The Case of the Nervous Accomplice

Chapter 5

Mason finished the afternoon’s dictation, pushed a file of mail away from him, said, “I can’t keep up with it, Della.”

“You’ve done fine this afternoon,” she said. “Two more hours tomorrow and you’ll be completely finished with the important matters.”

Mason regarded the bulging mail file with disgust. “Well, it’s twenty minutes to six, long past closing time.”

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“No, I have some law points I want to look up. I’ll put in an hour or two in the library. You go on home, Della. I’m sorry I kept you so late.”

Knuckles tapped on the door, and Gertie, the receptionist, pushed her head in through the doorway. “You didn’t leave instructions about Mrs. Harlan,” she said, and then added parenthetically, “the woman who saw you this morning.”

“What about her?” Mason asked. “And what are you doing here this late? I thought you’d closed up the outer office long ago.”

“She’s on the telephone. She says she simply has to talk with you right now. I told her I didn’t know whether you were in, that I thought you had left for the day but that I’d try to find out. I went out, but came back to wait for my boy friend, and when the phone rang I answered it.”

“I’ll talk with her, Gertie,” Mason said.

Gertie nodded, returned to the other office, and Mason picked up his extension phone. A moment later he heard the click of the connection. “Hello,” he said cautiously.

“Mr. Mason, Mr. Mason, is that you?”

“Yes.”

“This is Sybil... Sybil Harlan.”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Mason, something... I must see you at once! Something very unforeseen has happened.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Mason said. “Get yourself together. You sound half-hysterical.”

“I am... I’ll be all right. I’m just nervous.”

“Where are you now?” Mason asked.

“I’m down at the Union Station. I took a cab there because I thought it would be less conspicuous and—”

Mason, his voice sharp, said, “Don’t try to tell me over the phone. Grab a cab and get up here as fast as you can. Don’t go to the outer office. Come down the corridor to the side-exit door marked ‘Private.’ Tap on it and I’ll let you in.”

“Thank you, thank you. I was so afraid I couldn’t reach you.”

“Never mind,” Mason said. “Get up here.”

Mason hung up the phone, nodded to Della, said, “Get Paul Drake at the Drake Detective Agency for me, Della.”

Della Street started for the outer office.

“No, no. The private unlisted telephone,” Mason said. “I want to be sure I catch him.”

Della Street’s fingers flew over the dial and a moment later she nodded and handed the receiver to Mason.

Mason said hello and heard Drake’s voice on the line. “Yes, Perry, what is it?”

Mason said, “Can you wait there for another hour or so?”

“Yes.”

“I think I have an emergency matter coming up. Got any operatives on tap?”

“There are a couple of good men making out reports here in the office. I can hold them if you want.”

“Hold them,” Mason said.

“What is it?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “I don’t know, Paul. All I have is the sound of a woman’s voice. She’s a woman who wouldn’t get stampeded easily, but she’s half-hysterical now. Stick around, Paul.”

“What’s your connection with her?” Drake asked.

Mason said, “She’s in danger of losing her husband. She doesn’t intend to sit back and let that happen. She had schemes. Now she’s in a jam.”

“Oh-oh,” Drake said. “One of those things where everything went black, then she felt something jerking in her hand and heard loud banging noises. She looked down and found she was holding a gun, and there was John lying on the floor. She has no idea how he got there. She ran to him and said, ‘John, John, speak to me. Oh, John, speak to me.’ So then she calls her lawyer.”

“Don’t kid about it,” Mason said. “You may be a lot nearer the truth than you know. Stay in your office, Paul, and be ready to come down here the minute I give you a buzz.”

Mason hung up, looked at his wristwatch, said to Della, “Well, you’d better stay on, too. I’ll buy you a dinner.”

“Sold. Let’s tackle that mail file again.”

“No mail,” Mason told her. “I want to review the situation in my mind, so I’ll have the various factors at my fingertips. We may have to work fast.”

