The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Chapter 14

Mason and Della Street sat in Mason’s private office. Mason had passed out word that he would see no one during the morning. They both showed somewhat the effects of the cold, sleepless night, a night packed with excitement, perplexing problems, and risks. Mason had not as yet been shaved and now that the excitement was over Della Street’s eyes showed she was dog tired.

“I don’t know how you and Paul Drake take it the way you do,” she said. “When I lose a night’s sleep and have a lot of excitement — and then the letdown — gosh, Chief, I feel all in.”

“Why don’t you go home and go to bed, Della? There’s nothing you can do now.”

“Not me. I’m going to see it through.”

Mason ran his fingertips over the angle of his jaw, felt the bristling tips of his stubble, and said, “There was a time when you could get a barber to do a shaving job in the office. The best antidote for a sleepless night is a Turkish bath and the second best thing is a shave and a massage with plenty of hot towels.”

“I could use a massage myself,” Della said. “Gosh, Chief, it’s after eight o’clock. You’d certainly think that if she were in the apartment she’d have been moving or...”

The phone rang with sharp insistence.

Della Street pounced on the receiver, said, “Yes? Hello... Oh, yes. Just a minute, Paul.”

She handed the receiver to Mason, said, “Paul Drake. He’s excited.”

Mason picked up the telephone, heard Drake’s voice saying, “You win all along the line, Perry.”

“What?”

Drake said, “They started moving around in the apartment about ten minutes ago. The blonde was in a robe. She came to a window, closed it, raised up the curtains. That makes that window a bedroom window, doesn’t it?”

“I’d say so,” Mason agreed, his voice showing excitement. “How about anyone else?”

“One of my men picked up a man standing in the window.”

“Description?”

“About thirty-five as nearly as my man could tell by using his binoculars and of course taking into consideration that he’s looking into a room where the illumination isn’t too good.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said, eagerly. “Give us the rest of it, Paul.”

“My open five figures this guy at around five feet eight, about a hundred and sixty-five to a hundred and seventy pounds, dark hair, and as nearly as he can tell dark eyes.”

Mason said, “That’s just about Shelby’s description, Paul. How about the front door? This bird didn’t come in...?”

“No. He’s been there all the time — at least she hasn’t had any visitors. My men have been watching the front of the apartment house. No one has rung her bell. A lot of people have gone out, but no one that answers this bird’s description has gone in, and there’s been absolutely no one for apartment 16B.”

Mason said, “That’s all we want, Paul. We’re off.”

“Can I help?”

“Better come along and be a witness,” Mason said.

“Okay. Where do I pick you up?”

“You don’t. Are you at the office now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll come by the office.”

“Going to Sergeant Dorset?”

“Lieutenant Tragg,” Mason said, “I think we can go to him now. Dorset will be antagonistic.”

“Okay. I’ll be ready.”

Mason hung up, said to Della Street, “It clicks.”

“What?”

“Scott Shelby is in her apartment.”

“You’re sure?”

“A man’s in her bedroom and he answers Shelby’s description as nearly as Drake’s operative can pick him up through binoculars, looking through the window. He didn’t come in through the front door. He’s been there all night.”

“Gosh, Chief, that’s swell. This really will be something.”

Mason said, “That shows the danger of relying on circumstantial evidence. There was an airtight murder case built up against Marion Shelby. The only trouble with it was that it was just too airtight. You can’t imagine a woman being that obvious, being that naive, and being that stupid. Anyone who reads the newspapers, goes to the movies, or reads a detective story would know that those methods were just too crude to pay off. Marion Shelby isn’t that dumb.”

“You said you wanted Lieutenant Tragg?”

“If you can get him,” Mason said.

Della Street called Police Headquarters, asked for Homicide, and then for Lieutenant Tragg.

“Just a moment, Lieutenant. Mr. Mason wants to speak with you.”

She held the receiver out to Mason.

Mason picked it up, said, “Hello, Lieutenant. What’s new?”

“I understand you have another client in a murder case,” Tragg said.

“That’s right.”

“I think you’re going to get stuck this time, Mason. Take my advice and bail out.”

“In too deep now,” Mason said. “I want to talk with you, Lieutenant.”

“When?”

