ve received a call which makes it imperative that I leave at once. Now, what can we do about the room? I’ve only been in it a short time. I’ve used a couple of towels, but the bed hasn’t been occupied.”

The cashier shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but we’re going to have to charge you for one full day.”

Mason made a point of protesting the charge. “But you can put in two new towels and rent the room again.”

“I’m sorry, but maid service is cut down at this time of the afternoon and — well, we have a rule, Mr. Mason. I’m sorry.”

“All right,” the lawyer yielded. “Give me the bill.”

He paid in cash, nodded to a bellboy, said, “I want a taxi.”

“There’s one right outside,” the boy said.

Mason gave the boy a good tip, settled himself in the cushions of the taxicab, said in a loud voice, “Take me to the Union Station. Take it easy because I’ve got a couple of telegrams to read and I want to catch the train to Tucson.”

Suddenly Mason, folding the papers which he had taken from his pocket, said, “Hold everything, driver. That telegram really does it.”

“You don’t want the station?” the driver asked.

“Hell, no,” Mason said, “I’ve simply got to get the plane that leaves for Phoenix and Tucson, so get me to the airport just as fast as you can.”

“It’s a bad time of day to hit the airport.”

“I can’t help it, we’ll do the best we can.”

“When’s your plane due out?”

“Five forty-eight,” Mason said.

The cab driver threaded his way through traffic, found a through boulevard, and started making time.

Mason sat forward on the edge of the seat, looking at his watch from time to time, occasionally complimenting the cab driver on the time he was making.

The lawyer got to the airport. The cabby honked the horn for a porter.

Mason whipped the door open, said to the porter, “Get those two suitcases on the plane for Tucson.”

The lawyer handed the cab driver a ten-dollar bill. “Get going, buddy, before some cop catches up with you. That was a swell ride.”

The driver grinned. “This is all for me?”

“Pay the meter and the rest is yours,” Mason said.

The driver threw the car into gear.

When he was out of earshot, Mason hurried after the porter.

“I made a mistake,” he said, “I was thinking about Tucson. Darn it, I want to get in one of those suitcases. Let me have them.” Mason handed the porter a couple of dollars.

“You’ve got your plane ticket?” the porter asked.

“I’ve got it,” Mason said.

The lawyer went into the waiting room and made a quick survey; then went to the airline counter, picked up one of his tickets, paid for both, checked in Diana’s baggage, then walked down to survey the waiting room again. Following this, he strolled casually around, then settled himself comfortably after checking the dummy suitcase in a storage receptacle, and bought a drink.

Five minutes before departure time the lawyer walked in a leisurely manner to the gate and presented his ticket.

“You’ll have to hurry,” the attendant told him. “The last of the passengers is getting aboard now.”

“I’ll walk right along,” Mason promised.

Mason walked through the door, signaled to the guard, and got aboard the plane just before the portable passageway was pulled back into place.

The hostess at the door looked at him chidingly. “You almost didn’t make it,” she said.

Mason smiled. “I almost didn’t, but it’s too hot to hurry.”

“There’s a seat toward the rear.”

“Thank you.”

Mason walked the length of the plane, glancing at the faces of the passengers.

After ten or fifteen minutes he walked forward to the lavatory and again took an opportunity to study the faces of the passengers on the plane.

Diana Douglas was not on board.

Mason rode to San Francisco on the plane, took a taxi to a hotel, registered, had dinner, then called the Willatson Hotel, asked for Room 767, and when he heard Stella Grimes’ cautious voice on the telephone said, “Recognize the voice, Stella?”

“Yes. Where are you?”

“San Francisco. Did you hear anything from your double?”

“Not a word.”

“She was to have taken the same plane I did, but she didn’t show up. She didn’t leave any message with you?”

“Not a word. I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Anything from anybody else?”

“Nothing.”

Mason said, “I think we’ve been given a complete runaround on this case, Stella. I’ll keep my appointment at ten-thirty tomorrow morning and if nothing happens then we’ll wash our hands of the whole business.”

“Okay by me. Do I report to you if anything happens?”

“Keep in touch with your employer and I’ll contact him. Do you still have your working bra?”

“I have it.”

“Keep it,” Mason said, “and sleep tight.”