The Case of the Glamorous Ghost

Chapter number 9

Della Street brought Perry Mason the morning newspapers. Mason tilted back in his swivel chair, opened the newspapers and studied them.

“Paul Drake phoned,” she said. “His men found that Suzanne Granger and Douglas Hepner did have two motel units in Las Vegas just as she told you they did. The date was Friday the thirteenth.”

Mason pursed his lips. “Well, we know what we have to work with now,” he said.

“She takes a nice photograph.” Della Street pointed out the picture in the newspaper, showing Eleanor flanked by a police matron on one side, a detective on the other.

“Yes, Olga evidently got some other clothes out of her closet.”

“She wears them well,” Della Street commented.

“Nice figure,” Mason said.

“And the creamy skin, remember?”

“Oh yes,” Mason said, smiling. “How could I ever forget?”

“So she still can’t remember what happened,” Della Street said.

“That’s it,” Mason told her. “It’s all spread out in choice newspaper jargon. Beautiful heiress — the lost week end — is she a kissless bride or did she settle for a week end at Las Vegas? — ‘My mind is a perfect blank ever since that horrible accident,’ heiress tells officers, choking back sobs.”

“What do they say about the gun?” Della asked.

“She did have a gun once. It’s been missing for some time. She had occasion to look for it when she was packing to run away with Hepner — not that she wanted to take the gun but in going through the articles in the drawer where she usually kept the gun she had occasion to notice that it was missing. And she hasn’t the faintest idea where her luggage is now.”

“I wonder if the police know?” Della Street asked.

Mason said, “According to Paul Drake, Ethel Belan has ‘told all.’ ”

“Do you suppose she has?”

“The police haven’t as yet asked any questions about luggage.”

“And Ethel Belan must have told them...”

The telephone rang.

Della Street picked it up, said, “Hello... Yes, Gertie... Put her on.”

Della Street turned to Perry Mason and said, “A personal call for me, Chief. Some woman says it’s very important.”

Della Street turned back to the telephone. “Hello, yes... I see. Go ahead. Give me the details...”

Della Street hung on to the telephone for nearly a minute, making rapid shorthand notes. Then she put down the pen, said, “All right, Mrs. Fremont. There was nothing else you could have done. It’s all right. Yes, thank you very much and thank you for letting me know.”

Della Street hung up, turned to Perry Mason and said, “Well, Ethel Belan talked all right.”

Mason raised his eyebrows in silent interrogation.

“That was Mrs. Fremont, manager of the apartment house. Lieutenant Tragg showed up there with a search warrant issued by a court granting permission to search my apartment to look for three articles of red and white checkered baggage, the property of Eleanor Corbin, alias Eleanor Hepner, who is accused of murder. They delivered a copy of the search warrant to the manager, demanded a passkey, entered my apartment and found the articles. They left a receipt for the three articles with the manager.”

“Very considerate,” Mason said, “very nice. All in accordance with the law in such cases made and provided.”

“Well?” Della Street asked.

“And what about the gems?” Della asked.

“There,” Mason said, “you have a question.”

“Well, what’s the answer?”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t, who does?”

“Probably no one.”

“Chief, if those gems are evidence, isn’t it illegal for you to withhold that evidence?”

“Evidence of what?” Mason asked.

“Well, evidence of... I don’t know — evidence of smuggling perhaps.”

“What makes you think the stones were smuggled?”

“How about murder?”

“What makes you think the stones have anything to do with the murder? I have a duty to my client. If the police can tie those gems in with a murder case and make them important evidence that’s different, but those gems are in my possession as an attorney. They may be evidence of something else. They might be evidence of blackmail. How do I know? I certainly am not going to take it on myself to assume that they’re connected in any way with the death of Douglas Hepner and turn them over to the police, who will promptly call in the newspaper reporters. It’ll be bad enough the way it is. They’ll go through those bags and inventory the stuff that’s in there. They’ll have a cute little model demonstrate Eleanor’s nighty. You can figure out what’s going to happen.”

“And you intend to sit tight with those gems?”

“As things now stand I intend to sit tight.”

“Suppose they catch you?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, too.”

“Chief, Paul Drake says that the police are absolutely jubilant over this case, that Hamilton Burger, the district attorney, is walking on air, that they’re prepared to lower the boom on you on this one.”

“So what?”

“Can’t you duck it?”

Mason shook his head. “Not now. I’m stuck with it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t hang on to those gems.”

“What do you want me to do? Call up the police?”

“No.”

“What?”

“You can talk with your client and ask her about them and find out...”

“My client says she can’t remember what happened,” Mason interposed.

“Your client is a damn liar!” Della Street said. “You know it, she knows it, and she knows you know it.”

“But,” Mason said, “if she should change her story now and say that she could remember and tell me about those gems, give me some story about where they came from and tell me what I was to do with them, then the probabilities are I’d be charged with notice that the gems were evidence of something. As it is, I don’t know anything about them.”

“Well,” Della Street said, “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later, but I hate to think of Hamilton Burger being so smugly triumphant.”

“So do I,” Mason told her. “But don’t forget he hasn’t won his case yet. He’s trying to jockey things so he can get an immediate trial and that’s going to suit me fine.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for you to wait and see what develops?”

Mason shook his head. “Hamilton Burger isn’t a fast thinker and he isn’t a thorough thinker. If he rushes into court he’s pretty apt to have a weak spot in his armor somewhere. If I give him time that battery of assistants he keeps up there will put him in an impregnable position. As matters now stand we’ll let him start charging forward with the arc light of publicity full upon his portly figure.”

“You think he may stumble?” Della Street asked.

“Well,” Mason said, “I’ll put it this way — he could.”