The Case of the Half-Wakened Wife

Chapter 23

The sun on the river was warm and balmy. Deck awnings were spread out over the reclining chairs on Benton’s yacht, but Della Street would have none of the shade. Attired in a playsuit, she had moved her chair out to the sunlight and was leaning back with her ankles crossed on the teakwood rail, soaking up the sunlight.

Mason, more comfortably settled in the shade was at ease in one of those reclining deck chairs which furnish support for the legs and are conducive to long hours of lazy tranquillity in the open air.

So completely relaxed was he that he didn’t even bother to go to the rail when he heard the sound of a launch approaching the yacht. Not until Parker Benton came strolling along the deck with the Sunday newspapers under his arm, did Mason show any interest.

Benton said, “I had the launch go over to that little town for the newspapers, Mason. Thought you’d like to see them.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said. “I’ll wait until you’ve finished with them. I don’t want to deprive you of...”

“It’s all right,” Benton interrupted, “I bought half a dozen copies of each of the papers. You see, I’m going to keep a scrap-book.”

Mason smiled, reached for the newspapers, said, “What have you found out about Shelby? He must have been aboard the yacht before.”

Benton shook his head, said, “I’d been intending to tell you about that. But, you looked so comfortable that I thought I’d wait until I brought you the papers. When you told me last night that Shelby must have been aboard the yacht before, I felt absolutely confident you were mistaken; that the night of the twelfth was the first time he’d ever been aboard.”

“The plans Shelby made showed more than a superficial familiarity with the yacht,” Mason said positively. “Somewhere, somehow, he must have been aboard. The knowledge that there were two telephone systems and that he could trap his wife by telephoning from a cabin, the...”

Benton smilingly interrupted. “I’m afraid, for once, Mr. Mason, you overlooked something.”

“What?”

“I don’t think Shelby had ever been aboard the yacht but Lacey had. Remember that Lacey was working hand in glove with Shelby. Remember also, that Lacey was a professional cook. I find, on looking back over my records, that Arthur Lacey worked aboard as cook for a period of two weeks a year ago, filling in when my regular cook took his two weeks’ vacation. Hang it, when I saw the pictures in the paper last night, I thought the man’s face was familiar and yet I couldn’t place it.”

“Oh, oh,” Mason said, “that accounts for it.”

Benton went on, “One of the crew recognized him from his pictures and told me about it just a few minutes ago. Well, here are the papers. Are you comfortable? Like to have something to drink?”

Mason shook his head, said, “Thanks, Benton. All I need is a chance to soak up some of this fresh air and sunshine. The knowledge that there isn’t any telephone within four miles and that I won’t be interrupted by someone ringing me up to get me involved in another murder case makes for perfect repose.”

Benton said, “To my mind, Mason, that’s the charm of yachting — and the real lure of this island. Once I get aboard my yacht, I can completely isolate the outside world. Well, go ahead and relax. You certainly have earned it. If there’s anything you want, just press the button for the steward.”

Parker Benton, showing an understanding for the lawyer’s mood, moved away.

“Want to look at the paper?” Mason asked Della Street.

She smiled languidly, shook her head.

Mason bestirred himself, stretched, yawned, unrolled the Sunday newspapers, said, “I always like to see what they say about a case.”

“Anything interesting?” Della Street asked after a few moments.

“I’m just starting in on this story by Drake’s friend.”

Della Street straightened, “I’d forgotten about that angle. Drake’s friend being present at the deposition. What does he say, Chief? Want me to read it out loud?”

“You’ll ruin your eyes,” Mason told her. “You can’t read in the bright sunlight. Stay where you are, Della. I’ll read it to you.”

Mason straightened out the paper, said, “There are a couple of preliminary paragraphs and then this:

“ ‘Never has Perry Mason, the master cross-examiner, put on a better exhibition of his skill than at the deposition of Ellen Cushing Lacey. Never has a witness been more confounded, nor her attorney more nonplused.

“ ‘There was every element of exciting drama in what had happened before, but what happened at that deposition made everything else seem dry as dust. And while one is handing out kudos, one must not overlook Ellen Lacey. Caught finally in a trap which had been set for her by a past master of courtroom strategy, she seemed very bewildered and helpless. But one must not forget that it was this same Ellen Lacey who whisked a murderer right out from under the veteran nose of Lieutenant Tragg with all the deft skill of a conjurer making a rabbit disappear.

“ ‘Realizing that the man whom she loved had quite apparently made an arrangement with Scott Shelby to aid in his disappearance, she invented a story out of whole cloth which completely fooled the officers. And she pulled this story right out of the thin air. Arthur Lacey, in place of being a jealous suitor, was in fact, a casual trifler with her affections. In place of being almost a stranger to Scott Shelby, he had actually been acquainted with the murdered man for months. It was to Arthur Lacey that Shelby turned when he wished to engineer a scheme by which he would “disappear” leaving his wife faced with a murder charge. It was Arthur Lacey whom Shelby hired to meet him on the river and row him ashore. It was Arthur Lacey who had wrapped Shelby in a blanket. Arthur Lacey whom Shelby used as a dummy in liquidating his business affairs.

“ ‘The conspirators almost had their plans upset by the fog which had settled so thickly that Benton had not taken his yacht all the way to the island anchorage as had been intended, but had anchored a few hundred yards downstream. However, Lacey, an expert oarsman had located the yacht and signaled Shelby that all was ready.