The lawyer started pacing the floor, head thrust forward, thumbs pushed into the armholes of his vest. Della Street watched him solicitously.

During the next ten minutes, Mason looked at his watch at least ten times. Then Della heard the tapping of quick steps in the corridor and impatient knuckles on the door of Mason’s private office.

Della Street threw the door open.

Sybil Harlan stood in the doorway. Her face was a frozen mask.

“All right,” Mason said, “come in and sit down. Now tell me, what is it?”

“George Lutts,” she said as Della Street closed the door.

“What about him?”

“He’s dead.”

“How did he die?”

“Someone shot him.”

“Where?”

“In the chest. I—”

“No, no,” Mason said. “Where was he when he was shot?”

“Up in the house on the hill.”

“Who was with him?”

“I was.”

Mason stepped in front of her. His voice was like a slap. “Cut out the dramatic stuff. Get yourself together. Who else was with him?”

“Only one person.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“Someone who was hiding in the house. Someone who had a key.”

“Go on,” Mason said, “let’s have it.”

She said, “George Lutts is a smooth operator. He felt that if his two thousand shares of stock were worth thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars to you, the stock would be going up in value. No one else knew what he had been paid for the stock. Apparently, after the directors’ meeting, Regerson Neffs complained about the fact that Lutts had sold out. Lutts told Neffs he’d buy his stock at whatever price Neffs wanted to put on it.”

“So what?”

“So Neffs, who had three thousand shares of stock, put a price of eight dollars a share on it, and Lutts wrote him a check for twenty-four thousand dollars.”

Mason said, “That left Lutts holding three thousand shares of stock instead of the two thousand he’d had earlier in the day, and left him with eight thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars in clear profit.”

Mrs. Harlan nodded.

“Go on,” Mason said.

She said, “Lutts was waiting for me when I came out of the beauty parlor.”

“What time was that?”

“Shortly before four o’clock.”

“How did he know where you were?”

“He phoned my house. When I called home for messages, the girl who comes in three times a week to do cleaning told me a Mr. Lutts had phoned about half-past three and told her it was very important he get in touch with me at once, and she told him he could reach me at the beauty parlor.”

“What did he want?”

“Blackmail.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Go ahead, tell me all the details. Don’t hold back anything.”

“He was clever — greedy and diabolically clever.”

“Never mind all that now. Tell me what happened.”

“He told me to get in the car with him. He said he wanted to show me something. There was something in his manner... well... I was suspicious.”

“Go on,” Mason told her.

“In some way, Mr. Mason, he had found out that I was the person who had told you to get the stock for me.”

“How did he find that out?”

“I don’t know. I’ve thought and thought. I haven’t the faintest idea. But he knew. He was certain of his ground.”

“Go on,” Mason said, “tell me what happened.”

“Lutts tried... a sort of blackmail. He had me where I had to... to do what he said.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t dare quarrel with him, Mr. Mason. If Enny had found out that I was the one who had commissioned you to purchase that stock, if he realized that I was trying to make trouble for him in the business deal with Roxy Claffin... well, that would have been the last straw. He would have walked out on me cold. And Lutts threatened to go to Enny and tell him.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“Of course, George Lutts didn’t realize what I was trying to do. He thought that I had some inside information. He also thought I was trying to throw a terrific scare into Roxy and make her let her holdings go cheap. Lutts knew Enny would never have an interest adverse to one of his clients, so Lutts decided I was making a fast play and that I’d do almost anything to keep Enny from finding out.

“So he told me I had to tell him, otherwise he’d go to Enny. You can see what a spot I was in and the reason motivating his actions. If he could purchase stock at eight dollars a share, and I had inside information that made the stock worth over sixteen a share, he naturally wanted to load up with stock. But he didn’t want to sink any more money in unless he knew the reason for my interest.”

“It never occurred to him what it was?”

“No, he just thought there was some inside information. He thought my motives were purely financial.”