“Right now. Just as soon as I can possibly see you.”

“Is it that urgent? I’m working on this...”

“It’s that urgent,” Mason said.

“It would have to be terribly urgent,” Tragg went on.

“It is.”

“What’s it about?”

“About that murder.”

“Well, what about it?”

“I have some new evidence I want to put in your hands.”

“Now, look, Mason, if you’ve got something that indicates your client is innocent, and you’re just wanting to outline some theory so that I won’t ‘make a fool of myself,’ forget it. It will keep. The thing I’m working on now is important.”

“This won’t keep,” Mason said. “This is evidence.”

“What sort of evidence?”

“Evidence that will make it bad for the whole department if you go any farther on that Marion Shelby business.”

“Bunk! Marion Shelby is so guilty she doesn’t even dare to talk. She can’t even try to explain the facts against her. They’re too black.”

“I don’t care how black the facts are,” Mason said, “but if you go ahead without listening to me, you’re going to be the sorriest man in town.”

“Well, tell me what the evidence is.”

“I can’t very well over the telephone.”

“It’ll keep,” Tragg said. “Nothing is going to happen to the girl. She is sitting tight in jail and it won’t make any difference if I see you this afternoon or tomorrow or...”

“The hell it won’t!” Mason interrupted angrily. “I’ve got something to dump on the table for you.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Very well, if you want to know, it’s the corpse,” Mason said.

“What corpse?”

“The corpse of Scott Shelby.”

“Now then,” Tragg said, suddenly suave and interested, “you have something, Mr. Mason. While we probably can establish a corpus delicti independent of the statement of the defendant, we nevertheless would like to find the corpse very very much.”

“Well, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to hand you the corpse.”

“Where is it?”

“If you want to know,” Mason said, “it’s walking around very much alive and well, and it’s in a girl’s apartment. If you go ahead and hand out any stuff to the newspapers about Marion Shelby, you’re going to be the sorriest man in town when you have to put handcuffs on the corpse.”

Lieutenant Tragg whistled. “Insurance?” he asked.

“Partially.”

“Wife in on it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You’re not kidding me?”

“No.”

“How soon can you get here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes hell,” Tragg said impatiently. “Make it five. Step on it. My God, I can go from one end of town to the other in ten minutes.”

“You have a siren,” Mason said.

“Well, you’ve got something just as good,” Tragg told him. “If you’ve got a lead on that corpse, you get here and tell any cop who tries to stop you that I said... Hell’s bells, I’ll come to you. Where are you?”

“My office.”

“Sit tight until I get there,” Tragg said. “Better yet go down and wait at the curb, and it won’t be over five minutes.”

Mason heard the phone slam at the other end of the line, grinned at Della Street, said, “I’m going down to Paul Drake’s office, pick him up, go down and be waiting at the curb for Tragg. You wait here to make sure that we make connections. In case anything should happen, you can contact us down at the lobby.”

“How long do I wait?”

“Tragg said he’d be here in five minutes. Give him ten. Give us that much margin of safety. If you don’t hear from us in ten minutes, go on down to the lobby. If we’re gone, that will mean we’re with Tragg. So go home and go to sleep.”

“And I can’t go with you?”

“Not a chance. This is official. This is police stuff.”

“I’d like to see it through.”

“I know you would, but there’s nothing we can do about it. I’ll take Tragg around there and you go on home and get some sleep. Go to a beauty parlor and get all the facial massages, and whatever it is they do to make a woman feel good, and put the bill on the expense account. Get the whole works.”

“When will I see you?” Della asked.

“Probably tomorrow,” Mason said. “I’m going to get this thing cleaned up, go to a Turkish bath, get a shave, face massage, sleep for about fifteen hours, and then get up and have something to eat.”

“Okay, I’ll be seeing you.”

Mason grabbed his hat, opened the door, and went down the corridor to Drake’s office.

Drake was waiting in the reception office as Mason opened the door. His hat was on the back of his head and he was giving some last-minute instructions to the girl at the switchboard.

Mason said, “Okay, Paul, we’re ready to go. Tragg is coming here. He thought he could get here quicker than we could get up there.”

“Gosh,” Drake said, “you must have made a sale.”

“I did.”

“How did you do it?”

