The Case of the Mischievous Doll

Chapter Seven

Mason fitted his latchkey to the door of his private office, entered and was confronted by Della Street, who said, “Why secretaries get grey... Do you realize, Mr. Perry Mason, that you have two appointments I’ve had to stall off and if it hadn’t been for the noon hour intervening you’d have had more. I told them that you were out at a luncheon club making a speech.”

“You’re getting to be a pretty good extemporaneous prevaricator,” Mason said.

She smiled. “Freely translated that means I’m a graceful, gifted, talented offhand liar... You see what you’ve done to my morals, Mr. Perry Mason.”

“The constant dripping of water,” Mason said, “can wear away the toughest stone.”

“We were talking about morals, I believe. I suppose there was some major emergency.”

“There was a very great major emergency.”

“Have you had lunch?”

“No.”

“You have some appointments that I’ve been stalling off. I told them you’d see them right after lunch and then told them that you were delayed getting back from lunch.”

“They’re in the outer office?”

“Yes.”

“What else?” Mason asked.

“I believe you are acquainted with a very firm and dignified young woman named Henrietta Hull who is the secretary to Minerva Minden?”

“She isn’t young,” Mason said. “She has a sense of humour. She puts up a good front of being firm. What about her?”

“She called up, said that she was to leave a message for you, that she was sorry that there was no possibility of your seeing Miss Minden; that you might care to know, however, that Dorrie Ambler had been followed by a detective agency employed by Miss Minden ever since Miss Ambler had attempted to blackmail Miss Minden into making a property settlement on her.”

“What else?” Mason asked.

“That was all,” she said. “She told me that perhaps you should have that information.”

“I’ll be damned,” Mason said.

“And,” Della Street went on, “Jerry Nelson, Drake’s operative, said he missed you at the place he was told to report. He said Drake was out so he came down here to tell me that there’s a difference in coloring between Dorrie Ambler and Minerva Minden but aside from that the resemblance is startling. He said it might be very easy for an eyewitness to confuse one with the other.”

“But there was a discernible difference?”

“Oh, yes. He felt he could tell one from the other.”

“By what means? Just what is the difference?”

“Well, he couldn’t put his finger on it. He said that it’s something— He thinks the hair may be a little different and something about the complexion, but he says there’s a resemblance that— Well, the only way that he could describe it was to say it was startling.”

Mason’s unlisted phone rang.

“That’s Paul Drake,” Mason said, and picked up the receiver.

Paul Drake’s voice came over the line. “I’m sorry to bring you bad news, Perry.”

“What?”

“We were followed out to Minerva Minden’s.”

“How do you know?”

“I found out when I was parking the car.”

“How do you mean?”

“They have a plug they can slip on the end of the exhaust pipe. It releases drops of fluorescent liquid at regular intervals. By wearing a certain type of spectacles with lenses that are tinted so it can make these drops visible, they can follow a car even if they’re ten or fifteen minutes behind it.”

“And you know your car was fixed?”

“It was fixed all right.”

“But you don’t know that they followed us.”

“I don’t know they followed us,” Drake said, “but knowing Tragg as I do, I know he wasn’t wasting the taxpayers’ equipment just for the sake of the exercise.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Mason said. “I have an office full of irate clients and I’ve got to get down to a little routine work, but you get busy and see what you can find out.”

“We’re already busy,” Drake said. “I’ve got tentacles stretching out in every direction, trying to cover everything I can.”

“What about the kidnapping, Paul?”

“I don’t know. The police are playing it awfully close to their chest. Of course, under the circumstances you can realize that they wouldn’t take us into their confidence, and it’s probably good business not to tell the newspapers too much about it, but they’re certainly playing it cozy.”

“All right,” Mason said, “you get busy, Paul, and find out everything you can. Try particularly to find out something about the background of Dorrie Ambler.”

“You don’t think you should tell the police what you know?”

“I’m hanged if I know, Paul,” Mason said. “I think probably I will, but I want to think it over a bit. I’ll get rid of a few pressing appointments and then be in touch with you.”

“Okay,” Drake said, “I’ll be on the job.”