“So what did he do?”

“He told me to get in the car with him. He drove up toward the property, trying to make me tell him what it was I knew, and finally, he drove all the way up to the place on the hill.”

“Parked his car?”

She nodded.

“You went in the house?”

“Not then.”

“Who opened the door?”

“He did. He had a key.”

“What happened?”

“I was in something of a panic. I knew that once he went in that house and got up to the third floor, if he went up that far, he’d find where I’d been watching. Once he found that, he’d put two and two together and then he’d be in a position really to blackmail me.”

“Did you try to keep him from going in?”

“Of course I did.”

“And it didn’t work?”

“I thought if I sat in the car and didn’t make a move to get out, he’d change his mind.”

“But he didn’t?”

“He almost did, Mr. Mason. He sat there and talked for a minute or two, but he kept thinking that there was something in the house which accounted for my interest in the stock. I saw that he was determined to go in.”

“So he went in.”

“Yes.”

“And you sat in the car?”

“Yes.”

“Doing what?”

“Pretending to be just as completely unconcerned as possible. I sat there with the radio going, listening to some jazz music.”

“All right, what happened?”

“Well, after three or four or five minutes, it suddenly occurred to me that if I went in there, I just might be able to distract his attention so that he wouldn’t find where I had fixed up that room upstairs, where I did my watching. You see, if he’d ever told Enny that I’d been up there spying... well, Enny would have resented it terribly. I just couldn’t let him find that room.”

“So what did you do?”

“So I shut off the radio, jumped out of the car, ran to the door and called him. I thought I could cook up some sort of a story to get him back down.”

“You called, and what happened?”

“He didn’t answer.”

“So what did you do?”

“I started up the stairs.”

“Then what?”

“I kept calling his name.”

“Anyone who was in there could hear you coming?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And what did you do?”

“I got to the second floor. He wasn’t there. I started up the steps to the third floor, and there he was, lying head down with blood coming out of his chest and — oh, it was the most ghastly thing you’ve ever seen.”

“Did you hear any shots?”

“No.”

“How many holes in his chest?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t look.”

“But you know he was dead?”

“I reached down and felt his wrist. There wasn’t any pulse at all.”

“Then what?”

“And then I heard this person on the floor above me.”

“Where?”

“Up on the third floor, sneaking along on tiptoes. First, I heard a board creak. Then another board creaked. And then I saw this gun and a hand holding it and a part of an arm.”

“Man or woman?” Mason asked.

“Good heavens, Mr. Mason, don’t ask me. When I heard those boards creak, my knees just turned to water, and when I saw that gun, I guess I let out the loudest scream I ever let out in my life and I went down those stairs so fast I don’t think I even touched the stairs. I went out through that door — I must have all but taken it off the hinges.”

“Did you scream after that?”

“I screamed two or three times going down the hill. Then I saved my breath for running.”

“No one came after you?”

“No one. I looked back and no one was coming. Believe me, Mr. Mason, I sure was running.”

“All right, then what?”

“I ran until I was out of breath, and I was so frightened and my heart just seemed to quit beating. I had to slow down to get my breath, and then, as soon as I got a little wind, I ran some more and... well. I just went plunging down the hill, until I hit the road near the bottom.”

“Why didn’t you take Lutts’ car?”

“He had locked the ignition and had taken the keys in with him when he went in. Believe me, he wasn’t taking any chances on having me take his car and drive off and leave him out there. He was after information. He wanted to know what I know about that stock that he didn’t know, and minutes were precious to him. He was planning on making some more stock purchases this evening if he could.”

“And you don’t think he had any idea of the real reason you wanted to buy in?”

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “he didn’t when he started in that house. But if he got up to the top of the stairs and saw the way I’d cleaned up that room, with the newspaper on the chair and things, he might have known.”

“You don’t know how many shots were fired?”

“No, that’s because I had the radio going in the car.”

