The Case of the Lonely Heiress

Chapter 12

The two Endicott brothers and the one sister had moved into the big mansion home which had been left them under the terms of George Endicott’s will.

Years ago the house had been one of the show places of the city. Now it was an anachronism, a big wooden-gabled structure with side porches, spacious grounds, shade trees, lawns, summer houses, terraces, winding walks and sunken pools. It seemed more a museum than a dwelling.

Mason turned his car in at the driveway, which, together with the big garage, had been constructed as a modern improvement. The hard-surfaced driveway cut through in a businesslike straight line past the winding walks which followed the contours of the terraced grounds.

The lawyer stopped his car under the protecting portico of what had once been a shelter over a carriage entrance. He climbed three stairs and rang a bell which jangled sharply in the dark bowels of the ancient house.

Mason rang a second time before he heard slow steps, and then the door was opened by a man whose bald head, fringed with white hair, whose sharp, piercing eyes, beak-like nose and thin lips gave him the appearance of a reincarnated predator.

“I would like to see any one of the Endicott family,” Mason said.

“I’m Ralph Endicott.”

Mason handed the man his card. “I’m Perry Mason, a lawyer.”

“I’ve heard of you. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you.”

Mason followed Endicott in through a gloomy, paneled passageway redolent with the splendor of a bygone age.

His guide opened a door and said, “Won’t you step in here, please, Mr. Mason?”

This room was thoroughly in keeping with the rest of the house, a large, spacious library, in the center of which was a massive mahogany table on which were three huge table lamps. The shades, some four feet in diameter at the bottom, were composed of heavy leather, and the clustered lamps on the interior poured forth illumination upon the huge table and sprayed light out through the openings in the tops of the shades.

Three chairs had been drawn up at this table. Two of them were occupied, and the third, which evidently was where Ralph Endicott had been sitting before he went to answer the bell, was pulled slightly back from between the other two.

The two people who looked up at Mason’s entrance had a certain family resemblance.

Reflected light from the big reading lamps on the table splashed illumination on their faces and etched them into white brilliance against the somber background of booklined shelves.

“Mr. Mason,” Ralph Endicott said, “permit me to introduce you to my brother and sister. Mrs. Parsons, may I present Mr. Perry Mason, a lawyer. And this, Mr. Mason, is my brother, Palmer Endicott.”

“Good evening,” Mason said, giving his most cordial smile. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

The others bowed coldly.

“Won’t you be seated, Mr. Mason?”

“Thank you,” Mason said.

Ralph Endicott drew up a chair from Mason directly across the table from where the others were sitting, then walked around to take his place once more in the third chair between the other two.

Mason had a chance to size up the brother and sister while Ralph was seating himself.

Palmer was a thin-faced, bushy-haired individual, somewhere in the seventies. He had about him a look of perpetual skepticism. Lorraine Endicott Parsons quite evidently lavished care upon herself, such care as could be given in home treatments. She sat haughtily erect in stiff-backed, uncompromising truculence. Her face had begun to sag, but her chin was up; her hair was frosty white, and there was the cold ruthlessness of self-righteous respectability in her posture. There was about all three of them an appearance of shabby gentility which added to the over-all family resemblance. Clothes were dark in color, old-fashioned in cut, and well worn.

“Just what do you want, Mr. Mason?” Ralph Endicott asked.

“I’m a lawyer,” Mason said. “I’m representing interests adverse to you. You have a lawyer, Paddington C. Niles. I tried to call him. His secretary said he was on his way here. I don’t want to talk with you until he arrives.”

“What do you want to talk about?” Ralph Endicott asked.

“Rose Keeling is dead. I want to ask you about circumstances which may have led to her death or...”

“Rose Keeling dead!” Mrs. Parsons interrupted with cold disbelief. “She can’t be dead. That would greatly embarrass us. Are you certain of your facts, Mr. Mason?”

She regarded him as though she expected him to wither and crawl under the table under the impact of her disapproving stare.