Mason said to Della Street, “I guess I’ll copy Paul Drake’s diet, Della. Get me a couple of sandwiches from the restaurant around the corner and put some coffee on. I’ll start seeing these clients who have been waiting.”

“Don’t you want to wait and eat afterwards?” Della Street asked.

“Frankly I do,” Mason said, “but some of those clients are a little angry. They feel they’ve been cooling their heels in my outer office while I’ve been out to lunch, enjoying myself.

“The psychological effect of having a hamburger sandwich in one hand and a law book in the other is remarkably soothing to the irate client. I’ll tell them I had such an important matter come up I had to break my luncheon engagement.”

“In other words,” Della Street said, “these sandwiches are to be props.”

“Props with a use,” Mason said. “Send in the first client, Della, and go get the sandwiches as soon as he comes in.”

She glided out into the outer office and a moment later Mason’s first client came stalking into the room.

Mason said, “I’m sorry I had to keep you waiting. I was out on a major emergency. I’m going to impose on your good nature by grabbing a sandwich while we talk. I’m famished.

“Della, hand me that file with the memorandum on this case and get a couple of hamburgers, if you will.”

“Right away,” Della Street promised, handing him the filing jacket.

As Mason opened the folder the expression on the client’s face softened.

Mason hurried through that interview and four more, nibbling at sandwiches and drinking coffee.

He was interviewing his last client when the telephone rang three short bells signaling that the switchboard operator was holding an important call.

Della Street picked up the telephone, said, “Yes, Gertie,” then turned to Mason. “Lieutenant Tragg,” she said.

“In the office?” Mason asked.

“No, on the line.”

Mason picked up the telephone, said, “Yes, Lieutenant, this is Mason.”

Tragg said, “I’ve given you some breaks today, Mason. I’m going to give you some more.”

“Yes,” Mason said dryly. “I hope the substance you put on the exhaust of my automobile doesn’t interfere with the operating efficiency.”

“Oh, not at all, not at all,” Tragg said.

“I presume my car was followed,” Mason observed.

“Oh, of course,” Tragg said casually. “You wouldn’t expect us to have you right in our hands, so to speak, and then let you slip through our fingers. We know all about your trip out to Miss Minden’s at Montrose.”

“I presume,” Mason said, “you’re going to extend some more favors and I’ll find that they were simply bait for a very elaborate trap.”

“Oh, but such beautiful bait,” Tragg said. “This is something that you absolutely can’t resist, Perry.”

“What is it?” Mason asked.

Tragg said, “I felt that you couldn’t make time enough to get here so I’m sending an officer. He should be in your office within a matter of seconds. If you and Della Street will come up here — just walk right into my office in case I shouldn’t be there. If I’m not in, I won’t keep you waiting very long... I’ll really do you a favour.”

“Bait?” Mason asked.

“Beautiful bait,” Tragg said, and hung up.

Again the phone rang, a series of short, sharp rings. Della Street picked it up, said, “Yes, Gertie?” Then turned to Mason. “A uniformed officer is in the outer office. He has a police car down in front with the motor running and instructions to get both of us to Headquarters just as fast as possible.”

Mason’s client jumped up. “Well, I think we’ve covered most of the points, Counselor. Thank you. I’ll get in touch with you.”

Mason said, “Sorry,” pushed back his chair, cupped his hand over Della Street’s elbow, said, “Come on, Della, let’s go.”

“You think it’s that important?” Della Street asked.

Mason said, “At this stage of the case I welcome any new developments, either pro or con... Remember, Della, no talking in the police car. Those officers sometimes have big ears.”

Della Street nodded.

They hurried out to the outer office. The waiting officer said, “I’m under instructions to get you to Headquarters just as fast as possible without using red light or siren, but hogging traffic all the way.”

“All right,” Mason told him, “let’s hog traffic.”

They hurried to the elevator. The officer escorted them to a curb where another officer was sitting behind the wheel of a police automobile, the motor running.

Perry Mason held the rear door open for Della Street, assisted her in, jumped in beside her and almost immediately the car whipped out into traffic.