“All right, go on, what happened?”

“Well, I thought I was going to have to hitchhike, but as it turned out, I didn’t.”

“How come?”

“When I hit the main county highway, I was really in a panic. I would have gone in any direction, taking the first car that came along. But as it happened, I was in luck. A taxicab was coming toward town. Evidently, it had been out to the country club and was running back empty. I saw it coming when I was still a little way from the road and I started waving. The driver saw me and pulled right off to the side of the road, and then he came down and picked me up.”

“He could see you’d been running?”

“I guess so. I guess I looked a mess.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, of course, he... he was curious. He wanted to know if I was all right, if anything had happened, if anyone had attacked me or anything of that sort.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him everything was quite all right, that I was just in a hurry to catch a train.”

“To catch a train?”

“Yes, I wanted him to take me to the depot. I felt that if he took me there, I could pick up another cab from the depot and—”

“You didn’t have any baggage?”

“No, I told him my husband had gone on ahead with the baggage and I was supposed to have joined him, but I’d been detained.”

“Did he ask you anything other than that?”

“He tried to get me into a conversation, but I clammed up on him and became dignified. I’ll say one thing, he sure made a fast run, getting me to the depot.”

“In other words, you think you convinced him?”

“I think I did. He asked me a few questions at first, and then he seemed to take my story for granted.”

Mason said, “Good Lord, why didn’t you notify the police?”

“I was afraid to. My story would have sounded crazy, and the minute I told it, Enny would have found out everything. I’ve invested thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars in trying to save my marriage, and I’m not going to back out now.”

“Now, wait a minute,” Mason said. “Let’s get something straight.”

“What?”

“You invested thirty-two thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars in trying to save your marriage,” Mason told her. “That was this morning. A lot of things have happened since then.”

“I’m still fighting to save my marriage.”

“You may be fighting to save your life,” Mason warned. “You’ve been mixed up in a murder. You told me a story that isn’t going to sound very convincing to the police.”

“Don’t you believe me?”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” Mason said, “because you came to me earlier in the day, and I think I understand something of the impulsive nature of your character. You’re a daring gambler. You’ll hatch out some original scheme and then put a stack of blue chips right on the line, backing up that scheme. By the same token, you’d gamble your life and your liberty trying to save your marriage.”

“Without my husband,” she admitted, “life wouldn’t be worth living. I love him — too much.”

Mason regarded her thoughtfully. “As an attorney, there’s only one piece of advice I can give you.”

“What’s that?”

“Let me pick up the phone and report what you have told me to the police.”

“I can’t, Mr. Mason.”

“Why not?”

“You know why. The minute Enny knew that I was out there with George Lutts, he’d know right then and there that I was the one who had brought you into the company. The money that I invested, trying to save my marriage, would prove to be the thing that hopelessly wrecked it.”

“I’m still advising you that, under the law, you have to report this to the police.”

“Suppose I don’t do it. Are you going to betray me?”

Mason said, “I’m your lawyer.”

“How about Miss Street?” Sybil Harlan asked, looking at Della Street with hard, appraising eyes.

“She’s my secretary,” Mason said. “Anything she learns in the course of the business is a privileged communication. You can count on her.”

“Fair enough,” she said.

“What do you mean by that?”

“If I’ve made a gamble, I won’t whimper if I lose. You don’t need to worry about that, Mr. Mason. I’ll take my medicine. I’ll march into that gas chamber with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart. If I can’t have my husband, if I can’t salvage my marriage, I don’t want to live.”

Mason frowned. “That’s what frightens me about you. You play a peculiar game all your own, and when you bet, you don’t have any limit.”

“If I’m going to bet, I may as well bet every chip in my stack.”

“Well, you’ve done it now,” he told her. “Are you going to notify the police?”

“No.”

Mason said, “Technically, I should.”

“Never mind the technical end of it. Let’s be practical. Are you going to?”

