The Case of the Fenced-In Woman

Chapter 11

The phone was ringing as Mason opened the door of his bungalow.

The lawyer kicked the door shut, hurried across to the telephone and picked it up at the end of the third ring.

“Hello,” he said.

“There’s a long-distance call for Mr. Perry Mason from Los Angeles,” the operator said.

“This is Mr. Mason talking.”

“Just a moment.”

Almost at once Mason heard Paul Drake’s voice on the line. “Hi, Perry.”

“Hello, Paul. How did you locate me?”

“Detective work and deduction,” Drake said. “I knew you were headed for Las Vegas, that Genevieve Hyde worked in the place where you’re staying, and felt sure you’d register there.”

“I’m here,” Mason said. “Also, Lieutenant Tragg is here.”

“How did he get there?”

“Apparently followed me. After I took off for Las Vegas, Tragg telephoned the local police to pick up my trail as soon as I arrived. Then he grabbed a plane, came over here and joined them.”

“They got anything?” Drake asked.

“That’s quite a question,” Mason said. “Nadine Palmer was hitting the tables pretty heavy and doing a good job of it. They came down on her with a search warrant and recovered a bunch of money.”

“Well, they’ve uncovered lots here,” Drake said. “I think your clients are in a mess, Perry.”

“My clients?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

“It sounded as though you had an ‘s’ on the end of that,” Mason said. “And Lieutenant Tragg keeps referring to my clients in the plural. As far as I’m concerned I only have one client in this case, and that’s Morley Eden.”

“I think you’ve got two,” Drake said. “I think they’re together.”

“Who’s together?”

“Morley Eden and Vivian Carson.”

“But that’s absurd,” Mason said. “Good heavens, Paul, they wouldn’t...”

The lawyer’s voice trailed away as the idea germinated in his mind even while he was formulating the words pointing out its absurdity.

“Exactly,” Drake said, as Mason remained silent.

“Go ahead, Paul,” Mason said, “give me the facts. What have they uncovered?”

“They’ve found Loring Carson’s automobile.”

“Where?”

“In Vivian Carson’s garage.”

“You mean out at Morley Eden’s house? Or...”

“No, in the garage at her apartment.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “Give me the facts, Paul.”

“Well, all I know is that after Carson and his wife separated she went to an apartment house where each apartment has a private garage space — an underneath, two-car garage that goes with the apartment. Now, Mrs. Carson was staying there in her apartment until Saturday when she got her surveyor and crew of construction workers and went out and ran the fence right through the middle of Eden’s house. Then, of course, she moved in.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Naturally she moved in on a hurry-up basis. She took what stuff she could carry in her automobile, and of course she retained possession of her Hollywood apartment. In fact, she has it on a lease.”

“And that’s where they found the car?”

“That’s where they found the car.”

“How did they happen to go there to look for it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any chance Loring Carson left it there himself?”

“No. That’s where you come in on the deal, Perry. Both of them left it there.”

“You mean Loring and Vivian?”

“No, I mean Vivian and Morley Eden.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m not, but the police are. They have a witness who has made a positive identification of Morley Eden.”

“Just one witness?” Mason asked.

“How many do you expect on a deal of that sort?”

“It’s a mistake,” Mason said. “Vivian may have been mixed up in it and may have parked the car, but Morley Eden wasn’t with her. That’s for sure. Eyewitnesses can be mistaken lots of times.”

“I know,” Drake said, “but there are certain things to keep in mind. Vivian Carson was all mixed up in this divorce case with charges of weekend trysts and all that. In the minds of the neighbors she became a scarlet woman.”

“What does that have to do with it?” Mason asked.

Drake said, “You know how one woman always likes to spy on an erring sister. It’s an interest that’s composed partially of curiosity, partially of envy, and—”

“Forget the philosophy,” Mason said, “even if it is your nickel that’s paying for the call.”

“Oh, but I’m putting it on my expense account,” Drake said, “and I like to philosophize.”

“Well, I don’t. Things are moving too fast. What happened?”

“This neighbor heard Vivian’s garage door being raised. She rushed to the window to see what Vivian was up to and whether Vivian was alone. She saw Vivian and a man she identifies as Morley Eden. Vivian parked the car. Morley Eden was running around helping her very solicitously. Then he lowered the garage door, she locked it, and they walked rapidly away. That car they drove into the garage was Carson’s missing auto.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “That gives them a good case against Eden and Vivian Carson, and now they’ve got a good case against Nadine Palmer. We’ll see how many more murderers Lieutenant Tragg can uncover at this end.”

