The Case of the Moth-Eaten Mink

Chapter 2

Mason stopped at a public telephone within a block of Morris Alburg’s restaurant and rang Lieutenant Tragg on the Homicide Squad.

“Perry Mason, Lieutenant. Would you do something for me?”

“Hell, no,” Tragg said.

“Why not?”

“Because it’d get me in trouble.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“The devil I don’t. If it wasn’t something that was so hot you didn’t dare to touch it with a ten-foot pole, you’d never call on...”

“Now wait a minute,” Mason said. “Keep your shirt on. This is doing a good turn for a girl, a girl who was struck by a motorist who probably wasn’t to blame. The girl was running from a man who was trying to make her get into the car with him. Some witnesses say he had a gun, and...”

“That the one out by Alburg’s restaurant?”

“That’s the one.”

“What’s she to you?”

“Probably nothing,” Mason said, “but I have a feeling that girl may be in danger. Now here’s what I want. She’s probably at the Receiving Hospital. I don’t know how serious her injuries are, but I’m willing to pay for a private room and special nurses.”

“The hell you are.”

“That’s right.”

“Why all the philanthropy?”

“I’m trying to give the girl a break.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a feeling that if she goes into a ward in a general hospital she’ll get herself killed.”

“Oh, come now, Mason. Once a patient gets in a hospi...”

“I know,” Mason interrupted, “it’s purely a screwy notion on my part. I’m dumb. I have a distorted idea of what goes on. I’ve seen too many contracts lead to lawsuits. I’ve seen too many marriages terminate in divorce courts. I’ve seen too many differences of opinion that have resulted in murder... A lawyer never gets to hear the details of a normal, happy marriage. He never gets to see a contract that terminates without a difference of opinion, and with both sides absolutely satisfied. So what? He becomes a cynic... Now, the question is, will you help me see that this girl is taken out of the Receiving Hospital and placed in a room where no one, absolutely no one, except an attending physician, knows where she’s located?”

“What else?” Tragg asked.

“That’s all.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel uneasy about her.”

“You know who she is?”

“I’ve never seen her in my life. That is, not to recognize her. I may have had a brief glimpse of her when I entered Morris Alburg’s restaurant. I just happened to be there when the thing happened.”

“She’s not your client? You don’t have any interest in her?”

“None whatever. I did tell Morris Alburg that I’d take care of any matters pertaining to her affairs that might come up, and told him to refer anyone to me who...”

“Okay,” Tragg said. “It’s a deal. I’ll handle it privately and send the bill to you.”

“Thanks,” Mason told him, and hung up.

Back in Mason’s car, the lawyer said, “Now, Della, if I can get you out of that mink coat long enough, I want to explore the place where there was fresh sewing in the lining. I felt there was something under there.”

“I’m certain it’s just a little padding.” Della Street laughed. “Tailors sometimes have to help out a girl’s figure.”

“This didn’t feel like figure help to me,” Mason told her. “Out of that coat, girl, and let’s have at the Morris Alburg mink-coat mystery.”

She wriggled out of the coat.

Mason parked the car, turned on the dome light, and with his penknife clipped away at the stitches in the coat, opening up a fold in the lining of the garment.

Mason inserted his index and second finger in its opening and scissored out a small piece of pasteboard.

“Now what in the world is that?” Della Street asked.

“That,” Mason said, “seems to be a pawn ticket on a Seattle pawn shop, pledge number 6384-J, which can be redeemed at any time within ninety days on paying the amount of an eighteen-dollar loan, a handling charge, a storage charge and one per cent per month interest.”

“How dreadfully unexciting,” Della Street said. “The poor girl had to hock her family jewels to get out of Seattle and she chose that method of making certain she didn’t lose the pawn ticket.”

Mason said, “Eighteen dollars’ worth of jewels, Della? You wrong the family. We’ll drive up to the Drake Detective Agency, and ask Paul Drake for the name of his Seattle correspondent. We’ll rush the ticket up there by air mail and redeem the pawned article. That will at least give us eighteen dollars’ worth of something and a few hundred dollars’ worth of information. Then we can sell the article even if we can’t sell the information.”

“Suppose the information turns out to be something you don’t want?” Della Street asked.

“Then I’m stuck with it,” Mason said, “but by that time we’ll know a lot more about Morris Alburg.”