The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink

Chapter 1

It had been a hard, grueling day. Perry Mason and his secretary, Della Street, had finished taking a deposition. The witness had been cunning and evasive, his lawyer brimming with technical objections, and all of Perry Mason’s skill was needed finally to drag forth the significant facts.

The lawyer and his secretary, entering Morris Alburg’s restaurant, sought the privacy of a curtained booth in the rear. Della sighed her relief, glanced at Mason’s rugged features, said, “I don’t know how you do it. I’m like a wet dishrag.”

Morris Alburg made it a point to wave the waiter aside and himself take the order of his distinguished customer.

“Hard day, Mr. Mason?” he asked.

“A bear cat,” Mason admitted.

“In court all day, I presume?”

Mason shook his head.

“A deposition, Morris,” Della Street explained, indicating her shorthand books. “I took check notes.”

Alburg, not understanding, said, “Uh-huh,” vaguely, and then asked, “Cocktails?”

“Two double Bacardis,” Mason ordered, “a little on the sour side.”

Morris passed the cocktail order on to the waiter. “I have some nice fried chicken,” he suggested. “And the steaks are out of this world.”

He raised a thumb and forefinger to his lips.

Della Street laughed. “Are you going ritzy on us, Morris? Where did you get that?”

“The steaks?”

“No, the gesture.”

The restaurant proprietor grinned. “I saw a guy do that in a restaurant scene in the movies,” he confessed. “Then you should have seen the junk he brought on, steaks you could look at and tell they were tough like shoe leather.”

“Then never mind the gestures,” Mason told him. “We want two thick steaks, medium rare, lots of lyonnaise potatoes, some buttered bread, with—” He glanced expectantly at Della Street.

Della nodded.

“Garlic,” Mason said.

“Okay,” Morris Alburg said. “You’ll get it. The best!”

“Tender, juicy, medium rare,” Mason said.

“The best,” Alburg repeated again, and vanished, letting the green curtain drop back into place.

Mason extended his cigarette case to Della Street and held a match. The lawyer took a deep inhalation, slowly expelled the smoke, and half-closed his eyes. “If that old goat had only told the truth in the first place, instead of beating around the bush,” he said, “we’d have been finished in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, you finally got the truth out of him.”

“Finally,” Mason admitted. “It was like trying to pick up quicksilver with your bare fingers. You’d ask him a question and he’d run all over the place, twisting, turning, evading, throwing out red herrings, trying to change the subject.”

Della Street laughed and said, “Do you realize there was one question you asked him exactly twelve times?”

“I hadn’t counted the times,” Mason said, “but that was the turning point. I’d ask the question, he’d try to lead me off on some other conversational channel, and I’d wait until he’d finished, then ask the same question over again, in exactly the same words. He’d try new tactics to shake me off. I’d nod attentively as though I were taking it all in, and inspire him to new heights of verbal evasion. Then, when he’d finished, I’d ask him the same question in exactly the same words.”

The lawyer chuckled reminiscently.

“That was what finally broke him,” Della Street said. “When he caved in after that, he was your meat.”

Morris Alburg came back with the cocktails, glowing pink and cool in the big goblets.

Mason and Della Street touched glasses, drank a silent toast.

Morris Alburg in the door, watching them, said, “The way you talk with your eyes,” and shrugged his shoulders.

“Mr. Mason gets tired of talking with his voice, Morris,” Della Street said, slightly embarrassed.

“I guess that’s right, I guess lawyers talk,” Morris Alburg said hastily, trying to cover the fact that his observation had been too personal.

“Our steaks on the fire?” Mason asked.

Morris nodded.

“Good?”

“The best!” Morris grinned. Then, with a gesture that was like a silent benediction, he backed out of the booth and the curtain fell in place.

Mason and Della Street were undisturbed until, the cocktails finished, Alburg reappeared with a tray on which were stacked hot plates, platters with sizzling steaks, lyonnaise potatoes, and french bread toasted a delicious golden-brown, glistening with butter and little scrapings of garlic.

“Coffee?” he asked.

Mason held up two fingers.

Alburg nodded, withdrew, and returned with a big pot of coffee and two cups and saucers, cream and sugar.

For a few minutes he busied himself, seeing that water glasses were filled, that there was plenty of butter. He seemed reluctant to leave. Mason glanced significantly at his secretary.

“I don’t get it,” Mason said. “Taking our order was a fine gesture of hospitality, Morris, but bringing it is gilding the lily.”

“I got troubles,” the proprietor said with a sigh. “I guess we all got troubles. These days nobody wants to work except the boss... Skip it. You folks came here to forget troubles. Eat.”

The green curtain once more fell back into place.

It was as Mason was finishing the last of his steak that Alburg came back to the doorway.

Della Street said, “Oh-oh, Morris has a problem, Chief.”