Mason said, “She’s quite thoroughly dead. Someone stabbed her as she stepped out of the bathtub. I’m investigating that murder, and time is precious. I’d like to know whether any of you have been in touch with her recently. All I want to know is whether you saw her today, whether she phoned you and, if so, when.”

Ralph Endicott said slowly, “This, of course, was the thing we had to fear.”

Mrs. Parsons said, “A creature who had stooped to taking advantage of a man’s incompetencies and depriving his relatives of what is justly theirs, would stop at nothing.”

“Meaning?” Mason asked.

“I am making no specific accusations.”

“That sounded like an accusation.”

“You are free to interpret my remarks any way you wish.”

“May I ask whom you’re representing?” Palmer Endicott inquired.

Mason shook his head. “My client is not willing to have an announcement made at the present time.”

“I take it you’re not representing the authorities. There’s nothing official about your investigation.”

“Not in the least,” Mason said. “I want you to have your lawyer, and I want to know if any of you had been in touch with Miss Keeling earlier in the day. That’s all I want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because a murder has been committed. I’m trying to get the time element straightened out. I want to know when she was killed. And I’m anxious to find out the latest hour at which she was alive. I think she may have called one of you today. I don’t give a hang about the nature of the conversation. I only want to know the time of the conversation. Your lawyer’s supposed to be here. I want him present. Where is he?”

“He’s coming,” Ralph Endicott said. “When we heard your ring we felt certain it was Mr. Niles. He’s due here for a conference. That’s why we’re sitting in the library.”

Mason said, “I want to see him. I...” He broke off as the electric bell boomed a summons through the house.

“That will be Niles now,” Mrs. Parsons said with calm conviction.

Ralph Endicott pushed back his chair, said, “Excuse me,” went to the door and returned in a few moments with a florid-faced man in the fifties who beamed optimism and geniality.

“Mr. Niles,” Ralph Endicott said as though presenting two fighters in the ring. “Mr. Mason.”

“How are you, Mr. Niles,” Mason said, shaking hands. “I’m glad to meet you.”

“I’ve heard of you,” Niles said. “Seen you in court several times, but never have had the pleasure of meeting you. How do you do? And may I ask what you’re doing here?"

Mason said, “I am trying to get some information about a matter which is outside the issues of the will contest. I told these people I wanted their lawyer present. I understood you were here.”

“What is the nature of the information you want?” Niles asked, instantly suspicious.

Mason said, “I’m investigating the death of Rose Keeling.”

“The death of Rose Keeling!” Niles echoed in astonishment.

“That’s right.”

“But she’s not dead. She...”

“She is dead,” Mason said. “She was murdered some time around noon today.”

“Good heavens!” Niles said. “This complicates the situation.”

Mason said, “I’m trying to account for her time during the early part of the day. I had reason to believe she might have been in conversation with one of the Endicotts.”

“What caused you to believe that?”

“My detectives tell me there is evidence that Rose Keeling gave one of your clients a check today. I want to know when and what for.”

Niles pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Did you come here to see me?”

“I wanted to ask some questions of your clients. I rang your office. Your secretary said you were here. Naturally I wanted your permission, although I could have secured the information through more orthodox and more disagreeable channels.”

“How?”

“I could have told my friend, Lieutenant Tragg on Homicide, that I thought it would be a good plan to check on the Endicotts. That would have dragged their names into the newspapers and ultimately had a far more disastrous effect on the will contest than an informal chat of this sort.”

“Well, let’s sit down and get this thing straightened out,” Niles said.

Ralph Endicott said, “As far as I’m concerned, I can shout what I have to say from the housetops. I think it would be a good plan to let the newspapers know exactly what happened.”

“Not the newspapers!” Lorraine Parsons said coldly. “The newspapers are vulgar. They are sensational. They cater to the lowest section of humanity and present news with the vulgar sensationalism which appeals to readers of that type.”

Niles said, “I think we’ll excuse you for a few minutes, Mr. Mason. I want to talk with my clients about this. And then if we have any statement to make, we’ll make it formally.”

“Time is short,” Mason reminded him.