“Be careful you aren’t one,” Drake said jokingly. “When are you coming back, Perry?”

“Sometime tomorrow morning. I’m hoping they’ll turn Nadine Palmer loose after they’ve given her a shakedown at Headquarters.”

“Now that they’ve found Loring’s car they won’t hold her,” Drake said. “They’ll drop her like a hot potato. They won’t want the newspapers to get hold of the fact they had another suspect.”

“Now that,” Mason said, “is a whale of an idea. Particularly since I’m not representing Nadine Palmer in any way, I don’t owe her a thing. Thanks for the suggestion.”

“What suggestion?” Drake asked.

“Yours,” Mason said. “Ring up the wire services. Tell them that you have a hot tip on a news story, that Las Vegas police have just picked up Nadine Palmer and that she’s held for questioning in connection with the murder of Loring Carson. Tell them to check with their Las Vegas office. Don’t give them your name. Tell them it’s just a tip. Be sure they get Nadine Palmer’s name right and then hang up.”

“Okay,” Drake said, “can do. Anything else, Perry?”

“That’s enough for a while,” Mason said. He put down the receiver, ran exploring fingers over the angle of his jaw, picked up the telephone, asked for the bell captain and said, “This is Perry Mason in two-o-seven. I’ve got to have some overnight things; an electric razor, toothbrush, hairbrush and comb, and—”

Abruptly he stopped, his eyes fixed on a dark brown briefcase at the far end of the room.

“Yes, Mr. Mason,” the bell captain said, “was there something else?”

“I’ll call you back in a moment,” Mason said, “but start lining up those things for me, if you will.”

“We may not be able to get you the brand of electric razor you’d like. We—”

“That’s all right,” Mason said. “Get whatever one is available or get a safety razor and a shaving cream dispenser. I’ll call you back.”

“We’ll be working on it,” the bell captain said.

Mason hung up, crossed to the briefcase, picked it up and looked at it.

It was of a good grade of heavy leather, dark brown in color, was unlocked, and in gilt letters underneath the hasp was the printed name, “P. MASON.”

Mason snapped the catch, opened the briefcase and looked inside.

The interior was well filled with an orderly array of folded documents.

Mason pulled out one of the documents. It was a bond in the sum of five thousand dollars, issued by a utility company and payable to A. B. L. Seymour.

The lawyer quickly riffled through the contents of the briefcase, not taking the papers out individually but making enough of a survey to realize that the briefcase was crammed with negotiable securities, all issued to A. B. L. Seymour, and apparently all of them were endorsed in blank with the signature of A. B. L. Seymour.

Mason closed the briefcase, returned to the telephone and once more called the bell captain and identified himself. “How about baggage?” he asked. “Could I get any at this time of night?”

“Oh, yes. There’s a luggage shop here in the building. It stays open until quite late.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “I want a suitcase and a briefcase. I want each stamped with the name ‘P. MASON’ in gold letters.

“I want toilet articles and I’m in a terrific hurry. Will you see what you can do?”

“Right away. You want the name ‘P. MASON’ stamped in gold?”

“That’s right.”

“Would you prefer to have it ‘PERRY MASON’?”

“No. I want ‘P. MASON.’ And spend whatever money you need to get a rush job. I’ll go to thirty dollars in tips alone.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mason, we’ll get busy.”

The lawyer jiggled the phone, got the operator and placed a long-distance call to Della Street at her apartment.

“In bed, Della?” he asked when he heard her voice on the line.

“Heavens, no. I was reading. How are things coming over there?”

“Not too hot,” Mason said. “I’m running into a frame-up of some sort.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quick with alarm.

“I don’t know,” Mason told her, “but somebody is planting evidence in this case and someone has planted evidence on me.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”

“Who planted it?”

“Probably the murderer,” Mason said. “And because it couldn’t have been Morley Eden or Vivian Carson, it must have been someone else.

“Now it could conceivably have been Nadine Palmer, in which event she’s a very smart, very clever, very dangerous operator. If it wasn’t she, I just don’t have any idea who it could have been unless it was Genevieve Hyde, and she gives me the impression of being straightforward and frank.”