Mason glanced up.

“Now ain’t that crazy,” Alburg commented.

“What’s crazy?” Mason asked.

“This waitress I’ve got — nuts, absolutely nuts.”

Della Street, watching him, said jokingly, “I think it’s a legal problem, Chief. Better watch out.”

“You’re damned right it’s a legal problem,” Morris Alburg exploded. “What are you going to do with a girl like that?”

“Like what?” Mason asked.

“She came to work five days ago. Today is the first of the month, so I’m going to pay her. I tell her so. I have the check ready. She looks like she sure needs the money. Then a little while after you two came in, she takes a powder.”

“What do you mean, a powder?” Mason asked.

“She walks out the back door. She doesn’t come back.”

“Perhaps her nose needed powder,” Della Street said.

“Not in the alley,” Morris Alburg said. “She went out through the alley door. She dropped her apron in the alley right after she got through the door, and she traveled. Mind you, no hat, no coat, and you know what it’s like outside, cold.”

“Perhaps she didn’t have a coat,” Della Street said.

“Sure she’s got a coat. She left it in the closet. Once on a time it was one swanky coat. Now it’s moth-eaten.”

“Moth-eaten?” Perry Mason asked, puzzled. “What sort of a coat?”

“The best.”

“What’s that, Morris?” Della asked.

“Mink — the best — moth-eaten.”

“Go on,” Mason invited. “Get it off your chest, Morris.”

“Me,” Morris Alburg said, “I don’t like it. That girl, I’ll betcha, is wanted by the police.”

“What makes you think so?”

“The dishwasher watched her out of the alley window. She dropped the apron to the ground and then she started running. She ran like hell... All right, here I am with her check for five days’ wages, her fur coat, a restaurant full of customers, and some of them mad like crazy. I thought she was waiting on some of the tables, and everything was all right. Then I heard the bell start to ring — you hear that bell ring, ring, ring?”

Della Street nodded.

“That bell,” Alburg said, “is what the cook rings when an order is ready to go on the table. He’s got stuff stacked out there for orders that this Dixie girl took and didn’t do anything about. I thought she was waiting on the table. She’s gone. So what? The food gets cold, the customers get sore, and this girl runs like an antelope down the alley. What kind of a mess is that?”

“So what did you do?” Mason asked.

“I made each of the other girls take an extra table, then I got busy myself,” Alburg said. “But ain’t it something? Five days she works, and then she goes out like a jackrabbit.”

Mason pushed the dishes aside. Despite himself, interest showed in his eyes.

“You told her she had a check coming?”

“I told her. I wanted to give it to her half an hour ago. She was busy. She said she’d pick it up later on.”

“Then she didn’t intend to leave,” Mason said, “not then.”

Alburg shrugged his shoulders.

“So,” Mason went on, “when she left in a rush it must have been that someone came in who frightened her.”

“The police,” Alburg said. “She’s wanted. You must protect me.”

“Any detectives come in?” Mason asked.

“I don’t think so... She just took a powder.”

Mason said, “I’d like to take a look at the coat, Morris.”

“The coat,” Morris repeated. “That’s what’s bothering me. What am I going to do with the coat? The money — well, that belongs to her. She can come and get it any time. But the coat — suppose it’s valuable? Who’s going to be responsible for it? What am I going to do?”

“Put it in storage some place,” Mason said. “Let’s take a look at it.”

Alburg nodded, vanished once more.

Della Street said, “She must have seen someone coming in, perhaps a detective — perhaps...”

“Wait a minute,” Mason said. “Let’s not get the cart too far ahead of the horse, Della. We’ll take a look at the coat first.”

Alburg returned, carrying the coat.

Della Street gave an involuntary exclamation. “Oh, what a shame! What a terrible shame!”

It was quite evident, even from the doorway where Alburg held the coat, that it was moth-eaten. The fur had little ragged patches in the front which were plainly visible, places where smooth, glossy sheen became ragged pin points. The damage might not have been so noticeable upon a less expensive fur, but on the mantle of that rich coat, it stood out clearly.

Della Street arose from the table, pounced on the coat, turned it quickly back to look for the label, and said, “Gosh, Chief, it’s a Colton and Colfax guaranteed mink.”

“I suppose she picked it up cheap somewhere,” Alburg said.

“I don’t think so,” Mason told him. “I think a great deal can be done to recondition that fur. I think there are places where new skins could be sewed in... Yes, look...”

“Why, certainly,” Della Street said. “It’s only moth-eaten in two or three places there in the front. New skins could be put in and the coat would be almost as good as new. No secondhand dealer would have sold a coat like that in that condition. He’d have fixed it up and sold it as a reconditioned coat.”

“The waitress owned this coat?” Mason asked.

“Owned it or stole it,” Alburg said. “Perhaps it’s hot and she didn’t know what to do with it so she left it in a closet for a few weeks, and the moths got into it.”