“Good heavens,” Della Street said under her breath as they went through the first intersection.

“It’s their business,” Mason told her reassuringly. “They drive in traffic all the time and they’re in a hurry.”

“I’ll say they’re in a hurry,” Della Street said.

The car wove its way through traffic, crowded signals; twice the driver turned on the red light. Once he gave a light tap on the button of the siren. Aside from that they used no official prerogatives except the skill born of long practice and a deft, daring technique.

There had been no need for Mason’s admonition about conversation. The occupants of the automobile had been far too busy to engage in any small talk. As the car glided in to the reserved parking place at Police Headquarters, the driver said, “Just take that elevator to the third floor. Tragg’s office.”

“I know,” Mason said.

The elevator operator was waiting for them. As they entered, the door was slammed shut and they were taken directly to the third floor without intermediate stops.

Mason exchanged a meaningful glance with Della Street.

As the operator came to a stop they left the elevator, crossed the corridor and opened the door to Tragg’s office.

A uniformed officer sitting at the desk jerked his thumb toward the inner office. “Go right on in,” he said.

“Tragg there?” Mason asked.

“He said for you to go in,” the officer said.

Mason crossed over to the door, held it open for Della Street, then followed her into the room and came to an abrupt stop.

“Good heavens, Miss Ambler,” he said, “you certainly had me worried. Can you tell me what happened to—”

Della Street tugged at Mason’s coat.

The young woman who sat in the chair on the far side of Lt. Tragg’s desk swept Mason with cool, appraising eyes, then said in a deep, throaty voice, “Mr. Mason, I presume, and I suppose this young woman with you is your secretary I’ve heard so much about?”

Mason bowed. “Miss Della Street.”

“I’m Minerva Minden,” she said. “You’ve been trying to see me and I didn’t want to see you. I didn’t know that you had enough pull with the police department to arrange an interview under circumstances of this sort.”

“I didn’t either,” Mason said.

“However,” she said, “the results seem to speak for themselves.”

Mason said, “Actually, Miss Minden, I didn’t have any idea that you would be here. Lieutenant Tragg called me and asked me to come to his office. He said that if he wasn’t in we were to go to the private office and wait. I assume that he intends to interview us together.”

“I would assume so,” she said, in the same low, throaty voice.

“All right,” Mason said, turning to Della Street, “is this the woman who was in our office, Della?”

Della Street shook her head. “There are some things that only a woman would notice,” she said, “but it’s not the same one.”

“All right,” Mason said, turning to Minerva Minden, “but there’s a startling resemblance.”

“I am quite familiar with the resemblance,” she said. “In case you’re interested, Mr. Mason, it has been used to try and blackmail me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Dorrie Ambler feels that she is related to the relative from whom I received a large inheritance. She has been importuning me to make her a very substantial cash settlement and when I told her I wouldn’t do anything of the sort, she threatened to put me in such a position that I’d find myself on the defensive and would be only too glad to as she put it — pay through the nose in order to get out.”

“You’ve seen her?” Mason asked.

“I haven’t met her personally but I’ve talked with her on the telephone and I have— Well, frankly, I’ve had detectives on her trail.”

“For how long?”

“I don’t think I care to answer that question, Mr. Mason.”

“All right,” Mason said, “that’s not the story I heard.”

“I’m satisfied it isn’t,” she said. “I’m satisfied that Dorrie Ambler, who apparently is a remarkably intelligent and ingenious young woman, and who is being masterminded by a very clever manager, has arranged a series of circumstances so that she would have a very convincing background against which to reassert her claims.

“I may tell you, Mr. Mason, that that stunt she pulled following me to the airport, of getting clothes that were the exact duplicates of the clothes I had, of waiting until I had gone to the rest room, then firing a revolver loaded with blank cartridges and dashing into the rest room, jumping into the shower compartment and closing the door, was a remarkably ingenious bit of work.

“If I hadn’t kept my head I would have found myself in quite a sorry situation.”

“Just how?” Mason asked.

“Well, naturally,” Minerva Minden said, “being in a cubicle behind a closed door I wasn’t entirely conversant with what had happened. However, when I went out and was immediately identified by bystanders as the woman who had caused the commotion, I did some mighty quick thinking and realized what must have happened.”