“Probably not,” Mason told her, “if you tell me not to; but I still think it would be better to do it that way.”

“Why?”

“Because they may find that you were up there with Lutts, and if you don’t notify the police—”

“Isn’t it too late now to notify the police?”

“It’s pretty late, all right,” Mason admitted.

She pressed her advantage. “Look at it from the standpoint of the police — and the newspapers. I go up there with Lutts. He’s trying to blackmail me. Something happens and he’s killed by a gunshot wound. I run away. I don’t try to call the police. I take a cab. I go to the Union Station, so the cab driver can’t trace me. Then I consult my lawyer. The lawyer tells me I should call the police. When you put those facts together, what does it mean?”

“It means you’ll be the number one suspect.”

“All right,” she said. “Then there’s nothing to do now, except to try to cover up. Besides no one can ever prove I was out there with Lutts.”

Mason regarded her thoughtfully. “Where’s that gun you had?”

“In the glove compartment of my car.”

“You had it in your purse.”

“I know, but I put it back in the glove compartment of the car when I went to the beauty shop.”

“It’s there now?”

“Heavens, I hope so. I locked the glove compartment and put the car in the parking lot. Of course, I suppose sometimes thieves do get at locked glove compartments.”

Mason pursed his lips in thought.

“So, Mr. Attorney,” she said, “I’m in your hands. What do we do now?”

“First, we’ll go look at that gun in the glove compartment of your car.”

“And then?”

Mason said, “Wait a minute.” He stood by the desk, his eyes narrowed.

She started to say something, and Mason impatiently motioned her to silence.

“The cab driver noticed you particularly?” Mason asked.

“I feel certain he did.”

“You had on that white outfit?”

“Yes. I was dressed just the way I am now.”

Mason said, “That’s a hell of a way to be walking along a road that far out in the country.”

“I know.”

“The cab driver will remember you.”

“Of course.”

“What kind of a cab was it?”

“The Red Line.”

“You don’t know the number?”

“Heavens, no.”

“And you stayed with that same cab until you got to the Union Station?”

“Yes.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders. “Well, there’s nothing we can — wait a minute. What happened when you paid the meter?”

“The meter was two dollars and ninety-five cents. I gave him three and a half.”

“He rang up the meter?”

“Yes.”

“A slip of paper came out?”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. The receipt.”

“And I suppose you threw that away?” Mason asked.

“No. I have it.”

Mason said, “That’s fine. Let me take a look at it.”

“What does it show?”

“It shows the number of the cab, it shows the number of the trip, and the amount that was paid,” Mason said, unfolding the crumpled piece of paper.

Abruptly, he put the paper in his wallet, turned to Della Street and said, “Della, get Paul Drake busy. The cab number is seven-sixty-one. It’s a Red Line cab. Find out where that cab is now. Have Drake put a man in a car and trail that cab. I want to know where it is every minute of the day and night until that driver goes off duty.”

“I don’t see what good that’s going to do,” Mrs. Harlan said. “What are you trying to accomplish, Mr. Mason?”

Mason brushed the question aside, said to Mrs. Harlan, “Let’s go. You wait here, Della.”

Della Street nodded. “I’ll get your hat, Chief.”

She walked to the closet, handed him his hat. “Be sure about the paper in the band,” she said. “That’s the hat which was too tight, you know.”

Mason looked at her, nodded absently, his mind on the problem before him.

“The band,” Della Street said.

Mason ran his fingers around the hat band, found the note Della Street had placed there. “Yes, yes. Thank you, Della.”

Mason held the hat in his hand, pressing the note against the interior of the crown. In the elevator he had a chance to read the note:

Mason crumpled the note in his pocket, escorted his client from the elevator.

He picked up his car at the parking lot. “Tell me which way to go.”

“Straight out Seventh Street, then turn left and go two blocks.”

“Your car’s in a parking lot out there?”

“Yes.”