“The straightforward, frank ones are the dangerous ones,” Della said.

“I know it,” Mason told her. “She’s an actress. She makes her living by putting on a good show. She gets a man all enthused over the idea of gambling. She builds him up to a point where it’s easy come, easy go, and then when things go the other way she encourages him to keep on plunging until he’s had enough. By that time she manages very adroitly to withdraw herself from the picture so that there are no hard feelings.”

“That,” Della Street said, “is a job!”

“It is,” Mason said, “but she has help; very expert feminine help that is working in a combination they understand perfectly. They have all the coordinated skill of a football team making a trick play to open up the enemy’s lines.”

“And someone has turned that combination loose on you?”

“Someone has turned that combination loose on me,” Mason said.

“I think I’d better get over there and look around,” she said. “Don’t you think you could use me?”

“I know I could use you,” Mason told her, “but there won’t be time for you to get here. If I can get rid of the hot stuff that has been dumped in my lap as a part of this frame-up I’ll be on my way back to Los Angeles before you arrive. My bungalow number is two-o-seven. If you don’t hear from me by morning, start checking.”

“Okay,” she said, “but I wish I could get there and give you some feminine support. It takes a woman to undo the machinations of another woman. A man is as helpless as a fly trapped in the gossamer of a spider web.”

“You sound almost poetic,” Mason told her.

“I don’t mean to be. I’m trying to frighten you. I could get there by midnight or soon after and—”

“The situation here will come to a head before that,” Mason said. “I’ll probably be on my way back by that time, unless I’m in jail.”

“Take care of yourself,” she pleaded.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, and said good night.

The lawyer remained in his room, impatiently pacing the floor, looking at his wristwatch a dozen times every ten minutes.

At length the phone rang. Mason hurriedly picked it up.

“Hello.”

“Mr. Mason?”

“Yes.”

“This is the bell captain. I’ll be right down with the things. We have everything.”

“That’s fine,” Mason told him.

A few moments later the bell captain arrived with a suitcase, opened it and removed a briefcase and a small nylon toilet kit.

“I just had to use my judgment, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I—”

“Fine,” Mason told him. “How much does it amount to?”

“We have one hundred and one dollars and thirty-five cents here. Now, if that’s satisfactory...”

“That’s quite satisfactory,” Mason said, handing him a hundred-dollar bill and a fifty-dollar bill, “and I certainly appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Thanks a lot,” the bell captain said. “If that luggage isn’t satisfactory...”

“But it is,” Mason said, inspecting the luggage. “It’s just what I wanted. I’m glad that you were able to get the lettering done tonight.”

“Caught them just as they were closing up,” the captain said. “They keep open at night, you know. That’s when most of the curios are sold, and the luggage store is part of the curio shop. Thank you very much, Mr. Mason. If there’s anything else we can do for you, just let us know.”

“I will,” Mason promised.

Mason opened the briefcase he had found in his room, transferred the negotiable securities to the new briefcase, put the empty briefcase in the new suitcase, locked the suitcase, put the key in his pocket and sauntered out to the casino, aware that the plainclothes detective was following only a few feet behind.

After a few moments at the tables the young woman who had pressed against him when she was making her bets came over toward him with eyes sparkling.

“I just wanted to say thanks.”

“For what?” Mason asked.

“For luck. My, but you brought me luck! I was having hard sledding until I came over to where you were standing and... Well, I got off balance and...” She paused, smiled and said, “Then I brushed against you — against your arm...”

“I remember,” Mason said.

“Well, that contact certainly brought me luck,” she said.

“Perhaps I could bring you some more,” Mason told her.

“I’ve had plenty for one evening.”

“How about a drink?”

“That could probably be arranged,” she said archly but with invitation in her eyes.

“You come here often?” Mason asked, leading her to the bar.

“I’m here most of the time,” she said. “I can’t stay away from gambling. How did you do tonight?”

“Fairly well,” Mason told her. “Nothing spectacular.”

“Well, you certainly can give a person luck by induction.”

“It was a pleasure to me,” Mason said.

She laughed nervously. “I brushed against you rather intimately.”

The waiter stood at their table.

“A Scotch and soda, Bob,” she said.

“A gin and tonic for me,” Mason ordered.

When the waiter had left, Mason turned to her. “My name is Mason,” he said.

“How do you do, Mr. Mason? I’m Paulita Marchwell.”