“Perhaps some boy friend gave it to her and then ducked out so that she got the idea it might have been stolen,” Mason observed thoughtfully. “In any event, it’s a mystery, and I like mysteries, Morris.”

“Well, I don’t,” Morris said.

Mason inspected the coat carefully, paying particular attention to the stitching on the side.

“Think the label’s phony?” Alburg asked.

“The label’s genuine,” Mason said. “It might have been taken from another coat and sewn on this one... Wait a minute, here’s something! This sewing is fresh. The stitches are a little different in color from those other stitches.”

His fingers explored the lining back of the place where he had found the fresh sewing. “There’s something in here, Morris.”

Mason looked at the restaurant proprietor, then hesitated.

“You’re the doctor,” Alburg said.

Mason suddenly became wary. “There are certain peculiar circumstances in connection with this case, Morris.”

“Are you telling me?”

Mason said, “Let us assume that this coat was originally purchased by this young woman. That means at one time she was quite wealthy, comparatively speaking. Then she must have gone away hurriedly and left the fur coat behind. She wasn’t there to take care of it, there was no one else on whom she wanted to call or on whom she dared to call to take care of it.”

“And then?” Della asked.

“And then,” Mason went on, “after an interval, during which the moths got into the coat, she returned. At that time she was completely down on her luck. She was desperate. She went to the place where the fur coat was located. She put it on. She didn’t have money enough to go and have it restored, or repaired, or whatever you call fixing up a fur coat.”

“She was broke, all right,” Morris Alburg said.

“She came to this restaurant and got a job. She must have been hard up or she wouldn’t have taken that job. Yet when the pay check is all made out and she knows she has only to ask Morris for it, she suddenly gets panic-stricken and runs out, leaving the fur coat behind her, also the check for her wages.”

Morris Alburg’s eyes narrowed. “I get it now,” he said. “You’re putting it together so it’s just plain, like two and two. She’s been in prison. Maybe she poured lead into her boy friend during a quarrel. May be she beat the rap, but was afraid to be seen with her fur coat. She...”

“Then why didn’t she store it?” Della Street asked.

“She didn’t want anybody to know she was mixed up in this shooting. It was something that she did, and they never identified her... Wait a minute, she may have been picked up for drunk driving. She gave a phony name and wouldn’t let anybody know who she was. She drew a ninety-day sentence in the can, and she went and served it out — serving under some phony name. Take this name she gave me — Dixie Dayton. That’s phony-sounding right on the face of it... She’s been in jail.”

Della Street laughed. “With an imagination like that, Morris, you should have been writing stories.”

“With an imagination like I’ve got,” Morris said ruefully, “I can see police walking in that door right now — the trouble I’m in — a crook working here. If she’s wanted they’ll claim I was hiding her... Okay, so I’ve got friends at headquarters. So what?”

“Keep it up,” Della Street laughed. “You’re certainly dishing it out to yourself, Morris. You’ll be having yourself convicted of murder next — being strapped in the death chair in the gas cham...”

“Don’t!” Morris interposed so sharply that his voice was like the peremptory crack of a pistol. “Not even to joke, don’t say that.”

There was silence for a moment, then Alburg regained his self-control, nodded his head emphatically. “That’s the story,” he said. “At one time she was rich. She got tangled up. Maybe it was marijuana. That’s it. She went to a reefer party, and she was picked up. Six months she got, right in the can. That’s why the fur coat was there in the closet, neglected all the time she was in jail. Then, when she got out, the moths were in it...”

“And then,” Mason said, smiling, “when she went in she was wealthy, when she came out she was broke.”

Alburg gave that frowning consideration. “How come?” he asked.

“Don’t ask me,” Mason told him. “It’s your story. I’m just picking flaws. If she was a wealthy society dame who got picked up at a reefer party, and served six months, how does it happen that when she came out she had to get a job as a waitress?”

“Now,” Alburg said, “you’re really asking questions.”

“Tell us about how she left,” Mason invited. “Just what did happen, Morris? We want facts now, no more of your imaginative theories.”

Alburg said, “She simply walked out, just like I told you. I heard the bell ring a couple of times, the bell the cook rings when food is taken off the stove and ready to be picked up. You don’t like to hear that bell ring because it means the waitresses are falling down on the job.”

“How many waitresses?” Mason asked.

“Five waitresses, and I have a man who handles the trade in the booths on this side. He’s been with me a long time. The booth trade is the best because you get the biggest tips.”

“All right, go on, what about the waitress?”

“Well, after I heard the bell ring a couple of times I went back to investigate. There was this stuff on the shelf by the stove — food that was getting cold. I start for the waitresses to bawl them out. Then one of the customers asked me what was taking so long. I asked him who was waiting on him; he tells me what she looked like. I knew it was Dixie. I went around looking for her. She’s nowhere. All the food on the shelf was for Dixie’s tables.