“Why are you in such a hurry to get that information?”

“I have reasons.”

“What are they?”

Mason smiled, and shook his head.

“You want us to put our cards on the table while you hold all the aces up your sleeve,” Niles said.

Mason said, with some anger, “Have it your own way. I’ll put in a call for Lieutenant Tragg and then I’ll read the answers in tomorrow morning’s paper.”

“I think, Mr. Mason,” Mrs. Parsons said acidly, “that Mr. Niles’ request is quite in order. You may wait in the...”

“Reception hallway,” Palmer Endicott cut in firmly.

Mason grinned and said, “I’ll wait in my car. I’ll wait five minutes. You can make up your minds within that time to talk with me or with the police, whichever you see fit.”

“I don’t see what the police have to do with...”

“Please!” Niles protested to his clients, then turned to Mason. “Go out and wait in your car, Mason.”

Mason bowed. “Five minutes,” he said, and left the room.

Five minutes to the second after the lawyer had settled himself in his car, he started the motor, inched his way past Paddington Niles’ car, got to the garage, turned around and started back out the driveway.

He had gone perhaps fifteen feet when the side door was flung open and Ralph Endicott, running out, waved frantically at him.

Mason braked his car to a stop.

“Come in, Mr. Mason! Come right in,” Endicott called, his voice tremulous with excitement. “We’re waiting for you. We want to talk with you.”

Mason stopped his car, leaving it so that it blocked the driveway. He got out and said, “I thought you’d decided to let me go to the police.”

“No, no, no. Not yet. Come right in. We perhaps ran a few seconds over the time, but only a few seconds — just a few seconds, Mr. Mason.”

Mason followed Ralph Endicott back into the library.

They looked up as he entered.

Paddington C. Niles was frowning. His face had an expression of perplexity. Palmer Endicott, with an attempt at cordiality that was foreign to his nature and made his words utterly incongruous, said, “Sit right down, Mr. Mason. Sit right down and be comfortable.”

Lorraine Endicott Parsons actually managed a frosty smile. “Do sit down, Mr. Mason.”

Mason seated himself at the far end of the table.

There was a moment of silence, while Ralph Endicott resumed his chair and cleared his throat.

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“Would you like to tell him, Niles?” Ralph Endicott asked.

Niles shook his head. “This is all a bit sudden, as far as I’m concerned. You tell the facts to Mason and I’ll listen while you go over them again. But be sure of your facts.”

“Oh, certainly,” Ralph Endicott said testily.

Mason lit a cigarette. “Let’s go,” he said.

Ralph Endicott said, “In the beginning, Mr. Mason, I came to the conclusion that the purported will my brother was supposed to have executed was the result of fraud, undue influence and various other illegalities. The nurse who attended him saw to it that his mind was never entirely clear, and at a propitious moment she suggested the signing of this will.”

Palmer Endicott, having made his attempt at cordiality, had now slumped down in his chair, listening to his brother’s statement with cold cynicism. Lorraine Parsons nodded her head slowly, signifying her acquiescence.

“I don’t want to talk about the will contest,” Mason said impatiently.

“Well, we do.”

“All I want to know is the time you talked with Rose Keeling. I want the exact hour as nearly as you can recall.”

“I’m coming to that,” Ralph Endicott said, “but I’m coming to it in my own way. Since you’re here, we may as well talk about the whole case. We might reach some understanding.”

Mason said, “I’m only prepared to talk about the murder.”

“Well, listen to what I have to say, then,” Endicott said.

The others nodded approval.

“I assumed,” Ralph went on, “that the witnesses to the will were equally culpable with the so-called beneficiary. I assumed that there must have been some financial benefit to them in the transaction, and I felt certain that no matter how my brother might have been drugged, no matter how much disease and undue influence had clouded his mind, he would never voluntarily have made such a will. That will was written by the beneficiary. It was then shoved under his nose and he was told to sign.”

“That doesn’t coincide with the testimony given by the two subscribing witnesses,” Mason said.

