The Case of the Lazy Lover

8

It was seven-thirty in the evening when the unlisted telephone in Mason’s apartment began ringing.

The lawyer, who had been studying the Advance Decisions, closed the printed pamphlet and picked up the telephone.

Patricia Faxon’s voice was sharp with panic. “I’ve failed, Mr. Mason,” she said.

“In what?”

“Mr. Allred managed to slip one over on me, somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s gone. He isn’t here. I’m alone in the house. But he hasn’t taken his automobile out of the garage. It’s still there. I don’t know how he could have left.”

“Were there any visitors at the house?” Mason asked.

“Yes. That is, not right at the house. I think I told you he has an office in the south wing. He was over there during the first part of the evening, and he had at least one visitor.”

“Know who it was?”

“No, I don’t. It was some man, and they talked for a while and then the man drove away. The lights remained on in the office and well, just to check up, I made an excuse to run over to ask him a question, and — well, I’m there now.”

“But the lights are on?”

“Yes.”

“Evidently then, he intends to come back soon.”

“I suppose so, but—”

“If you hadn’t been checking up on him,” Mason said, “you would have thought he was still there because the lights were on?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Neither do I. That’s why I’m phoning you. It — it looks as though he might be trying to build an alibi for something.”

Mason said, “Okay, Patricia. Now don’t get panic-stricken. If you need anything, call the Drake Detective Agency. The number is in the book. There’ll be someone there all night. If anything happens, call there and tell them who you are.”

“I don’t want to stay here, Mr. Mason.”

“Why?”

“Because, if he should be planning anything... I’m a witness... You see, I know why Mother left. I don’t want to be here alone with him. He’s capable of anything. I’m afraid of him.”

“He doesn’t know about this Las Olitas address of yours?”

“No. No one does; only Mother.”

“Okay,” Mason said. “Go there. Sit tight. Good night now.”

Mason hung up the phone, called the Drake Detective Agency, got Paul Drake on the line, and said, “Paul, something’s going on. I don’t know just what it is, but I don’t like it.”

“What’s up, Perry?”

Swiftly he brought Paul Drake up to date.

“Allred’s probably not out of town,” Drake said. “Otherwise he’d have taken his own car.”

“Unless he has one planted somewhere. No news of Mrs. Allred?”

“No.”

“You’re covering auto camps?”

“All along the road. They could have driven somewhere around three hundred miles since ten o’clock this morning. We’re trying to cover the places where they could have holed up for the night.”

“What about the near auto courts?”

“What do you mean ‘near’?”

“Right around here.”

“Have a heart, Perry. There are too many of those. We’re picking up the ones within about a hundred miles and...”

“We’re overlooking a bet,” Mason interrupted.

“What do you mean?”

Mason said, “Allred spent Saturday night in the motel in Springfield. He also spent yesterday night in that motel. I have a hunch Mrs. Allred won’t stay in a motel with Fleetwood unless her husband is there. That means it has to be someplace within two or three hours’ drive. Check the motels in Springfield again. Check the near ones, Paul.”

“We can’t do it, Perry. There are just too darn many of them around the city, too many different roads that...”

“That’s all right. Put your Springfield man on the job. Check the courts in Springfield. Check the ones that are on the roads near Springfield.”

“Okay,” Drake said wearily. “We’ll try and do the best we can, Perry.”

Mason hung up and began pacing the floor, until after almost an hour, wearied by the sheer physical exertion, he flung himself once more into the big chair under the reading light. He was restless, nervous, frowning and irritable. Two more hours found him dozing.

The phone rang again.

Mason jerked the receiver from its cradle, said, “Yes, what is it?”

Paul Drake said, “My face is red, Perry.”

“Shoot.”

“You called a turn. Frankly, the possibility hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Of the near-by auto camp? You mean you’ve located them?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“It’s a little place and it’s only about thirty-five miles from Springfield. It’s up in the mountains, on the road that cuts across the high mountain range and comes down to the desert on the other side. This place is a little auto court known as the Snug-Rest Auto Court. The registration is the same as it was in Springfield, R. G. Fleetwood and sister.”

“The accommodations?”

“Double cabin with three beds.”

“Mrs. Allred’s car there?”

“I don’t know, Perry, whether it’s there right now or not, but the license number is her license number. It’s the party we want, all right.”

“Why don’t you know whether the car’s there now or not, Paul?”

“Because my man isn’t up there. He’s at Springfield. He couldn’t possibly have covered all the different roads except by telephone, and he’s been telephoning every auto court asking them to give him a list of the reservations that were made any time during the day.”

“How long will it take us to get there?”

“Right around three hours, Perry.”

“We’re on our way!” Mason told him excitedly. “I’ll drive down and pick you up. Stick a gun in your pocket.”

“Going to take Della?”

“No. The party may be rough.”

“Want my man to go up and wait, keeping them under observation?”

“No. He may tip them off. Tell him to stay on the job in Springfield. We may want to call him for something there.”

“How soon will you be here?”

“Damn near as soon as you can get downstairs,” Mason said, hanging up the phone and grabbing his hat and coat from the chair.

His car was parked in front of the apartment building, fully serviced. Mason made time to the office building where Paul Drake, his thin frame wrapped in a heavy overcoat, climbed protestingly into the car.

“For the love of mike. Perry, have a heart! Don’t scare me to death getting there; and try and keep four wheels on the ground on some of the curves. That road from Springfield up over the mountains is a humdinger. Ever been over it?”

“Three or four times,” Mason said.

“Well, it’s a bad one. You go right straight up. You follow a stream for a ways and then zig-zag the side of a canyon until you hit the plateau country on top. It’s a damn mean road.”

“Then hang on,” Mason said. “I’ll try to get you there in one piece.”

“What’s the hurry?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “I have a hunch there’s more to this than appears on the surface, Paul. I’m not too certain but what Allred isn’t planning to pull a fast one.”

“You mean getting a divorce?”

“It might suit him better to be a widower. I understand he has quite a lot of his wife’s money invested in mining properties.”

“I guess Allred does all right for himself,” Drake said. “He seems to have lots of dough.”

Mason said, “I’ll bet you even money that Allred forged that check for twenty-five hundred bucks that was sent to me.”

“Why?”

“That,” Mason said, grimly, “is one of the things I intend to ask him.”

“You think he’s up there in this Snug-Rest Motel?”

“Uh huh,” Mason said, and then gave his attention to his driving.