“I sent one of the girls to the powder room. ‘Drag her out,’ I say. ‘Sick or not, drag her out.’ She wasn’t there. Then the dishwasher told me he’d seen her. She went out the back door and ran down the alley.

“Well, you know how things are. When an emergency comes up you have to take care of the customers first, so I started the girls getting the food out to the tables, made them take an extra table apiece, and... well, then I came in here to pass my troubles on to you.”

“Did this waitress make friends with the other girls?”

“Not a friend. She kept her lip buttoned.”

“No friends?”

“Didn’t want to mingle around. The other waitresses thought she was snooty — that and the mink coat.”

“Well,” Mason said, “I gather that...”

A waiter pulled aside the green curtain, tapped Alburg on the shoulder, and said, “Beg your pardon, Boss, but the police are here.”

“Oh-oh,” Alburg said, and glanced helplessly over his shoulder. “Put ’em in one of the booths, Tony. I can’t have people around the restaurant seeing me being questioned by the police... I knew it all along, Mason, she’s a crook, and...”

“The other booths are all full,” the waiter said.

Alburg groaned.

“Tell them to come on in here,” Mason said.

Alburg’s face lit up. “You won’t mind?”

“We’ve gone this far with it, and we may as well see it through,” Mason said.

Alburg turned to the waiter. “Plain-clothes or uniform?”

“Plain-clothes.”

“Bring ’em in,” Alburg said. “Bring in a couple of extra chairs, Tony. Bring in coffee and cigars, the good cigars — the best.”

The waiter withdrew. Alburg turned to Mason and said, “That’s awfully nice of you, Mr. Mason.”

“Glad to do it,” Mason said. “In fact, I’m curious now. What do you suppose they want?”

“What do they want? What do they want?” Alburg said. “They want that dame, of course, and they want the mink coat. Even if it isn’t hot they’ll take it as evidence. Two weeks from now the cop’s sweetie will be wearing it. What’ll I do with it? I...”

“Here,” Della Street said, “put it over the back of my chair. They’ll think it’s mine.”

Alburg hastily draped the mink coat over the back of Della Street’s chair. “I wouldn’t want to hold out on them,” he muttered, “but I don’t want them finding that mink coat here. You know how that’d look in the paper. ‘Police find a stolen mink coat in the possession of a waitress at Alburg’s restaurant,’ and everyone immediately thinks it was stolen from a customer. I...”

The curtains were pulled back. The waiter said, “Right in here.”

Two plain-clothes men entered the booth. One of them jerked his finger at Alburg and said, “This is the fellow.”

“Hello,” the other one said.

“Sit down, boys, sit down,” Alburg said. “The booths were all crowded and I was just talking with my friend in here, so he said...”

“That’s Mason, the lawyer,” one of the plain-clothes men said.

“That’s right. That’s right. Perry Mason, the lawyer. Now what seems to be the trouble, boys? What can I do for you?”

Mason said, “Miss Street, my secretary, gentlemen.”

The officers grunted an acknowledgment of the introduction. Neither one offered his name. The smaller of the two men did the talking.

The waiter brought two extra chairs, coffee and cigars.

“Anything else I can get for you?” Alburg asked. Anything—?”

“This is okay,” the officer who was doing the talking said. “Tell him to bring in a big pot of coffee. I like lots of cream and sugar. My partner drinks it black. Okay, Alburg, what’s the pitch?”

“What pitch?”

“You know, the waitress.”

“What about her?”

“The one that took a powder,” the officer said. “Come on, don’t waste time stalling around. What the hell’s the idea? You in on this?”

“I don’t get it,” Alburg said. “Why should you come to me? She was working here. You fellows spotted her, and she spotted you, so she ran out.”

The officers exchanged glances. The spokesman said, “What do you mean, spotted us?”

“She did, didn’t she?”

“Hell, no.”

“Then why did she leave?” Alburg asked.

“That’s what we came to see you about.”

“Well, then, how did you know she left?”

“Because somebody tried to make her get in a car that was parked down the alley. She wouldn’t do it. The guy had a gun. He took two shots at her. She started to run, got as far as the street, and was hit by a car that was trying to beat the light. The guy who was in the car that struck her wasn’t to blame. The signal light at the corner was green. The man in the other car, who pulled the gun, backed the length of the alley and drove away fast.”

Morris Alburg ran his hand over the top of his bald head. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“So we want to know what about her, what happened. She had her purse with her. It shows her name is Dixie Dayton, and she works here. She’s been identified as a waitress who came running out of the alley. We found a waitress’s apron lying in the alley outside the back door. The dishwasher says she took it on the lam, fast. She grabbed her purse as she went by, but didn’t even stop to take off her apron until she got outside... Now, tell us about her.”