“I had to lead with my chin.”

“What?”

“Told him I was going to show him the body of Scott Shelby.”

Drake grinned and said, “I’ll bet that got him. They must have been worried about their corpus delicti.”

“I think they were, but I went farther than that.”

“What?”

“I told him I’d show him the body walking around alive and well.”

“I’ll bet that got him.”

“That got him,” Mason said. “Let’s go down and wait in the lobby. He’ll be in a hurry when he gets here.”

“Gosh, I’d like to go in my car. I hate to go screaming around corners with Tragg when he’s in a hurry. He certainly does bear down on the siren.”

“It’s all right,” Mason said. “Let’s not let him stop long enough to think.”

“Why?”

“Because if he does, he’ll think I’m going over Sergeant Dorset’s head or something and will insist on referring me back to Dorset or else having Dorset in on the play.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? We’ve got the play sewed up.”

“I don’t like it,” Mason said. “I want to get Tragg on the job. Tragg can handle a thing of that sort. He has brains. Dorset is an opinionated cuss. Come on, Paul, let’s go.”

Drake said to the girl at the switchboard, “I’ll call in just as soon as I can get to a telephone. Keep those reports all piled up and keep everybody on the job. They all have their instructions but I want to make certain they stay put. Okay, Perry, let’s go.”

They went down in the elevator and had been standing at the curb for less than thirty seconds when they heard the scream of a siren and a moment later Lieutenant Tragg shot through the frozen traffic, slammed the Police Department car to a stop at the curb, said to Mason, “Hop in. Hello, Drake. You in on this too?”

“He’s in on it,” Mason said.

“Get in,” Tragg said, and then after a moment added, “Hang on.”

Mason and Drake settled themselves. Mason barked out the address of the apartment house.

“Okay,” Tragg said. “I hope you boys aren’t nervous.”

“We aren’t,” Mason said.

“Speak for yourself,” Paul Drake announced, bracing himself and hanging on to the robe rail. “Some people haven’t got sense enough to be scared. I’m smart. I’m frightened.”

“Then hang on tight,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “because you’re going to be more frightened by the time you get to where we’re going. I’m in a hell of a hurry.”

The siren throbbed and rose into a crescendo of strident demand for the right of way. The car gathered speed.

From time to time Tragg threw comments back over his shoulder. “Getting so they try to chisel on a siren. I’ll have to send some of the boys out to pick up a few of these guys... That’s the worst of civilians. They think there isn’t any emergency that can compare with their own requirements... Look at this bird trying to sneak around the corner...”

“Look out!” Drake screamed.

A car coming fast down a side street slammed on brakes and went into a skid as it saw the police car flashing into the intersection, siren screaming, red light blazing.

Drake threw one look at the skidding car, saw that it was going to hit them, and dove to the floorboards.

Tragg swung the wheel with a deft twist of his wrist, sent the police car into a skid which swung it out of the way of the civilian sedan. Then he fought his way out of the skid and straightened out half way down the block.

“Damn fool,” he announced over his shoulder.

From the floorboards Drake’s voice came up pleadingly. “Please, please, would you mind going where you’re going and doing the talking after you get there?”

Tragg laughed, said, “Tell your friend, the detective, to brace himself, Mason. We’re taking a corner.”

“Hold on,” Mason warned. “We’re taking a corner, Paul.”

“Hold on?” Drake demanded indignantly. “Who the hell do you think is pulling this footrail out by the roots?”

The car swung wide, then lurched into a screaming turn.

“About four blocks up on this street, right-hand side,” Mason said.

“Okay. I’d better cut out the siren.”

Tragg cut the siren, slowed the car down. “What’s the play?” he asked.

Mason said, “The woman is Ellen Cushing. He’s in her apartment. She doesn’t know Paul Drake and she doesn’t know you. She knows me. I think I can get you in on the theory that I want to talk about an oil lease.”

“Then what?” Tragg asked. “I haven’t all day to fool around, beating about the bush.”

“You want to get the evidence, don’t you?”

“You said the evidence was in her apartment.”

“Sure it is, but give her a chance to lead with her chin first,” Mason pleaded. “Let her get herself tied up. I want to pin a conspiracy charge on her and I don’t want it to be hashed up.”