“And so?” Mason asked.

“So,” she said, “I took it in my stride. Instead of insisting that there was a mistake and getting the officers to have a policewoman search the rest room, and have Dorrie Ambler claim, when she was brought out, that I was the one who had fired shots, thus giving the newspapers a field day; and instead of giving Dorrie the chance to insist in public that our rather striking resemblance was due to common ancestors, I simply accepted the responsibility and permitted myself to be taken to the station. There I was booked on charges of disturbing the peace and discharging a firearm within the city limits and in a public place.”

“You’re lucky that’s all of the charges that were made against you,” Mason said.

“Yes,” she said. “Dorrie was considerate there. I misunderstood the witnesses for a moment, or rather I think they all misunderstood Dorrie. She evidently said ‘This is not a stick-up,’ but when the witnesses identified me, two of them said that I had brandished a gun and said ‘This is a stick-up’ and I didn’t deny it until afterwards, when I had my hearing in court this morning. By that time my attorney had unearthed witnesses who had heard what was said and remembered it accurately. I think that was one of the big facts in my favour.”

Mason said, “I’m going to put it right up to you fairly and frankly: Did you put an ad in the paper asking for a young woman who—”

“Oh, bosh and nonsense, Mr. Mason,” she said. “Don’t be a sap. Dorrie Ambler put that ad in the paper herself. Then she went out and got a detective agency to front in the case. She would give them instructions over the telephone at an unlisted number and had everything all managed so that quite naturally she would be the one who was selected for the job. It was an elaborate job of window-dressing.”

“And the detective agency will then defeat it all by showing that she was the person who was back of it all?”

“The detective agency is not in a position to do any such thing,” she said. “I’ve tried to uncover it without any success. The detective agency simply knows that they were hired on a cash basis to screen applicants; that they were given photographs and told that whenever any woman bore a really striking resemblance to those photographs she was to be tentatively hired.”

“And the photographs were of you?” Mason asked.

“The photographs were not of me,” she said, “although they might well have been. Actually, and that is where Dorrie Ambler made a fatal mistake, she couldn’t get photographs of me so she had to use some of herself. While I have had many news photographs taken, she wanted portrait photos of front and side views and she had to have them in a hurry.

“It would have attracted attention if a woman who looked so much like me had either solicited photographs of me or tried to get someone else to procure them. It was much more simple to go to a photographer and have the shots taken that she wanted.”

“All of this must have taken a certain amount of money,” Mason said.

“Of course it took a certain amount of money,” she said. “I don’t know who’s financing her, but I have an idea it’s some very crooked, very clever Las Vegas businessman.

“And furthermore, I don’t think Dorrie Ambler entered the picture under her own power, so to speak. I think that this confidence man or promoter got to nosing around and found her in Nevada and got her to come here and take this apartment, to settle down here just as if she were an average young woman planning on living here. Then instead of coming out and trying to make a claim against the money I had inherited and putting herself in a position where she’d be carrying the burden of proof, they were smart enough to think up a whole series of situations in which I would be the one that was on the defensive and it would suit the convenience of the newspapers to play up the startling resemblance. That would get her case against me off to a flying start.”

“The hit-and-run?” Mason asked.

“I’m not prepared to say about the hit-and-run,” Minerva said. “That may have been accidental. But she was teamed up with crooks. You know that because the car was stolen.”

“It was her idea,” Mason said dryly, “that perhaps you’d been the one to hit this man in the hit-and-run accident and had used her as a cover-up.”

Minerva Minden laughed. “Now, isn’t that a likely story,” she said. “Don’t tell me that you fell for that one, Mr. Mason.

“The pay-off, of course, is that the accident took place in a stolen car. I am not the possessor of a completely untarnished reputation, Mr. Mason. My driving record is fairly well studded with citations and I would dislike to have to acknowledge another traffic accident. However, I think you will agree that the idea that I would be driving a stolen car is just a little far-fetched.