Morris Alburg shook his head. “I just told Mr. Mason all I know about her,” he said. “She came to work. She seemed to need the money. I had her pay check ready. She...”

“What’s her real name?”

“Dixie Dayton — that’s the name she gave me.”

“Sounds phony.”

“It did to me, too,” Alburg said, “but that was her name and that’s the way the check is made out.”

“Social Security number?”

“Oh, sure.”

“What is it?”

“I can’t remember it. It’s on the back of the check.”

“We’ll take a look. What made her run out?”

“Now you’ve got me,” Alburg said.

The police seemed to feel that finishing their coffee was more important than making a check-up.

“Anybody see what frightened her?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Find out.”

Alburg got up from his chair, went out into the restaurant.

Della Street smiled inquisitively at the officers. “My, you certainly got on the job fast,” she said.

“Radio,” one of the men explained. “How do you folks get in on this?”

“We don’t,” Mason said. “We just finished eating. We were visiting with Morris. He told us about the waitress taking a powder.”

“How did he find it out?”

“Orders began to stack up, food started getting cold, people started complaining about the service.”

Alburg came back and said, “I can’t get a line on what scared her except it was...”

“What table was she waiting on?”

“She had four tables,” Alburg said. “She had started out with a tray. It had three water glasses and butter. We know that much for certain. More, we don’t know.”

“Three glasses?” Mason asked.

“That’s right.”

“That’s our clue,” the officer said. “Usually people dine alone, in pairs, or four. A crowd of three isn’t usual. That tells the story. She had three people at one of her tables. She started out to take the order and recognized them, or they recognized her.”

Alburg nodded.

“Where are the three?”

“They’re still here. I wish you wouldn’t question them though.”

“Why?”

“Because they got sore. They had to wait for service and they’re mad.”

“That’s all right,” the officer said, “we’re going to question them.”

“Can’t you do it quietly?”

“Oh, to hell with that stuff,” the officer said. “Someone tried to kill this babe. She was frightened by the persons at that table. We’re going to shake them down. They’ll be damned lucky if we don’t take them down to headquarters. Come on, Bill, let’s go.”

The officers finished their coffee, scraped back their chairs.

Alburg followed them out, protesting halfheartedly.

Mason looked at Della Street.

“The poor kid,” Della said.

“Let’s take a look,” Mason said.

“At what?”

“At the three people.”

He led the way, selecting a place from which they could see the table to which Morris Alburg escorted the officers.

The officers didn’t bother to put on an act. It was a shakedown, and everyone in the restaurant knew it was a shakedown.

The party consisted of two men and a girl. The men were past middle age, the girl was in the late twenties.

The officers didn’t even bother to draw up chairs and pretend they were friends. They stood by the table and made the shakedown. They made it complete. They demanded drivers’ licenses, cards, and any other means of identification.

Other diners turned curious heads. Conversation in the restaurant quieted until virtually everyone was staring at the little drama being enacted at the table.

Mason touched Della Street’s arm. “Notice the lone man eating steak,” he said. “Take a good look at him.”

“I don’t get it.”

“He’s sitting at a table all by himself, the chunky individual with the determined look. He has rather heavy eyebrows, coarse black hair, and...”

“Yes, yes, I see him, but what about him?”

“Notice the way he’s eating?”

“What about it?”

Mason said, “He’s eating his steak with strange regularity, swallowing his food as fast as he can. His jaws are in a hurry but his knife and fork are disciplined to a regular rhythm. He wants to get the job finished. Notice that he’s one of the few men who are paying absolutely no attention to what is going on at the table where the three are being questioned by the officers.”

Della Street nodded.

“He is, moreover, sitting within ten feet of the trio. He’s in a position to hear what’s being said if he wants to listen, and yet he’s just sitting there eating. Notice the way his jaws move. Notice the way he keeps an even tempo of eating. He doesn’t want to seem to be in a hurry, and he doesn’t dare walk out and leave food on his plate, but he certainly wants to get out.”

“He certainly is shoveling in the grub,” Della Street agreed.

They watched the man for several seconds.

“Does he mean something?” Della Street asked.

“Yes.”

“What?”

Mason said, “Nine chances out of ten the police have the cart before the horse.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Look at it this way,” Mason said. “The waitress ran away just after she had filled three glasses with ice water, just after she had picked up three butter dishes with squares of butter on them, and proceeded as far as the serving table near the door to the kitchen.”

Della Street nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “it is quite obvious that she had left the kitchen knowing she had to serve three people at a table.”

“Naturally.” Della Street laughed. “Three water glasses and three butter dishes mean three at a table.”

“And what happened?” Mason asked.

“I don’t see anything wrong with the police theory,”

Della Street told him, frowning. “As she got a better look at the three people seated at the table, she saw that she knew one or all of those people, and there was something in the association that filled her with panic, so she decided she was going to clear out fast.”