“Okay. You do the talking,” Tragg said. “I’ll be a clam but don’t stall around too long because I’m in a hurry. I’ve got things to do this morning.”

Lieutenant Tragg slammed the car to a stop. “Come on up for air, Drake,” he called over his shoulder.

Drake, his face actually pale, jerked down the handle on the door, got out, and said, “If you think I’m going to ride back with you, you’re crazy as a pet coon.”

Mason, walking up the steps, said, “The apartment is 16B, Lieutenant. If you’ll pretend you’re interested in buying an oil lease, I think we can get her out on the end of a limb.”

“Lead the way,” Tragg said.

Mason punched the button.

The electric buzzer released the catch on the door. Mason pushed it open, held it open for Lieutenant Tragg and Drake.

“What’s the floor?” Tragg asked.

“The second,” Drake said.

“You’ve been up here before?”

“No, I’ve had men on the job spotting the apartment.”

“Shelby sweet on her?”

“Apparently.”

“How did he get here?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. My hunch is he swam downstream, she picked him up in a rowboat, put him in her car and brought him here.”

“Then there should be some evidence in the car. Wet clothes or something.”

“Could be,” Mason said noncommittally. “Takes a police officer to get all the angles on a deal like this, Paul.”

“We should make certain no one tampers with her car,” Tragg said.

“My men are on the job all over the place,” Drake assured him.

“Okay. You do the talking, Perry.”

They left the elevator. Mason found the apartment and jabbed the button. The door was almost instantly opened by Ellen Cushing. She looked fresh and fit, ready for the street.

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Mason,” she said. “You’re just the man I wanted to see.”

“And I wanted to see you. This is Mr. Tragg and Mr. Drake. They’re associated with me in a matter on which I’m working. — I presume you heard about Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes, I heard about it this morning,” she said. “I rang his office and a detective answered the phone. He wanted to know all about me and who I was, took my number. Tell me, what are the details, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said, “He went out on a yachting trip with Parker Benton.”

“Yes, I know. Weren’t you along?”

“That’s right.”

“He was going to try to make some settlement on that oil lease, I understand.”

“That’s right.”

“And what happened?”

“He apparently fell overboard.”

“Was his wife along?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Why did you ask?”

She smiled and said nothing. “Please come in. Let’s sit down.”

They entered the apartment. Tragg looked around in a swift survey. There was nothing to indicate that anyone else was in the place.

“You have a two-room apartment?” Mason asked.

“They call it a three-room, but the kitchen isn’t much more than a good sized closet. There’s a living room and bedroom and this kitchen.”

Mason said, “It was most unfortunate that Mr. Shelby died just as he did. But he told us before he died that he was representing you, that you had an interest in the oil lease.”

“Yes.”

“He said a half-interest.”

She laughed and said, “That was a little window dressing we’d agreed on.”

“Then that wasn’t true?”

“It didn’t represent the entire facts. No.”

“Then what did?”

She said, “I own it all.”

Mason flashed Lieutenant Tragg a quick glance, said, “Mr. Shelby said it was only a half-interest.”

“Yes. I wanted him to pose as the owner of at least a half-interest because I thought he could carry on negotiations better than I could. You know how it is. A man can do things that way that a woman can’t. Mr. Shelby was very clever at that sort of thing.”

“Known him long?” Mason asked.

“About six months.”

“This the only business deal you’d had with him?”

She laughed and said, “Really, Mr. Mason, don’t you think your questions had better be confined more to the exact matter under discussion? I take it you’re interested in working out some sort of a settlement on that lease?”

“I might be.”

“Well, I’m open to propositions.”

“Of course,” Mason said, “I had acted on the assumption that you only had a half interest. The fact that you have a whole interest might change the situation.”

“Wouldn’t that make it less complicated?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore, you could make a better offer.”

Mason smiled. “My client might or might not look at it that way. But, of course, there’s the question of proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That you have the whole interest in the lease.”

She said, “I can answer that very simply.”

“It would have to be rather simple,” Mason said, “because in view of Mr. Shelby’s declaration that you owned only a half interest the administrator of his estate would naturally claim that that was the only interest you had, and under the law you can’t testify.”

“I can’t?” she asked in some surprise.