“You live here?” Mason asked. “In Las Vegas.”

“And the tables have a fatal fascination for you?”

“I love it here. I just love the place, the atmosphere, the people, the action — the whole thing. I guess gambling is in my blood.

“However, let’s talk about you. You don’t live here, do you? You have ‘big businessman’ stamped all over you, only you’re different from most of the businessmen. There’s an alert something about you... You’re not a doctor?... You... Good heavens! Is your first name Perry?”

Mason nodded.

“Perry Mason, the famous lawyer!” she exclaimed. “Good Lord, I should have known — there’s something outstanding about you, something that creates the impression of being a tower of strength. Now that sounds very sophomoric, Mr. Mason, but... Well, I’m going to make a confession. I had noticed you earlier in the evening. Weren’t you with some woman?”

“One of the hostesses here, I believe. A Miss Hyde.”

“Oh, Genevieve,” she said. “I...”

She paused and laughed.

“Why the light laughter?” Mason asked.

“I know her well.”

“Friends?”

“Not exactly. Speaking acquaintances. And — well, I guess you could call it friends in a way. We... we get along.”

The waiter brought their drinks.

“Here’s to you,” Mason said.

She clicked glasses with the lawyer. Her eyes, enormous under her short, gamin haircut, looked over the rim of the glass with appreciation she made no attempt to disguise.

“Have you lived here long?” Mason asked.

She said nervously, “I came here for the cure.”

“The cure?” Mason asked.

“You know. The six-weeks’ cure. Live here six weeks, establish a residence, get rid of your marital mistake and be on your way to commit fresh follies.

“However, in my case I liked it here so well that I just stayed on. You get to know the place and the people and — well, it’s fascinating, Mr. Mason, completely, utterly fascinating.”

“Then,” Mason said, “you’re Mrs. Marchwell, rather than—”

“Paulita, to you,” she said, flashing him a sultry glance. “What are you here for, Mr. Mason? Business?”

“In a way,” Mason said.

“Not business involving Genevieve, is it?”

“It’s hard to say who may become involved.”

“Genevieve,” she said, “is quite a girl.”

“She seems to be.”

“She goes overboard every now and then.”

“You mean for some man?”

She nodded.

Mason waited.

“Some big-shot contractor from Los Angeles made a play for her and she was crazy about him and then he— Well, he kept making passes at me and I think Genevieve is furious.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “The name wouldn’t be Carson, would it?”

She stiffened abruptly. Her eyes changed expression. Her countenance became a poker face of immobility.

“Well?” Mason asked.

“How did you know?”

“My business concerns Carson, in a way.”

“In what way?”

“He’s dead.”

“Dead!”

Mason nodded. “Murdered.”

“Good heavens!” Paulita exclaimed. “You... When did all this happen?”

“This morning sometime, or perhaps early afternoon.”

For several seconds she was silent, then she heaved a deep sigh. “Well,” she said, “that’s the way things go. Poor Loring. He was a good guy — once a person got to understand him.”

Again she lapsed into silence.

“Does Genevieve know?” she asked at length.

Mason nodded.

She said, “Genevieve was really wrapped up in him. She... So that’s why she came back from Los Angeles so early.”

“Back from Los Angeles?” Mason asked, instantly attentive.

She nodded.

“You mean Genevieve was in Los Angeles today?”

“Sure. She took the plane yesterday and stayed overnight. I thought she was going to stay overnight tonight, but she was back here around four o’clock in the afternoon.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed.

Paulita said, “You’re looking very professional, Mr. Mason. I suppose it’s because she didn’t tell you she’d been in Los Angeles; but I must warn you, Genevieve is one of the most secretive persons I know. When you get to know her better you’ll find she won’t lie, but she certainly can lead you to reach false conclusions by simply keeping silent.”

“You’re sure she was in Los Angeles?” Mason asked.

“Of course I’m sure. She came back on the plane that gets in here shortly after four o’clock; four-seventeen, or four-nineteen, something like that. I saw her come in on the bus from the airport. She—”

Lieutenant Tragg’s voice said, “I’m very sorry to interrupt, Perry, but another matter has come up. Now, you’ve already met Sergeant Camp. And this is Miss...”

Tragg turned inquiringly to the young woman.

“Marchwell,” Mason said. “This is Miss Marchwell. There was something that you wanted, Lieutenant?”