“Just a moment, just a moment,” Endicott said rapidly. “I’m coming to that.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

“So, I approached Rose Keeling. I explained to her exactly how I felt about it, and at first Miss Keeling refused to cooperate with me in any way or give me any information other than the parrotlike statement she had been paid to make.”

Mason puffed silently at his cigarette.

“Then,” Ralph Endicott went on, “her conscience began to bother her. She finally told me a most remarkable story.”

“What’s the story?” Mason asked. “Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“It was an extraordinary story. She stated that Mrs. Marlow had taken up the matter of the will with her on the day that it was executed, that she had told her that her patient, who was really wealthy, desired to make a will in her favor and that he had dictated to her the terms of the will; that his right hand was paralyzed so that he could not sign with his right hand, but that he would sign with his left hand.”

“At that time the will was already drawn?”

“The will was already drawn in the handwriting of Mrs. Marlow. She said that my brother had dictated the terms of the will. She also told Rose Keeling that if Rose would sign as a witness and the will stood up, Rose Keeling would receive a substantial amount of money. Rose Keeling had no way of knowing what Mrs. Marlow promised the other witness, Ethel Furlong, but it is assumed that substantially the same promises were made.

“The three nurses entered the room where my brother was lying. Mrs. Marlow said to him, ‘Now, Mr. Endicott, I have drawn up the will the way you wanted it. You sign here.’ My brother said, ‘I can’t sign with my right hand,’ and Mrs. Marlow had said, ‘All right. Go ahead and sign with your left hand.’

“Thereupon my brother suggested that she read the will to him in the presence of the witnesses, and she said, ‘No, no, that isn’t necessary. These two nurses are on duty here on the floor and they may be called out at any time. They can’t take enough time from their other patients to sit around and listen to this. It’s drawn up just the way you wanted it drawn up. You sign here.’

“My brother George seemed a little bit uncertain about whether he would sign or not without having it read to him. But at just that moment the floor superintendent looked into the room and said, ‘What’s the matter in here? The call lights are on all over the floor.’ Mrs. Marlow had thereupon hastily hidden the will and Rose Keeling had said, ‘I’ll take care of the lights.’ She had dashed out of the room and found three lights. Two of them were patients who required only minor attention and one from a patient who took longer, about five minutes. When she had finished with those duties, Rose Keeling returned to the room, and Mrs. Marlow was then holding in her hands the document supposed to have been signed by my brother, and she said, ‘It’s all right, Rose, he’s signed the will and everything’s all right. Just go ahead and sign here as a witness. You want her to, don’t you, Mr. Endicott?’

“And,” Ralph Endicott went on triumphantly, “my brother, George, said nothing. He was lying there with his eyes closed and was breathing regularly. Rose Keeling thinks that he was either asleep or that while she was out of the room, he had been given a heavy hypodermic of morphine. However, Mrs. Marlow was popular and Rose Keeling was thoroughly in sympathy with having her get something for the nursing and attention she had given my brother. So she signed as a witness.

“Later on, after my brother had died, Mrs. Marlow came to Rose Keeling and told her there were certain formalities that the lawyers would ask about, and told Rose substantially what to say. She told Rose that there had been an outright gift of certain jewelry and that she was going to keep some of this jewelry, but was going to sell some of it to raise some immediate money.

“She did this, selling some diamonds, which I understand brought in the neighborhood of ten thousand dollars. My brother’s collection of jewelry, many of the pieces heirlooms, was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars. The story that I now get is that some two weeks before his death, in the presence of Ethel Furlong, he had given the jewelry to Mrs. Marlow and told her that he wanted her to have that jewelry, that he had no use for it; that there would be no descendants of his to wear the jewelry and that she was to take it and do what she wanted to with it. Mrs. Marlow had some cash. She gave Rose Keeling a thousand dollars in cash and told her that when the estate was finally distributed, if everything went all right, Rose Keeling would get another nine thousand dollars.”

Mason said, “Quite easy to make up a fairy story like this, now that Rose Keeling is out of the way. I thought you’d probably do something like that, which was the reason I told you I would only give you five minutes. However, you’ve collaborated on a pretty good scenario. It’s as fast a job as I’ve ever seen. You should be in Hollywood.”