“No. It’s a general rule of law that when the lips of the one party are sealed by death the law seals the lips of the other party and he can’t testify to anything.”

“Oh, I see.”

Mason said, “It would therefore take Mr. Shelby’s signature on some document to enable you to establish your claim.”

“Oh, that’s very easy.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I have his signature.”

“Oh.”

“So,” she said, “we can go right ahead discussing the compromise proposition.”

Mason took a cigarette case from his pocket, selected a cigarette thoughtfully, tapped it on the edge of the cigarette case, said, “It might not be that simple. My client would naturally want to know something about that instrument by which all rights in the oil lease were assigned to you. Did his wife sign that transfer?”

“What does she have to do with it?”

“It was probably community property.”

“No,” Ellen Cushing said with some feeling, “she didn’t sign it, and I don’t think we need her signature. Marion Shelby certainly didn’t enjoy her husband’s confidence in business matters — or in anything else.”

“You know that?”

She said, “Of course I know it.”

“How?”

“By keeping my eyes open and by little things that Scott let drop here and there. If you ask my opinion, I think she was the one who gave him the poison.”

“That’s rather a broad statement to make,” Mason said.

“Yes, I guess it is,” she amended hastily. “I didn’t mean it in exactly that way. But... Well, I just don’t like her. That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because I think she’s a double-crosser. I think she was double-crossing Scott... But come, Mr. Mason, that doesn’t have anything to do with this oil lease.”

“The point is,” Mason said, “that I’d want to see that assignment and pass on it. If it was an assignment made covering that one particular oil lease, the question would naturally arise why Scott Shelby said last night that he only owned a half interest in it and you owned the other half. If it was a blanket assignment providing that you should, after his death or in the event anything happened to him, be considered as owning everything... Well, that would be a gray horse of another color.”

“What would be wrong with that?”

“In the first place,” Mason said, “it would probably be invalid. In the second place, it would quite probably result in my client taking a radically different position.”

“Well, there’s no need for us to beat around the bush,” she said. “Now that the cat’s out of the bag, I can tell you the whole story.”

“What is it?”

She said, “Scott Shelby actually never did own anything in that lease — that is, not for the last few months. He had decided to let the lease go by the board. I happened to be in his office and talking over oil propositions and he told me that he had a lease that I could have cheap if I wanted it. All I would have to do would be to pay up the back rentals and reinstate it, then I would have to pay a hundred dollars a month. He said it as sort of a joke.”

“Go on,” Mason said. “What happened after that?”

She looked at him defiantly and said, “What’s the use of lying to you, Mr. Mason?”

“There isn’t any.”

“All right. I’ll come clean. I’m in the real estate business. I happened to know that the island had been sold to Parker Benton and that the deal was in escrow. I didn’t tell Scott Shelby anything about it.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn’t think I had to. I didn’t think that was anyone’s business. After all, Mr. Shelby was in business and I was in business.”

“Go on, what happened?”

“I told him that I would be willing to take the lease up and pay him one hundred dollars for his rights in the lease. That he’d give me a blanket assignment of the lease and I’d pay him the one hundred dollars and then pay the owner of the property five hundred dollars in order to reinstate the lease.”

“What did he say?”

“He told me I could if I wanted to. He said that there had been some oil excitement, but that it had mostly died down.”

Mason nodded.

She said, “I’m putting all the cards on the table, Mr. Mason, because I want you and your friends to understand the situation.” She smiled at Lieutenant Tragg and Paul Drake, trying to turn on the magnetism. Drake smiled back. Tragg gave no faintest change of his facial expression.

Mason said, “It begins to shape up. The way you tell it, it sounds a lot more convincing than as if you had simply relied on your naked assertion that ‘now that Scott Shelby was dead you controlled the entire property.’ ”

She said, “I put up the money. Shelby agreed that he was to go ahead and handle it in his name but that he would simply act as my trustee, that anything that came from any settlement of the lease would be held by him in trust for me.”

“Then what?”

She said, “Then I hired a man to offer the five hundred dollars to Jane Keller. I coached him in what to do. Of course, I knew she couldn’t accept it. I wanted witnesses and I wanted her to take the money, at least to have it in her hands. So I arranged to have my man wait for her at the bank and catch her there. He had to wait for two days before she showed up.”