“How did she know there were three people at the table to be waited on?”

“She must have seen them when she went after the water glasses.”

“From what point did she see them?”

“Why, I don’t know. She must have — She must have seen them walk in.”

“Exactly. She couldn’t have seen them from the kitchen.”

“But she could have seen them when she emerged from the kitchen carrying an order to some other table.”

“Her tables were all grouped together,” Mason pointed out. “There they are, the four tables, in that cluster. Now if she had first seen the three people while she was waiting on one of the other tables, she’d have been near the one where the three are sitting.”

“Oh, I see,” Della said, “then you don’t feel that she left hurriedly because she got a closer look at the three people when she emerged from the kitchen.”

“That’s what the police think,” Mason said, “but the facts don’t bear out that theory.”

Della Street nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “why not assume that the three people meant absolutely nothing to her; that she saw them come in when she was delivering an order of food to another table; that when she returned to the kitchen she picked up a tray, put three glasses of water and three squares of butter on that tray, and started for the table. It was then, for the first time, she noticed someone who had just entered the restaurant, someone who did mean something to her.”

“You mean the man eating the steak?”

“It could very well be the man eating steak,” Mason said. “In a situation of this kind, where a girl is completely terrified over something, and dashes out the back of the restaurant into the alley, the assumption would be that she was more likely to have been terrified by one man who was looking her over, than by a social party that was wrapped up in its own problems and its own entertainment.

“Now then,” Mason went on, “if that is the case, any individual who suddenly pushed back his plate, with food still on it, would arouse the suspicions of the police.”

Della Street nodded.

“On the other hand, if a man bolted his food hurriedly, the police might also become suspicious.”

Again she nodded.

“Therefore,” Mason said, “if the individual who was responsible for the flight of Dixie Dayton saw police in the restaurant asking questions, he would be inclined to try to get out as quickly as he could without doing anything to arouse suspicion.

“Therefore, Della, we should notice this man who is eating with such studied rapidity. Let’s watch to see if he orders dessert, or has a second cup of coffee. If he glances at his watch, acts as though he had an appointment, casually calls the waitress, gives her bills and doesn’t wait for his change...”

“Good heavens, Chief, he’s doing all those things now,” Della Street exclaimed, as the heavy-set man pushed his plate back, glanced at his wrist watch, tilted up the coffee cup, draining the last dregs of the coffee, and held up his finger to get the attention of the waitress.

The voice in which he said, “I have an appointment. Please get me a check. I won’t care for dessert, thank you,” was distinctly audible.

“Do you,” Mason asked Della Street, “suppose you could play detective? Slip out there, Della, and see what happens to that man when he gets outside. Perhaps you can get the license number of his automobile. Follow him if you have a chance — but don’t run any risks. There may be some element of danger if he thinks you’re on his trail. He’ll perhaps suspect a man, but a good-looking woman might get away with it. I’d like to know a little more about that fellow... It would be better if we both went, but the police will want to check up with me before they leave. They’re a little suspicious. My presence was too opportune.”

“I’ll give it a try,” Della Street said, and then added, “You think there’s a lot more to this than what Morris told us, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Mason said, giving her the keys to his car.

“What about the mink coat?”

Mason hesitated.

“If the police are asking questions,” Della went on, “they’ll find out about the fur coat and then they’ll want it.”

“Well, let them have it,” Mason said. “After all, they’re trying to clear the case up to the best of their ability.”

“I was just wondering about Morris Alburg. He’s looking to us, and he certainly didn’t want the police to know about that coat.”

Mason said abruptly, “Okay, Della. Go ahead and wear it.”

Della slipped into the coat, stood poised near the entrance to the booth.

“You don’t think he’s spotted you, do you, Della?”

“I doubt it. It’s hard to tell about him. He doesn’t seem to look around, doesn’t seem the least bit curious about what’s going on, and yet he gives you the impression of being completely, thoroughly aware of every move that’s made.”

Mason said, “He’s getting ready to go now. Don’t take any chances, Della. Just sail on out as though you were a working girl who had just treated yourself to a good meal and were on your way home.”

“A working girl in this coat?”

“A working girl wore it before you did,” Mason reminded.

“Darned if she didn’t,” Della Street admitted. “And look where she is now. Well, here I go, Chief.”

“Now, remember,” Mason said, “don’t try to push your luck too far. Just get the license number of the automobile. Don’t try to play tag. You might get hurt. We don’t know what this is all about yet.”

Della Street snuggled her neck back against the luxury of the fur collar, then, with chin up, eyes fixed straight ahead, marched demurely out of the restaurant.

Mason, standing back by the corner of the booth, watched the police conference at the table draw to an end, saw the chunky man pause briefly at the checking concession, exchange a ticket for a heavy overcoat and a dark felt hat, then push his way out into the night.