“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry to bother you and it seems to me we’re making confounded nuisances of ourselves, Mason, but Sergeant Camp has received an anonymous tip — one of those things that are the nightmare of all police investigators. However, this one is something that we can’t ignore. It was a tip that was sent in over the telephone and it was— Well, we thought we’d better check it, that’s all.

“We don’t want to bother you, Mason, and I certainly hate to interrupt a tête-à-tête, but perhaps you could answer that question.”

“What question?” Mason asked.

“We’d like to know if your clients, either Vivian Carson or Morley Eden, paid you a fee in negotiable securities — stocks, bonds or things of that sort.”

“They did not.”

“Let’s get right down to brass tacks,” Sergeant Camp said. “Did either of your clients give you some negotiable securities made in the name of Seymour?”

“No.”

“Did your clients, or either of them, ask you to do anything in connection with converting negotiable securities into cash?”

“No.”

“Or are you keeping any securities for your clients, or either of them, or did they give you any instructions in connection with any securities which they turned over to you either directly or indirectly?”

“No.”

Tragg looked at Camp. “Mason won’t lie.”

“I still say we’ve got to investigate his room,” Sergeant Camp said.

Lieutenant Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “Perry Mason is truthful. He’ll either run you around in circles or he’ll drag a red herring across the trail, or he’ll squeeze out of things some way, but if he tells you something definitely and straight from the shoulder, it’s true.”

“I have to investigate this tip,” Sergeant Camp said doggedly.

“How do you propose to investigate it?” Mason asked.

“Would you mind stepping down to your room for a moment?”

“I’m busy at the moment.”

“That’s quite all right,” Tragg said. “We’ll sit down over here at a table and when you’re finished we’ll go on down to your room. Or perhaps you’d like to let us have your key and—”

“You got a warrant?” Mason asked.

“We don’t really need a warrant,” Camp said, “but we can get one. This is a public hotel and the management is always willing to cooperate.”

“My baggage isn’t public,” Mason said, “but I’m willing to cooperate. However, I don’t want to leave...”

Paulita Marchwell said hurriedly, “No, no. You go with the gentlemen, Mr. Mason. I certainly don’t want to interfere in anything of this sort.”

She smiled at Sergeant Camp. “I know the Las Vegas police would want to cooperate with me in every way, and I want to cooperate with them.”

She got to her feet, gave Mason her hand. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Mason. Perhaps I can see you again under other circumstances when you can — have more time.”

She gave him a significant look, turned and floated away.

Mason pushed back his unfinished drink and said, “Well, you fellows certainly seem to have spoiled things for me there.”

“You can always begin again where you left off,” Sergeant Camp told him. “Let’s go.”

Mason said, “All my baggage is here in my room.”

“You came over here in a hurry, didn’t you, Mason?” Tragg asked.

“I do many things in a hurry.”

“You bring any baggage?”

Mason said, “All my baggage is here in my room.”

Tragg said, “Well, we’ll only detain you a moment, Mason. We have an anonymous tip that you have a briefcase full of securities that were the property of Loring Carson, a briefcase with the words ‘P. MASON’ stamped on it. You carried it here from Los Angeles.”

Mason said nothing.

Sergeant Camp saw and pounced on the briefcase.

“Here it is,” he said to Lieutenant Tragg.

Tragg’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked at Mason, then back to Camp.

“Open it,” he said.

Sergeant Camp opened it.

“So you say he’s truthful!” he exclaimed.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tragg said. “This is the first time I’ve ever known him to tell a lie.”

“What do you mean a lie?” Mason asked. “You didn’t ask me if I had a briefcase filled with securities. You asked me if I had securities given me by either Vivian Carson or Morley Eden. Every one of your questions related to securities I had received from them.”

“Okay, okay,” Tragg said. “Let’s agree that my questions may have been misleading. Now where did you get these securities?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Simply that I can’t tell you.”

“Nuts to all that stuff,” Camp said. “You can do whatever you want to, Tragg, but I wouldn’t believe this guy on oath. We’re taking this briefcase.”

“Inventory the contents,” Mason said.

“Nuts,” Camp repeated. “We’ll take the inventory at Headquarters. Come on, Tragg.”

The two officers marched out of the room, taking the briefcase with them.

Mason walked over to pick up the phone. “When’s the next plane to Los Angeles?” he asked.