“Why the bank?”

“That’s where reputable people stand in line. That assured me of good substantial witnesses. What’s more a person will accept money if you push it at her in a bank. Otherwise she might not have touched it.”

“I see. You’re rather clever in your knowledge of applied psychology. That was very cleverly thought out.”

“I try to get by.”

“That offer was made in Scott Shelby’s name.”

“Naturally, I wanted to keep in the background as much as I could. You see, I’m in the real estate business and... Well, a deal like this wouldn’t do my reputation any good but I thought there was a chance to clean up several thousand dollars on it. But it was chiseling. You know it and I know it. I’d have preferred to have Shelby out in front instead of me.”

Mason said, “You’re being very frank with us.”

“Because the way I size you up, I think it’s the best way.”

“Go ahead. What happened after that?”

She said, “You got in touch with Mr. Shelby on the telephone. He came rushing to me. By that time I had given him a general idea of what the situation was, and after you telephoned I had to really let my hair down and give him all the details.”

“And then what?”

She said, “Shelby got greedy. He thought he should get more money out of it. You were due to call on him within a few minutes. We didn’t have much time.”

“So what finally happened?”

“I agreed to pay him twenty-five per cent of anything I received by way of settlement as additional compensation for selling me the lease. I didn’t think he was justified in asking for it, but he thought that I had taken advantage of our friendship and... Well, that’s the way it was.”

“He thought you had taken advantage of his friendship?” Mason asked.

“Yes. We have offices in the same building. I’d been able to do him a good turn once or twice and he had thrown a couple of prospects my way. There had never been any great financial benefit one way or the other. Just a matter of — well, what you’d call neighborly accommodation — a lot of little things.”

“Some of these little things made money?”

“Some.”

“No other dealings between you?” Mason asked.

She started to answer, then looked sharply at him and said, “After all, Mr. Mason, I’m trying to put my cards on the table, but that’s no reason why I should bare my life’s history.”

Mason laughed. “You’re doing quite all right. I’m beginning to get the picture now. I presume that inasmuch as you knew a sale was pending, you demanded that Shelby execute an assignment?”

“An assignment and a declaration of trust providing that anything that he would do would be done on my behalf and for me.”

“Who drew those documents up?”

“I did.”

“In writing or on a typewriter?”

“On a typewriter.”

“What happened to them?”

“Scott Shelby signed them and gave them to me.”

“Let’s take a look at them.”

She got up, started for the bedroom door then suddenly caught herself, whirled, said, “Perhaps, before I put any more of my cards on the table, Mr. Mason, it might be well to look at some of your cards.”

Mason said, “I might be in a position to offer you a cash compromise.”

“How much?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She said, “Mr. Shelby thought I could get ten thousand dollars.”

“Shelby was mistaken.”

“I thought he might be.”

She waited a moment and then asked abruptly, “How much could I get, Mr. Mason?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t you think you’d better have your people make me an offer?”

“They won’t make any until they know that you have the power to accept or reject it.”

“Why not? What does that have to do with it?”

Mason said, “It’s just the way some people play the game. They aren’t going to make an offer unless they feel certain it will be accepted, and even then they won’t make it unless they know that when it is accepted, they’ll be able to get what they pay for.”

“Yes, I can see that. They might not want to tip their hands.”

“So,” Mason said, “you might make us an offer.”

She said, “The figure I always had in mind was three thousand dollars net to me. I told Scott that was every cent I thought he’d be able to get.”

“You mean that he was to settle for three thousand and...”

“Four thousand,” she interpolated. “You forget that he was to get twenty-five per cent of whatever was actually paid by way of settlement. Personally, I thought that four thousand dollars was as high as anyone would go and was as high as we should ask them to go.”

“And Shelby thought otherwise?”

“Shelby insisted that he could get more than that.”

“Therefore,” Mason said, “he acted a little bit peeved last night when it appeared that four thousand dollars was the absolute top that Benton would even consider.”

“Oh, did Mr. Benton offer four thousand?”

“No, but there were some figures discussed and it appeared that Benton might be willing to put in two thousand if Jane Keller would put in two thousand.”