Morris Alburg led the officers back to the booth.

“What happened to the jane who was here with you?” one of the officers asked.

“Went home,” Mason said. “I’m on my way myself, Morris. I was only waiting long enough to pay the check.”

“There isn’t any check,” Alburg said. “This is on the house.”

“Oh, come,” Mason protested. “This...”

“It’s on the house,” Alburg said firmly.

His eyes flicked to Mason’s with a quick flash of meaning.

“What did you find out over there?” Mason asked.

“Hell,” one of the officers said, “the whole situation is screwy. This gal just took a powder, that’s all. Those three certainly didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Who are they?”

“Out-of-town people; that is, two of them are. The girl’s here in town. Same old story. The girl is employed as a secretary in the sales department in one of the firms here. These two guys are out-of-town buyers. They’re trying to get a party organized. That is, they were. I guess they’re scared to death now.”

“What sort of a party?” Mason asked.

“They were asking this girl if she had a friend. The girl phoned her roommate. The trio were just killing time, having dinner, and waiting to go places and do things until the other girl joined them.

“Now we’ve thrown a scare into the guys and they’re filled with a desire to get the hell back to their hotel, and write reports. They’re shivering so hard it’s a wonder their shoes don’t shake off.”

“What about the girl?” Mason asked.

“She’s okay. She didn’t know the waitress here — is absolutely positive of it. She got a look when the waitress put down the tray with the three glasses of water on it... The girl is a nice enough kid, but she’s been around. She’s secretary in the sales department. We’ll check her tomorrow if we have to, up where she works.”

“And what frightened the waitress?” Alburg asked.

“How the hell do we know?” the officer said impatiently. “She may have seen a boy friend outside, or she may have thought she did, or she may have got a telephone call. Anyhow, we’ll investigate. Tomorrow somebody will check in at the hospital, see how she’s getting along, and if she’s conscious she’ll answer questions. Nothing else we can do here.”

Morris Alburg’s face showed relief. “That’s the way I feel about it,” he said. “Nothing here that frightened her. It must have been a phone call... People don’t like police to come in and ask questions about who they’re taking to dinner. I’ve lost three customers right now.”

“We don’t like to do it,” the officer said, “but in view of the circumstances, we had to find out who they were. Okay, Alburg, be seeing you.”

The officers went out. Alburg turned to Mason, wiped his forehead. “The things a man gets into,” he moaned.

Mason said, “Della went out to get some information for me. She took the fur coat along. I didn’t know whether you wanted the officers to see it.”

“Of course I didn’t want them to see it. I saw Miss Street go out. She was wearing the coat. I’m tickled to death. I wanted those officers out of here quick. I didn’t dare seem too anxious. Then they’d think I was trying to cover up something, and then they’d stick around, stick around, and stick around. You are my lawyer, Mr. Mason.”

“Anything you want me to do?” Mason asked. “I thought, perhaps, you had something in mind from the way...”

“Keep that fur coat,” Alburg said. “If anybody shows up looking for the waitress, asking questions about her, about her check, about anything, I’ll send them to you. You represent me all the way. How’s that?”

“What do you mean by ‘all the way’?”

“I mean all the way.”

“You shouldn’t be involved in any way,” Mason pointed out. “If you didn’t know her, and...”

“I know, I know,” Alburg interrupted. “Then there’ll be nothing to do. You don’t do it and send me a bill. That’ll suit you, Mr. Mason, and it’ll suit me. But if anything happens, you’re my lawyer.”

“All right,” Mason said tolerantly. “If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to.”

“Don’t have to tell you what?”

“What you’re not telling me.”

“What makes you think I’m not telling you something?”

“Because I haven’t heard you say it — yet.”

Morris threw up his hands. “You lawyers! You don’t take nothing for granted. Detectives are different. Lawyers I’m afraid of. A while back I hired detectives. A good job they did, too.”

“Why detectives, Morris?”

“I had trouble. Anybody can have trouble. Then I want detectives. Now I want a lawyer. The best!”

“Fine,” Mason said, smiling at the other’s nervousness. “And now, Morris, since this is on the house, I’m going back and have some of your apple pie alamode while I’m waiting for Della Street.”

“She’s coming back?” Alburg asked.

“Sure,” Mason said. “She just got out so the fur coat could get out of the door without having the officers ask a lot of questions.”

“I am glad to see them go,” Alburg said. “You know, they could have saved me customers. The way they shake those people down, everybody is talking. I’ve got to go back now. I circulate around the tables, and reassure everybody.”

“What’ll you tell them?” Mason asked.

“Tell ’em?” Alburg said. “Tell ’em any damned thing except the truth... I have to tell so many lies I get so I can pull lies out of the air. I’ll say these people parked their automobile and some drunk ran into it. He smashed in the rear end. Police were trying to find out who the car belonged to and whether to make charges against the drunk. That’s why they were looking at driving licenses.”

