The Case of the Mischievous Doll

Chapter Eight

Mason and Della dropped in at Paul Drake’s office on the way back from Police Headquarters.

“Got a crying towel handy, Paul?” Mason asked.

“I always keep one in the upper right-hand drawer,” Drake said.

“Get it out,” Mason told him, “because you’ve lost a lucrative job.”

“How come?”

“The police have moved in. I think the FBI may move in. They’re considering the possibility of a kidnapping but the local police are still about two-thirds sold on the idea that Dorrie Ambler killed the detective who was trying to shake her down and then slipped out.”

Drake said, “That sounds logical enough.”

“Or she could have been defending herself when they tried to abduct her,” Mason said.

“And killed a blackmailing detective?” Drake asked.

“Stranger things have happened,” Mason pointed out.

“Name one,” Drake said.

Mason grinned. He said, “For your information, I’ve now talked with Minerva Minden.”

“She finally consented to see you?” Drake asked.

“Lieutenant Tragg arranged a trap,” Mason said. “He sent for me to come up to his office on a very urgent matter. He insisted that Della Street come along. He had us shown into his office. Minerva was sitting there. I think Tragg wanted to see just how close the resemblance was between Minerva and Dorrie Ambler.”

“How close was it?” Drake asked.

“So darned close that it had me fooled,” Mason said. “Della Street saw the difference.”

“I saw a difference in the little things that a woman would notice,” Della Street said. “The coloring, mostly.”

“The voices are quite different,” Mason said, “but in my opinion the resemblance simply can’t be coincidental. I think when we find Dorrie Ambler we’ll find another heir to the Harper Minden fortune.”

“And then there’ll be a knock-down, drag-out fight between Minerva Minden and Dorrie Ambler?”

“That would be my guess,” Mason said. “You’ll remember that Minerva Minden’s mother had a sister who died, presumably without leaving any issue. She lived with her married sister for a while. On the strength of the resemblance alone I’d be willing to gamble that Minerva’s father may have slept in more than one bed. The resemblance between Dorrie and Minerva is too striking to be coincidental.”

“You think Dorrie Ambler was kidnapped?” Drake asked.

“I keep trying to convince myself she wasn’t,” Mason said. “And so far I haven’t made much headway.”

“I’m thinking about the time element,” Drake said. “They’d have had a deuce of a time getting her out of the apartment house and down the stairs. They couldn’t have used the elevator because that would have brought them back into our line of vision, or rather where we might have seen them. They couldn’t afford to take that chance.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, too,” Mason said. “I’m wondering if perhaps they didn’t keep her right there in the building.”

“You mean they had another apartment?” Drake asked.

Mason nodded, thought for a moment, then said, “Check that phase of it, Paul. Try and find who has the apartments rented on the floor below and the floor above. There’s just a chance they spirited her into another apartment.”

“How about the shadowing jobs?”

“Call them off,” Mason said. “The cops wouldn’t like it, and shadows can’t do any good now.”

“Okay, Perry, I’ll take a crack at that angle of another apartment.”

“And now,” Della Street said, “let’s hope we can get the office routine back to some semblance of order, Mr. Perry Mason. You have a lot of canceled appointments and quite probably some irate clients.”

“And,” Mason said, “I know I have a stack of important mail that’s unanswered and I suppose you’re going to bring that up.”

“It will be on your desk within five minutes,” she said.

Mason made a gesture of helplessness, turned to Paul Drake. “Okay, Paul, back to the salt mines.”