“That’s exactly the way I wanted Scott to play it,” she said. “I had told him I thought we should ask for four thousand dollars and let each side pay two thousand. That wouldn’t be very much and it wouldn’t be missed. Parker Benton could add two thousand dollars to the price he was paying for the property and Jane Keller could consider it sort of in the nature of... well, you know, a second real estate fee.”

Mason nodded.

“Go on,” she asked breathlessly, “what happened? What became of it? Did they agree to the four thousand dollars?”

“Shelby wouldn’t listen to it. He insisted on going after something big.”

“I was afraid he might do that. Personally, I’d rather have had the bird in the hand than gone chasing round after the two in the bush.”

“Well, it’s all over now,” Mason said, then added, significantly, “It’s a most peculiar coincidence that your figure agrees so identically with the figure Benton named last night.”

“What’s so peculiar about it?”

“Because you couldn’t know of what was said there on the yacht.”

“Oh, I see. But I’m accustomed to sizing up people and deals. I instinctively know about how high anyone will go.”

“I see.”

“So Mr. Benton and I can really get together then?”

“I don’t know. I’m not here for Mr. Benton. I don’t want you to think I am.”

“Then whom are you representing?”

Mason said, “I’m sorry that I’m not at liberty to answer that question but I would like to see that assignment and declaration of trust.”

She glanced toward the bedroom, hesitated a moment, said, “Could you let it go for an hour or two? I’ll bring it to your office.”

Mason glanced at Lieutenant Tragg. “How about it, Mr. Tragg?”

Tragg shook his head firmly. “As I told you, Mason, I’m in a hurry. If we’re going to do anything, we’re going to do it right now.”

Mason looked back at Ellen Cushing.

She got up, said, “All right, wait here just a moment.”

She walked toward the bedroom, opened the door an inch or so, said in an unnecessarily loud voice, “You gentlemen wait right there and I’ll get it and bring it back. Just wait right there, please.”

She pushed the door open some eighteen inches, squeezed through it sideways and hurriedly pushed it shut.

Mason motioned toward the bedroom and said, “There you are, Lieutenant.”

“You’re sure he’s in there?”

Mason said, “I’m sure a man’s in there and the description fits that of Scott Shelby.”

Tragg said, “That isn’t what you told me over the telephone.”

Mason said, “How much do you want for ten cents?”

“Ordinarily, about two bits’ worth,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “and when I’m dealing with you, I want a dollar’s worth.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

Tragg glanced at the bedroom. “I hate to go busting in there if...”

Mason said, “There’s only one way to handle a deal like this when it gets to this point,” and got to his feet, strode across the living room to the bedroom door.

Mason put his hand on the doorknob, gently turned it, placed himself in the position to ease his weight against the door, then pushing open the door, said, as the door was opening, “On second thought, Miss Cushing, I don’t think that...”

She had been standing just in front of the door. She suddenly whirled. “Just a moment, Mr. Mason!”

The lawyer pushed against the bedroom door.

Ellen Cushing shoved up against Mason, pushing papers at him. “Here are the papers,” she said. “Here they are, let’s go over to our chairs and look at them.”

Mason tried to look past her into the bedroom but the door only opened just enough to let Ellen Cushing out. When Mason pushed a little harder against it, the door was pushed back from the other side.

Mason returned to the others. Ellen Cushing held out a signed document.

“Will one of you take this please?”

Mason made a gesture toward Lieutenant Tragg. “You take it, Tragg.”

Tragg took the papers and inspected them thoughtfully. “This is Mr. Shelby’s signature?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You saw him sign it?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

“Around... Oh, I guess a week ago. Whatever the date is on there.”

“This date is right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain these weren’t signed later? They were signed on this date?”

“Yes, of course, why?”

Tragg said, “Oh, it might make some difference — legally.”

She said hurriedly, “Well, that’s all there is to it. I have an appointment with my beauty shop. If you have any offer to make, I’ll be glad to receive it, or, if you want to take time to think it over, now that you’ve seen the papers, you can think things over. But I’ve got to get out of here right now.”

Mason glanced significantly at Tragg.

Tragg said, “Well, all right, we won’t detain you. I think these papers are in order, Mr. Mason. You want to look at them?”