Mason grinned. “That doesn’t sound very convincing to me, Morris. I doubt if it will to your customers.”

“It will by the time I get done with it,” Morris said.

Mason went back to the booth, waited an anxious ten minutes, then the curtain was pulled to one side and Della Street, with the fur coat wrapped tightly around her, her face somewhat flushed from exercise in the cold air, said, “I drew a goose egg.”

“Sit down,” Mason invited, “and tell me about it.”

“Well,” Della Street said, crestfallen, “I guess I’m one heck of a detective.”

“What happened, Della?”

“He went out to the street, started walking down the sidewalk, suddenly hailed a crusing taxicab and jumped in.

“I pretended to show no interest until he had got well under way, but I got the cab’s number. Then I ran out and desperately tried to flag down a taxi.”

“Any luck?”

“None whatever. You see, he had walked for about half a block and picked up a cruising taxi. He had all the luck. Of course, he timed it so that he would.”

Mason nodded.

“When I tried it, the luck was all bad. Some people came out of the restaurant and wanted a cab, and the doorman ran out with his whistle. Naturally the next cruising cab passed me up in order to do a favor to the doorman. Your car was in the parking lot.”

“Did you lose him?” Mason asked.

“Wait a minute,” she said, “you haven’t heard anything yet. I ran to the corner so I’d have a chance on cabs going in two directions. I waited and waited, and finally a cab came down the cross street. I flagged it and jumped in.

“I told the driver, ‘A cab just went down Eighth Street and turned right at the corner. I want to try and catch it. I don’t know where it went after it turned right, but give this bus everything you have and let’s keep going straight on Eighth Street in the hope we can overtake him.’

“The cab driver gave it the gun. We went tearing down the street, slued to the right at the corner, took off up the cross street, and the cab driver said to me, ‘Do you know this cab when you see it?’ and I said, ‘I got a look at the number. It’s 863.’ ”

“Then what happened?” Mason asked, as Della Street stopped talking.

Della Street made a little gesture of disgust. “I was in cab 863.”

“What?” Mason exclaimed.

“That’s right. What that man had done was to pick up the taxicab, go to the corner, turn the corner, go about two-thirds of a block, pay off the cab and get in his own car that had been parked there at the curb all the time.”

“Oh-oh,” Mason said, “then he must have known you were following him.”

“I don’t think he did, Chief. I think it was just a blanket precaution he was taking to make certain that he wouldn’t be followed. Of course, when he got in the cab he was able to watch the street behind him. That’s why he walked in the opposite direction from that in which he wanted to go. In that way he was able to make certain that anyone who was following him would have had to follow by car.”

Mason chuckled. “At least we have to hand it to him for being clever, and the fact that you tried to follow the cab you were already in gives it an interesting, artistic touch.”

“I hate to have him make a monkey out of me,” Della Street said.

“He didn’t necessarily make a monkey out of you,” Mason said. “He made one out of himself.”

“How come?”

Mason said, “This waitress ran out because she was frightened by someone or of someone. We had no way of knowing what it was that frightened her, or who the person was who frightened her. Now we know.”

“You mean he’s given himself away?”

“Sure. The fact that he resorted to all that subterfuge proves that he’s the man we want.”

Mason stepped to the door of the booth and motioned to Morris Alburg.

“How many of your customers are regulars, Morris? What percentage?”

“Quite a few repeats.”

Mason said, “Now, as I gather, a man and a woman, or a foursome, might straggle in here just on the prowl. They’d either have heard the place recommended or they might have been just looking for some place to eat, and came on in.”

“That’s right.”

“On the other hand,” Mason went on, “a lone diner, a man who came in here and ate by himself would be pretty apt to be a regular customer.”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“I wonder if you could tell me the name of that chunky man with the rather heavy eyebrows, who sat over at that table right over there, the one that’s vacant now.”

“Oh, him? I noticed him,” Alburg said hastily. “I can’t tell you; I don’t know. I don’t think he eats here before.”

“Take a good look at him?”

“Not so much. Not his face. I look at the way he acts. You have to be careful about a man by himself: maybe he tries to make a pick-up and gets in bad. If he don’t make trouble we do nothing; if he’s drinking, if he paws women, we do something. That’s why we watch single men. This one I watch — he minds his own business. I wish the police would mind theirs.”

Mason nodded.

“Why did you ask?” Alburg asked suddenly.

“I was just wondering,” Mason said, “just trying to figure out who he was.”

“Why?”

“I thought I’d seen him some place.”

Morris Alburg studied Mason’s face for a few seconds. “The hell of it is,” he said solemnly, “you and me try to fool each other. We don’t either one get to first base. We both of us know too damn much about human nature. It is what you call no percentage... Good night.”