“And,” Minerva Minden went on, “the man who was found fatally wounded in Dorrie Ambler’s apartment was the detective who had assisted her in putting her swindle across, a member of the firm of Billings and Compton. The dead man was Marvin Billings. His death will seal his lips so he can’t testify against her. I make no accusations, but you must admit his death is quite fortunate.

“I’m not any plaster saint. I’ve been in lots of scrapes in my time and to be perfectly frank with you I expect to be in a lot more before I retire from active life. I want life, I want adventure, I want action, and I intend to get all three.

“I’m given to the unconventional in every sense of the word and in all of its various forms, but I am not given to stealing, I am not given to murder, and I don’t have to use stolen cars to take me where I’m going.”

Mason said, “Have you ever been operated on for appendicitis, Miss Minden?”

“Appendicitis? No, why?”

“This is very unconventional,” the lawyer said, “but it happens to be important. Would you mind turning your back to me and letting Miss Street look to see if there’s a scar on your abdomen?”

The girl laughed. “Why must I be so modest? Good heavens, you’d see that much of me in a bikini. If you think it’s important, take a look.”

She got up, faced them, pulled up her blouse, loosened her skirt, slipped it far down and stretched out the skin over the place where a scar would have been.

“Satisfied?” she asked. “Feel the skin if you want.”

Before Mason could answer, the door from the outer office burst open explosively, and Lt. Tragg hurried into the room.

“Well, well, well,” he said, “what is this — a strip tease?”

Minerva Minden said, “Mr. Mason wanted to check to see if I had had an operation for appendicitis.”

“I see,” Tragg said. “Now that we’re all here I’ll ask your pardon for having kept you waiting. I want to ask a few questions.”

“What questions do you want to ask?” Minerva Minden inquired, adjusting her clothing.

“In your case,” Lt. Tragg said, “quite frankly, Miss Minden, I wanted to ask questions about a murder and you may be the prime suspect. I feel I should warn you.”

“If you want to interrogate me about a murder case,” she said, “and there’s any possibility that I am going to be a suspect, I will have to ask you to interrogate my attorney and get your facts from him.”

“And your attorney?” Tragg asked.

Minerva Minden turned to Perry Mason with a slow smile. “My attorney,” she said, “is Mr. Perry Mason. I believe you were told by my secretary and manager, Henrietta Hull, Mr. Mason, that you were at the top of the list as potential counsel in the event of any serious charge being made against me.”

Tragg turned to Mason. “You’re representing her, Mason?”

“I am not,” Mason said vehemently. “I’m representing Dorrie Ambler, and there’s a very distinct conflict of interest. I couldn’t represent Minerva Minden even if I wanted to.”

“Now, that’s not a very chivalrous attitude, Mr. Mason,” Minerva Minden said. “What’s more, it’s not a very good business attitude. I am perfectly willing to let you represent Miss Ambler in any way that you want to in connection with any claims to an inheritance, but I am quite certain Lieutenant Tragg will assure you that in case any murder charges are to be pressed against me—”

“I didn’t say they were,” Tragg said. “I said that I wanted to interrogate you in connection with a murder and that you may be a suspect.”

“Whose murder?”

“The murder of Marvin Billings,” Lt. Tragg said. “His partner says Billings was working for you at the time of his death, that he was going to interview Miss Dorrie Ambler at your request.”

“And so I killed him — to keep him from following instructions?”

“I don’t know,” Tragg said. “I only wanted to question you.”

“You’ll have to see my lawyer,” she said. “I’m not going to talk with you until I’ve talked with him.”

Tragg asked, “Do you know Marvin Billings, the man who was found in a dying condition on the floor of Miss Ambler’s apartment?”

“The apartment is one that I know nothing about,” she said firmly. “And I have never met Marvin Billings.”

“The landlady identified your picture as being the one who lived in the apartment under the name of Dorrie Ambler, and she picked you out of a line-up.”

Minerva Minden said casually, “Well, before she identifies me as Dorrie Ambler, you’d better have Dorrie Ambler in the line-up and then see who she identifies.”

“I know, I know,” Lt. Tragg said. “We’re investigating, that’s all. We’re just trying to get the situation unscrambled.”