Mason glanced through the papers, saw that they were an assignment of the lease and a declaration of trust, rather amateurishly drawn, but still covering the ground.

Mason nodded, said, “When will you be back home, Miss Cushing?”

“Oh, I should be home along the first part of the afternoon.”

“I’ll give you a ring.”

“All right.”

They got up, moved over to the door. She held the door open for them and gave them her most magnetic smile.

Mason followed Tragg and Drake down the corridor. In the elevator Mason said indignantly, “Why didn’t you back my play, Lieutenant? What are you waiting for?”

“So far,” Tragg said, “there hasn’t been any evidence except your statements and deduction, Mason.”

Mason said, “There was someone in that bedroom. Someone who was on the other side of the door, keeping it from being opened.”

“Ellen Cushing had her hand on the doorknob pulling it shut,” Tragg said.

“Exactly, but she didn’t have enough strength in her arm to account for the pressure on that door. There was someone on the other side of it, I tell you.”

“Well, suppose there was... Hang it, Mason, I’m beginning to get cold feet on this thing... I have an idea that I’ll take a look at her car but that’s just about as far as I’m going unless some more evidence turns up.”

“Have it your own way,” Mason said angrily.

“I intend to,” Tragg assured him dryly.

“Well,” Drake said, “when she goes to the garage to get her car out, you can walk over and ask her some other question.”

“Or stop her on the street when she drives out,” Tragg said.

“It would be better to get her in the garage,” Mason observed. “There might be something in the garage, some evidence.”

“Yes, I suppose so but I’m not going to do any searching without a search warrant.”

“You’re a helluva lot more considerate of some people than you are of my clients.”

Tragg grinned and said, “I usually have more against your clients than I do against this baby.”

“All right, play it your own way,” Mason told him. “As far as I’m concerned, go ahead with your murder story if you want to. You make the afternoon editions, and I’ll make a monkey out of you on the front page of the morning papers.”

The elevator came to a stop. Tragg slid back the door, said, “And that also is something I’m afraid of Mason.”

In silence they walked out to the front of the apartment house. Then Tragg abruptly turned, walked up the driveway and stationed himself out of sight just around the corner of the apartment house. Mason and Drake followed, stood by his side.

They had been there some two minutes when they heard the rapid click, click of a woman’s heels and Ellen Cushing walked past them to the garage, moving so fast she was almost running. And, so intent was she on what she was doing, she didn’t even notice them. Mason waited until she had opened the garage doors. Then he nudged Tragg and said, “Come on, Lieutenant.”

Mason moved up. “Miss Cushing, would you consider four thousand dollars? Not as an offer but just asking you the question. Would you consider it?”

She paused and looked at them. Now her manner seemed much less embarrassed. “Why yes,” she said, “I think I would. I’d prefer to have it made as an offer.”

Mason, smiling said, “Well, you’re in a hurry. Suppose you let Mr. Tragg ride with you as far as your beauty shop and you can talk in your car.”

“That’ll be fine.”

She walked around and opened the door on the driver’s side. Tragg walked around the other side.

Mason opened the rear door, said, “In here, Tragg, I’ll get in with you.”

Tragg got in the back of the car. Mason picked up Tragg’s hand, placed it on the damp spot in the seat.

Tragg pushed down on the damp cushions and as he felt that bit of moisture, suddenly changed in his manner. He pushed open the door on the other side of the car, got out and said, “Nice little garage you have here, Miss Cushing.”

She started the motor. “I find it very comfortable.”

“You don’t have many tools around.”

“No.”

“What’s that over in the corner?” Mason asked.

She followed the direction of his eyes, said, “I don’t know... Oh, it’s a blanket.”

Mason said, “So it is,” and got out of the car.

Abruptly Ellen Cushing opened her own door, demanded, “Say, what is this?”

Without a word, Tragg walked over to the corner and picked up the wet blanket. Then he peered down in a corner, then once more felt the blanket. He put the blanket down, stooped and retrieved the wet shoes.

“Okay,” he said, reaching a sudden decision. “Come on back up to the apartment with me. I want to ask you some questions.”

“You and who else?” Ellen Cushing demanded angrily.

Tragg pulled back his coat to show her the star. “Me and the whole metropolitan police force, if you want to put it that way,” he said.