“You have the ticket?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “I’m going to drive you on by the entrance to the parking lot. I’ll stop. You walk back, get in the car, drive around the block and meet me.”

“Anything else?”

“Follow me,” Mason said, “until I find a place where we can both pull in to the curb and — Let me see your bag.”

She opened her bag.

Mason found a place by a fireplug and pulled in to the curb. He looked through the contents of the opened handbag.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Mason?”

“I’m making sure,” Mason said. “Now, look. You won’t like this, but you’ve got to give me some assurance against a double-cross.”

“How?”

“I have to make certain you haven’t got a gun,” Mason told her. “I’m not going to let you get in the car, pull a gun out of your clothes somewhere, put it in the glove compartment, and then—”

“But you can go in there with me, if you don’t trust me.”

“We can’t afford to do that, neither of us. Later on, someone will recall seeing me there with you. I’m not entirely unknown, you know. My picture gets in the paper a lot. The parking attendant may recognize me.”

“How much of a search would you have to make?”

“Just enough to find out that you haven’t got a gun on you.”

She clenched her fists. “Go ahead.”

Mason felt along the lines of her rigid body.

“Satisfied?”

Mason nodded.

“I’m telling you the truth. I wouldn’t lie to my lawyer.”

“It’s a hell of a story,” Mason said, and eased the car away from the curb.

They drove in silence until Mason came to the parking lot.

“This is it.”

Mason said, “I’ll run down here a half a block and let you out. You walk back. I’ll double-park if I can get away with it. There doesn’t seem to be any place where I can park here. Get your car, drive out and follow me.”

She nodded.

Mason slid the car to a stop. She jerked open the door and jumped out. Mason sat there waiting, watching in the rearview mirror.

A car some thirty yards ahead pulled out from its place at the curb, and Mason moved on, making an awkward attempt to park his car. In that way he was able to keep it pointed out in traffic, yet couldn’t have been ticketed for double-parking.

Sybil Harlan drove her car out of the parking lot, came speeding down the street.

Mason gunned his car out into traffic, waved her a signal, then slowed, drove down the boulevard, turned to the right on a cross-street, then finally found a place where there was room for two cars. Mason pulled his car to a stop, and Sybil pulled in behind him. The lawyer got out of his car and walked back to her car.

“Mr. Mason, look,” she said, indicating the door of the glove compartment.

The door was warped back. The catch on the lock had been broken out of its seat.

Mason’s voice was hard. “I’m looking.”

“Someone broke in here.”

“I see,” the lawyer said coldly. “I suppose the only thing missing is the gun?”

She nodded. “It must have happened just minutes ago. It must have been the police.”

Mason’s voice was level. “You didn’t say anything to the parking attendant?”

“Heavens no.”

“Where did you get the screwdriver?”

“What screwdriver?”

“The one you used to pry open the door?”

“I didn’t do it, Mr. Mason. Honestly, I didn’t do it. Look, if I’d done it I’d have the gun, wouldn’t I? Or I’d... well, anyway, I’d have the screwdriver. Search me. Go ahead, search me.”

Mason shook his head. “The time’s past for that. You’re a client. I’m your lawyer. If you want to lie to me, go ahead. I can tell you one thing, lying to your lawyer or your doctor is an expensive and sometimes a fatal pastime.”

There were tears in her eyes. “Mr. Mason, what can I do to convince you of my good faith?”

“Nothing, now.”

“You’ve closed your mind against me, haven’t you?”

“No. You’re my client. I’m going to see that your rights are protected. I’m going to see that any evidence presented against you is the truth. I’m going to cross-examine any witness who takes the stand and testifies against you.”

“You don’t believe me, but you’ll represent me?”

“I’m keeping my opinions in abeyance. I’m going to do what I can. Did you kill Lutts?”

“No.”

“All right. I want you to do exactly as I say. Do you have some woman whom you can trust?”

“You mean to tell what happened?”