“Well, if you ask me,” Minerva Minden said, “this girl is a complete phoney, a fraud, an adventuress who has been trying to lay a foundation to present a claim against my uncle’s estate.

“If she were on the square, she’d have come right out in so many words and made her claim. She’d have gone to the probate court and said she was a relative of Harper Minden and therefore was entitled to a share of the estate.”

“Evidently,” Tragg said, “she knew nothing about her rights as a potential heiress.”

“Phooey!” Miss Minden said. “She’s already tried to shake me down for a settlement. That’s what started this whole thing. Then she got plastered, clobbered a pedestrian and suddenly decided she’d kill two birds with one stone, getting me involved in a lot of publicity and — I’m not going to sit here and argue. I’m going to get up and walk out of here. If you want me for anything in the future, you can come out with a warrant for my arrest, and not ask for me to please come to Headquarters to help clarify things — and then run Perry Mason in on me.

“Now then, is this interview going to be kept confidential or not?”

“I’m afraid,” Lt. Tragg said, “that in matters which are subject to police investigation, we are not in a position to withhold facts from the public.”

“And I presume,” Mason said, “that you wanted to get a spontaneous identification from Miss Street and from me and for that reason you carefully arranged this so that we would walk in on Miss Minden and you would be in a position to hear our remarks.”

“He wasn’t in the room at the time,” Minerva Minden said.

Mason smiled. “I am afraid you underestimate the police intelligence, Miss Minden. I take it, Lieutenant, that the room is bugged.”

“Sure, it’s bugged,” Tragg said. “And you’re quite right. I wanted to see your reaction when you first entered the room. Now, I take it there is a very strong resemblance between these two women, Dorrie Ambler and Minerva Minden.”

“I don’t think that I care to add anything to my comments at this time,” Mason said. “I somewhat resent being dragged down here to make an identification for you.”

“Oh, you weren’t dragged,” Tragg said. “You came of your own volition and you got something that you wanted very much — an opportunity to talk with Minerva Minden.”

“In other words you baited the trap with something that you thought I would fall for,” Mason said.

“Of course, of course.” Tragg beamed. “We wouldn’t bait a mouse trap with catnip and we wouldn’t bait a cat trap with cheese.”

“I feel that I have been betrayed all the way along the line and that the police have abused their power,” Minerva Minden said. She turned to Perry Mason. “I wish you would agree to represent me, Mr. Mason — not on anything in connection with the estate, just this.”

Mason shook his head. “I’m afraid there would be a conflict of interests.”

“Are you going to represent Dorrie Ambler in a claim against the estate?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked with her about that.”

Lt. Tragg said, “Of course, Perry, I can begin to put two and two together now and I’d like very, very much to have you tell us the conversation you had with Miss Ambler. I think it might give us some clues— And what about the appendicitis scar?”

“I’m sorry,” Mason said firmly, “I don’t feel that I’m in a position to make any disclosures.”

“All right,” Tragg said, smiling, “school’s dismissed. Police cars are waiting to return you to your respective destinations.”

Minerva Minden stalked toward the door, suddenly whirled, came over to Perry Mason and extended her hand. “I like you,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mason said.

“You won’t reconsider about being my attorney?”

“No.”

Minerva smiled at Della Street, turned her back on Tragg and left the room.

“That was rather rough,” Mason said to Tragg.

“It was, for a fact,” Tragg said, “but I had to find out for sure about the extent of the resemblance.”

“You’re now satisfied that there’s a strong resemblance?” Mason asked.

“I’m satisfied it’s a striking resemblance,” Tragg said. “I notice that Della Street was watching her like a hawk. What did you think, Della?”

“Her hair isn’t quite the same colour,” Della Street said. “She doesn’t use the same make-up, the tinting of the nails is different and... oh, there are quite a few little things that a woman would notice, but I can tell you the physical resemblance is really startling. The voices are the big difference. Dorrie Ambler talks rapidly and in a high-pitched voice.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” Tragg said. “I had to do it that way, Perry, because you wouldn’t co-operate otherwise. The car will take you back to your office.”