Niles said hastily, “That’s the story they told me as soon as you left the room, Mason.”

Mason merely smiled.

“However,” Niles went on somewhat testily, “there’s proof of this.”

“Proof?” Mason asked.

“Exactly,” Ralph Endicott said. “Rose Keeling’s conscience began to bother her. I received a telephone call from her, stating that she wanted to see me at once upon a matter of the greatest importance. That call came in about seven-thirty this morning. I finished my breakfast and went to her apartment. I arrived there approximately at eight o’clock. I found Rose Heeling in an extremely nervous state. She said she had agreed to do something which preyed on her conscience and that she just simply couldn’t go through with it. She told me that she had received one thousand dollars from Mrs. Marlow, that she was satisfied that one thousand dollars came from the sale of jewelry which had virtually been stolen from the estate; that, inasmuch as I was one of the heirs and represented the others, she had decided to surrender that money and ease her conscience. Whereupon, she handed me her check for one thousand dollars, drawn on the Central Security Bank, and gave me a carbon copy of a letter she had sent to Marilyn Marlow.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “A carbon copy?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How had the letter been written? On a typewriter?”

“No. In pen and ink, but she had a clear carbon copy.”

“May I see the carbon copy of the letter?” Mason asked.

Ralph Endicott said to Niles, “How about it, Niles? Shall we show him the carbon copy of the letter?”

“I see no reason for not showing it to him,” Niles said. “Since you’ve gone this far and told him this much, I’d tell him the whole thing. Put all the cards on the table.”

Endicott opened a billfold which he had taken from his pocket while Niles was speaking, and handed Mason a sheet of note paper. “There it is,” he said.

Mason glanced through the letter. It was a carbon copy of the letter which Marilyn Marlow had received and which she probably had by this time destroyed.

“Very interesting,” Mason said, his voice and face expressionless as he handed back the carbon copy. “When did all this take place?”

“At approximately eight o’clock this morning.”

“That was at Rose Keeling’s flat?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you there?”

“Perhaps half an hour in all.”

“What did you do when you left there?”

“I see no reason to go into that. It involves purely private affairs. I assume you are only interested in Rose Keeling’s...”

“Go ahead and tell him,” Niles grunted. “You’ve admitted having seen Rose Keeling, and if she’s been killed, you’d better go on with your story.”

“It’s a lot of purely personal trivia,” Endicott protested.

“Go on with it, Ralph,” Mrs. Parsons ordered, “otherwise you seem evasive. Tell Mr. Mason where you went.”

Ralph Endicott frowned, said, “Very well. It is a lot of utter trivia. I left Miss Keeling’s place at approximately eight-forty in the morning. I went from there to the office of an automobile agency where I have had a new car on order for some time. I felt certain that they were cheating on me and letting cars out the back door. I had been twenty-fourth on the list several months ago and was advised that I was fifteenth on the list as of this date. I made something of a scene. I left there at approximately nine o’clock. I had an appointment with my dentist at nine-fifteen. I was with him until nine-fifty-five. I remember the time because I had been thinking about that check while I was in the dentist’s chair. I knew it was an important piece of evidence. If I cashed it, then it would be returned to Rose Keeling by the bank when it sent her her canceled checks. If I held it as evidence, she might change her mind and stop payment on it.

“Just before I left the dentist’s, I conceived the idea of holding the check but having it certified. I consulted my watch. It was a few minutes before ten. I hurried to the bank and reached the cashier’s window at about ten-five. When he certified the check, I asked him to be certain to note the time of certification. You can see he wrote it on the check, 10:10 a.m.

“From the bank I went to a chess and checker club. I arrived there at about ten-twenty and started playing in a tournament in which I was a contestant. I played continuously until about three-thirty. Then I had a sandwich and a malted milk and drove home in my car — a model A Ford. I have been here ever since.

“Here is the certified check, in case you wish to examine it.”