“ ‘Shelby had already arranged to frame his wife by leaving her with a story to tell which would sound utterly impossible. He had already trapped her into such a position she was about to be accused of having tried to poison him. He had placed arsenic in his own food, even putting a small amount in her food, and then had called a doctor, taking great care to detail such typical symptoms that the doctor would not only give proper treatment, but would strongly urge a report to the police.

“ ‘So, on this fatal night, everything was in readiness. There was only one hitch. There were too many people aboard the yacht and there were no vacant staterooms. Oddly enough, it was the midnight restlessness of Perry Mason that furnished the conspirators their opportunity. The lawyer dressed and went on deck, which gave Shelby the opportunity he wanted. Sneaking into the unlocked stateroom, he telephoned his wife, then rushed to the bow of the boat, where he had already doubled a length of rope so that he could “fall” down into the water, yet fire a gun at the proper time.

“ ‘The plan worked without a hitch. There was only one thing on which the shrewd Shelby had slipped up. He had juggled his accounts around so no one could tell just what he had and just what he didn’t have. He had salted away large sums of cash which he had in a money belt around his middle. He fired the gun, saw that he had caused a general alarm, and then swam down the port side of the yacht, kicking at the hull as he went by. Then he dove, swam under water, came to the surface, floated, and the current washed him right down to where his accomplice was sitting waiting in an anchored row-boat, a small flashlight furnishing a guiding beacon for the swimmer.

“ ‘As police reconstruct what happened after that, Shelby climbed into the rowboat. Lacey wrapped him in a blanket, rowed him ashore. There he made certain that Shelby had the money in the well filled money belt. All of this time Shelby was chuckling. He had staged a perfect disappearance. His wife was even then being questioned with growing suspicion. Shelby was free to escape his liabilities, to go to a far city and start a new life.

“ ‘But then the one thing on which Shelby hadn’t counted confronted him. Lacey had plans of his own. Since Shelby had so conveniently arranged his own murder, Lacey saw no reason for passing up an opportunity to enrich himself by some forty thousand dollars, which it now seems was the amount that Shelby was carrying in his money belt.

“ ‘Some days earlier, Lacey had fired a bullet into the water from the .38 with which Mrs. Shelby was to be framed. He had recovered this bullet and put it in another shell. He had previously experimented with his “adapter” by which he could fire a .38 caliber cartridge from a sixteen gauge shotgun... Shelby became suspicious. Lacey tapped him over the head with an oar, shot him in the neck with the bullet he had so carefully saved for just this occasion, then calmly picked the body up in his arms, waded out to where the boat was floating in some eighteen inches of water, deposited the body, sculled out to midstream, dumped the body overboard, and returned to Ellen Cushing’s car, which he had “borrowed” for his “important appointment”.

“ ‘He made one mistake after that. He returned the car to the garage. The wet blanket had been thrown on the cushions of the back seat. He intended to dispose of that later. He had taken the precaution of carrying along a change of trousers and dry shoes. He carried his wet trousers up to his apartment with him, but the shoes and blanket he concealed in a corner of the garage, intending to return for them the next morning.

“ ‘He had committed the perfect crime — thanks to the cooperation of his victim... And then, on the next day, Friday the thirteenth, came retribution. For a moment it must have seemed to Lacey that all was lost, and then the quick wit of Ellen Cushing offered him a way out — at a price.

“ ‘The interesting thing about the crime is that Lieutenant Tragg actually had the culprit in his hands, actually had the evidence which, properly construed, would have sent the man to the death chamber — and he let himself be talked out of it. For this he is taking a bit of quiet ribbing from his associates in the Homicide detail, a bit of kidding which is relished all the more because it is the first time that his associates have been able to get anything on the capable Lieutenant.’ ”

Mason looked up at Della Street, grinned. “Imagine how Tragg feels this morning. Remember what he called to me when he drove away from Ellen Cushing’s apartment, ‘Good-by — Sherlock!’ ”

Della nodded, smiled, “I’m charitable this morning. I couldn’t even feel peeved at Sergeant Dorset.”

Mason started browsing through the pages until he came to the classified real estate. He ran down the column dealing with suburban properties, said suddenly, “Right here it is, Della. Listen to this. ‘Four hundred acres, marvelous country estate within sixty minutes of the heart of the city, completely isolated, timber, lake fed by spring. Rural relaxation within commuting distance of your city business. Priced for a quick sale at twenty thousand dollars. Ellen Cushing Lacey, real estate.’ ”

Mason put down the paper. “Della, how about it? We could buy the property in your name.”

“Would you,” she asked archly, “put the sale through Ellen Cushing Lacey?”

Mason smiled. “I’m afraid that this is a deal on which Mrs. Lacey is going to lose her five per cent commission. When you stop to think how small a time margin there was between our two picnics that Friday! They must have left not over an hour before we arrived. And I wonder just how deep in all this George Attica is. He may have been the one who advised them to rush out with a camera, get some picnic pictures, plant some food refuse and then dash back. Then, of course, he used Lawton Keller as his tool to get Marion Shelby to fire me. That property has become a spot that’s filled with pleasant associations for us, Della. Let’s buy it. We could have it for a little hideaway. I could put up a bungalow out under those trees back from the lake. Perhaps some day...”

Mason stopped to regard the horizon with dreamy eyes.

Della Street smiled. “Go ahead, Chief,” she said. “Even if you are just daydreaming, it’s a swell idea.”