“No, no,” Mason said impatiently. “I mean trust, with ordinary confidence. Someone who’s level-headed, calm, and sufficiently prominent to—”

“Yes, there’s Ruth Marvel.”

“Who is she?”

“She’s the president of our Current Topics club. She’s remarkably well informed.”

“And a good friend?”

“A very good friend.”

Mason said, “Do exactly as I tell you. Take your car, drive home, go in and change your clothes, put on an entirely different type of outfit — get something dark and sombre. Then ask Ruth Marvel if she’ll go out to look over some property with you, some property that you intend to buy. Tell her that it’s very important, that you’d like to have her opinion on it, but don’t tell her where the property is.”

Sybil Harlan nodded.

“Tell her that you’ll be by for her,” Mason said. “Then grab the paper and open it to property that’s listed for sale in the classified ads. Find a place that’s not too far away but a place that’s on the outskirts somewhere.”

Again Mrs. Harlan nodded.

“Are you getting this?” Mason asked.

“Yes, it’s simple.”

“It’s simple,” Mason said, “but it’s tricky as hell. You have to do exactly what I tell you to do.”

“All right. I get Ruth Marvel. I get her to go with me. I get the listings of property that’s not too far out.”

“That’s right. Now then, we come to the tricky part. After you have Ruth Marvel ready to go with you, you get in your car and start out. Then you tell your friend that the trouble with looking at property in your own machine is that there’s always somebody to take down the licence number — they trace the number, find out who owns the automobile, and then you’re pestered to death with real estate salesmen trying to interest you in that property or selling you something else. You always prefer starting out in your car but take a taxi for the last part of the trip. Do you understand?”

Mrs. Harlan nodded.

“So,” Mason said, “you then remember something you have to telephone about. You get out of your car at a telephone booth. You telephone the Drake Detective Agency. Here’s the number. I’ve written it on one of my cards. You ask for Paul Drake. You tell him who you are. Now then, Paul Drake will tell you where to drive. You drive to this address, stop at the first available parking space, park your car and get out.

“Within a few minutes a taxicab will come along. Now, be sure it’s a Red Line taxicab. Try not to pay too much attention to it, and don’t be too conspicuous. You settle back in the car and tell the driver to drive on down the street, that you want to look at several pieces of property. Tell your friend that you have suddenly discovered you’re short of money but that if she’ll pay for the cab and save the receipt, you’ll give her the money later. Tell her to be sure to save the receipt so that you can have a proper voucher for your income tax deduction.”

“Mr. Mason, this is all terribly complicated and—”

“Shut up,” Mason said. “Listen. We haven’t much time. Do exactly as I tell you. Have the cab drive around several streets while you look at different houses. When the meter registers a dollar and sixty-five cents, have him turn around and drive back in the direction of the place where you have parked your car. Under no circumstances are you to say anything more than the bare necessities to the taxi driver. Be sure and get Ruth to pay off the cab. Encourage her to talk with the cab driver as much as possible, and when the meter reaches two dollars and ninety-five cents, apparently come to the last place you were looking for. Stop the driver and have Ruth pay off the cab. Tell Ruth to give him three dollars and a half, and you’ll pay her later. Do you understand all that?”

“I understand it, Mr. Mason. But it seems to me we’re wasting a lot of valuable time, and I don’t see why—”

“If you understand what you’re to do,” Mason interrupted, “you’re wasting time talking about it. Just be sure you understand exactly what you’re to do.”

She took the card Mason had given her with Paul Drake’s number. “Very well,” she said dubiously, “I’ll do it and—”

“Now don’t misunderstand me,” Mason said. “Your life may depend on it. You do exactly as I have told you. Follow instructions to the letter. You understand?”

“I understand, but there’s no need to do that with Ruth. I can tell her exactly what I’m trying to do, and—”

“Don’t do it,” Mason warned. “Do exactly as I’ve told you. You may be able to get a lucky break — and you may not.”