“I presume you can verify all these times,” Mason asked, taking the check Ralph Endicott handed him.

“As a matter of fact, I can very easily. As it happens, I was playing chess on a time limit, and inasmuch as I am considered one of the champions there, there was a record kept of the games and of the time consumed in the games. However, I consider all of this as absolutely beside the point and quite irrelevant.”

Mason, who had been examining the check, said, “You saw her sign this check?”

“Yes.”

“I notice there’s a somewhat smeared but still fairly legible fingerprint on the back of this check.”

“Let’s see it.”

Mason pointed out the smudged fingerprint.

“Probably my fingerprint,” Ralph Endicott said casually.

“Made in ink?”

“That’s right. I remember now I started to endorse the check, and the cashier told me that I shouldn’t endorse it. If I wanted to have it certified, the certification would show the check was good as gold. He said I wasn’t to endorse it until I was ready to cash it.”

Mason said, “Well, let’s just check on this ink-smeared print. If it’s your fingerprint, let’s find out.”

Endicott burst out, “I consider this damned impertinent!”

“So do I,” Niles said.

“I don’t,” Palmer Endicott said calmly. “If we’re going to put our cards on the table, let’s put them all on the table. Rose Keeling was murdered today. Ralph was with her. He received a check from her, and he went to the bank and presented that check to have it certified. Under the circumstances, he’s going to have to account for every minute of his time, and if he can’t do it right now, I, for one, want to know it.”

Ralph Endicott turned to him irritably. “What are you trying to do?” he said. “Casting insinuations?”

“I’m not casting any insinuations,” Palmer said calmly, his eyes still fixed on his folded hands, his outward demeanor one of extreme placidity, “I’m merely checking. I want to know, myself, just as much as Mason does.”

“My own brother!” Ralph snorted.

“And doing you a great favor,” Palmer said.

“Yes,” Ralph said sarcastically, “I know just how much of a favor you want to do me.” He drew his index finger in a circular cutting motion across the front of his throat.

Niles said hastily, “Come, come, gentlemen, remember that Mr. Mason is here, and that Mr. Mason is representing adverse interests. Frankly, I see no reason for letting him question your word or indulge in any cross-examination.”

Palmer Endicott pushed back his chair, said, “You folks can do whatever you want to, but as far as I’m concerned, I’m going to find out about that fingerprint, and I’m going to find out about it right now.”

“Ralph isn’t trying to keep anything from you, Palmer,” Lorraine Parsons said acidly. “It’s merely that we object to discussing family affairs in front of this... this lawyer.”

Palmer Endicott said, “The trouble with Ralph is he thinks he’s too smart. He’s always gilding the lily and painting the rose. If he’d only learn to confine himself to the evidence and tell the simple truth, we’d all be better off. If it hadn’t been for that time he tried to dress things up and make the evidence look better ten years ago, we wouldn’t have been dependent upon inheriting under our brother’s will. We could have been independently rich and...”

“Palmer!” Lorraine snapped. “We won’t go into that.”

“I was merely mentioning...”

“Well, don’t.”

Palmer walked into the next room, said, “Well, there’s an ink pad in the writing desk. Can you make fingerprints from an ordinary rubber stamp ink pad, Mr. Mason?”

“I think so,” Mason said.

Ralph Endicott said, “This is all foolishness.”

Niles shifted his position uneasily in his chair. “I don’t approve of...”

Palmer Endicott returned to the room, carrying an ink pad and a sheet of paper. “Here you are,” he said to Ralph Endicott, holding the paper out in front of him. “A blank sheet of paper and an ink pad. Let’s see your fingerprints.”

Ralph Endicott said angrily, “You’re crazy, Palmer.”

“Crazy like a fox,” Palmer said. “Come on over here and take your fingerprints.”

He moved over to a small table at the far corner of the room, put down the sheet of paper and inked pad, said, “I’ll be getting a drink while you’re doing it.”

“Do I have to?” Ralph Endicott asked the lawyer.

“I would say not,” Niles said.

Palmer Endicott, standing in the door of the butler’s pantry, said quietly and forcefully, “Go over to that table and put your prints on that paper. Do you all want Scotch and soda?”

Mrs. Parsons said, “I think Scotch and soda would suit us all, Palmer, but I don’t think Mr. Mason would be comfortable drinking with us.”

Ralph Endicott walked over to the small table, inked his fingers and sullenly pressed them down on the sheet of paper.

Palmer Endicott, standing in the doorway, said, “Never let it be said that the Endicotts were remiss in hospitality. Scotch and soda, Mr. Mason?”

“Please,” the lawyer said.

Palmer Endicott left the room.

Ralph Endicott, having finished with the prints of his right hand, placed his left hand on the pad and transferred a set of fingerprints to the paper. He waved the paper in the air so that the prints would dry, then brought it over to the table and placed it in front of Mason. His face was sullen.

Mrs. Parsons said, “I, for one, bitterly resent the aspersions which are being cast upon the family. The Endicotts have at times been impecunious. They have never been dishonorable.”

There was an uncomfortable silence while Mason studied the fingerprints.

Palmer Endicott returned from the butler’s pantry with a half bottle of Scotch and glasses containing ice cubes. “How’s it coming?” he asked Mason.

Mason, comparing the fingerprints, said, “It looks to me like a thumbprint — I think — that’s right. It’s the right thumbprint. They check absolutely.”

“I’ll take a look for myself,” Niles said, and, crossing over to Mason, peered over the lawyer’s shoulder. At length he nodded. “That’s right,” he said, “they do seem to check.”

Palmer Endicott poured Scotch into the glasses. He used no jigger for measurement, and it was noticeable that he tried to conserve the Scotch as much as possible. When he splashed soda into the glasses, the resulting mixture was a very faint amber color.

“I hope you’re satisfied now,” Ralph said.

Palmer Endicott moved the tray over to offer his sister a drink. “I’m not satisfied. I’m merely convinced. Of course, Ralph,” he went on musingly, “you had no incentive to kill her. You had no motive, as far as I can see. But you sure as hell did have an opportunity.”

“I did not!” Ralph said indignantly. “She was alive and well when I left her, and I’m willing to bet the autopsy will show she was killed a long time after that.”

“Do you know the time of death, Mason?” Niles asked.

Mason said, “I think it was around eleven-forty.”

“Well, we’ll find out from the police,” Niles said.

Palmer Endicott, sipping his drink, slowly nodded.

Mason said, “I notice on this check that when Rose Keeling signs her name, she uses a very soft pen. She writes with a vertical hand and there is a good deal of shading on the strokes.”

Niles nodded. “I’d noticed that.”

“But on this carbon copy of the letter, there is none of that.”

“Naturally not,” Lorraine Parsons said. “That was written with an entirely different pen. Kindly don’t try to confuse the issues, Mr. Mason.”

Mason smiled affably. “That’s the very point I was getting at, Mrs. Parsons. This note must have been written with a ballpoint fountain pen. Otherwise so clear a carbon copy would have been impossible.”

Mrs. Parsons said acidly, “That is the same handwriting, absolutely the same vertical penmanship as the signature on the check which the bank has certified.”

Mason grinned. “Don’t misunderstand me. I was merely raising a point.”

Ralph Endicott turned to Niles. “Well, what do you think of it?” he asked the lawyer.

Niles said, “I think you have been more than frank with Mr. Mason. I think you have gone out of your way to tell him things that you certainly did not need to tell him.”

“I want him to get the whole picture,” Ralph said.

“He certainly should have it now.”

Mason pushed back his chair. “I think I have it. Thank you.”

Niles shook hands. Palmer Endicott came around the table to shake hands. Lorraine Parsons bowed a cold good night, and Ralph Endicott merely bowed without offering to shake hands.

Mason left the place, got in his automobile, drove to the first pay-station he could find and called police headquarters.

Lieutenant Tragg was out.

“I want to leave a message for him,” Mason said.

“Okay, we’ll take it.”

“Can you get him on the phone?”

“I think so. We can put out a radio call for him. What’s on your mind?”

Mason said, “Tell him that Ralph Endicott presented a check to be certified at the Central Security Bank shortly after ten o’clock today. The check was dated today, was payable to him, and had been signed by Rose Keeling. Is that important?”

“If that’s true,” the voice at the other end of the line said, “it’s important as hell.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “it’s true.”

He hung up and dialed the number of Marilyn Marlow.

After a moment or two she came to the phone.

“Are you alone?” Mason asked.

“No.”

“Boy friend?”

“No.”

“Girl friend?”

“No.”

“Police?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “The wind’s going to blow! Within the next hour they’ll have a carbon copy of the letter you destroyed. Don’t deny you received it; say it made you so mad you...”

Mason heard a peculiar sound at the other end of the line, then a suppressed exclamation.

The lawyer hesitated a moment, then went on talking casually, “I think the murder case is as good as solved. I find that Ralph Endicott presented a check for certification shortly after ten o’clock. The check was dated today and was signed by Rose Keeling. That should put him in the position of being the last one to see Rose Keeling alive. My advice to you is to cooperate in every way you can with the police, and tell them everything, because I think the murder will be cleared up in a few hours.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Are you there?” Mason asked.

Lieutenant Tragg’s voice, coming over the wire, said, “Well, thank you very much, Counselor, for your advice. I thought perhaps I’d better see what was going on when Miss Marlow had such an attack of monosyllables. I just thought it might be you asking questions.”

“What the devil are you doing there?” Mason asked.

“Following my profession,” Tragg said.

“Well,” Mason told him, “that’s what I’m doing.”

“So it would seem.”

“You sound disappointed,” Mason said.

“Not disappointed. Only startled. It’s such a strange sensation to listen in on a conversation you’re having with a client and hear you suggest that the client should cooperate with the police.”

“Oh, I always do that,” Mason said breezily. “It’s not often that you hear me, that’s all. Have you been in touch with Headquarters lately?”

“Why?”

“I rang up and left a tip for you.”

“The hell you did!”

“That’s right. About this check.”

“Is that on the square?”

“Sure it is. Hang up and Headquarters will be calling you.”

Tragg said, “And just in case this is a grandstand, Mason, and you intend to call Headquarters as soon as I’ve hung up, I’ll dial Headquarters right from here and get them on the line and find out if the information is already in there.”

“It will be,” Mason said. “But what are you doing with Miss Marlow?”

“Questioning her.”

“Well, she’ll give you the answers,” Mason said.

“Yes,” Tragg commented dryly, “I had just about come to the conclusion that she knew all the answers. Remember now, don’t try to call Headquarters, because I’m going to beat you to it.”

And Tragg hung up.

Mason dialed his office. Gertie answered the phone.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “Running a night shift?”

“Miss Street said things might be moving rather fast tonight, so we thought we’d wait around. She brought in some hot dogs and coffee and we’re just sitting here talking.”

“Della’s there?”

“Right here.”

“Put her on.”

Della Street came on the phone, said, “Yes, Chief.”

“Thank heavens you’re there!” Mason told her. “We’ve got to work fast. Get out your form book. Make an application for a writ of habeas corpus for Marilyn Marlow, state that she is being detained by the police without any charge whatever having been placed against her, that her detention is, therefore, unlawful and illegal. Then make out a writ of habeas corpus for a judge to sign and be sure that the writ provides that she can be admitted to bail, pending the hearing on the writ. Have you got that?”

“Okay, Chief. Gertie and I will hammer it out right away.”

“That’s fine,” Mason said. “We haven’t a second to waste.”

“The police have taken Marilyn Marlow?”

“They are going to,” Mason said.

“And then what?”

“Then,” he said, “we run up against a very ticklish, very delicate and personal problem. Ralph Endicott has a carbon copy of a letter which he claims Rose Keeling sent Marilyn Marlow yesterday.”

“Oh, oh!” Della exclaimed in dismay.

“Exactly,” Mason told her, and hung up.