The Case of the Shapely Shadow

Chapter One

Della Street, Perry Mason’s confidential secretary, opened the door of the lawyer’s private office, then stood facing the lawyer, her shapely hips pressing the palms of her flattened hands against the door leading to the reception room.

Mason regarded her quizzically. “Now what mischief are you up to?” he asked.

“Mischief?” she inquired demurely.

“Mischief,” Mason repeated. “Long experience has taught me that when you place your hips and the palms of your hands against the door and then look at me with that particular expression, it’s because you feel you have some particularly delectable tidbit of information. Come on, Della, out with it. Is Gertie, at the switchboard, studying another diet which is guaranteed to take off ten pounds in two weeks?”

Della Street shook her head. “It’s a client,” she said.

Mason frowned, then suddenly smiled. “Knowing you as I do,” he said, “the client is a beautiful young woman with an air of mystery about her and you’re dying to find out what it’s all about. You’re just a little afraid that I won’t agree to see her because we have an appointment in fifteen minutes and you’re hoping to arouse my curiosity with this build-up.”

Della Street moved slowly away from the door and came toward the lawyer’s desk.

“Am I right?”

She nodded. “Except, she’s not beautiful but she could be beautiful.”

“What do you mean by that?” Mason asked.

“Apparently,” Della Street said, “she has deliberately tried to make herself unbeautiful.”

“And that is part of the mystery?”

“It’s intriguing,” Della Street said. “Looks like the groundwork for the good old Hollywood touch, the plain little girl who suddenly blossoms into a Cinderella.”

“And you think this one will blossom?”

“Under your influence, yes. Did you ever see a movie where they didn’t? These days when women spend so much money making themselves beautiful, it’s darned intriguing to see one who has gone to great pains to look less beautiful than she is.”

Mason said, “What about the statistics, Della?”

“Her name is Janice Wainwright. She’s well proportioned with curves, but not bulges. She is chestnut brown — brown hair, brown eyes and a certain amount of warmth.”

“The way you’re describing her,” Mason said, “you make her sound like an article of merchandise you’re trying to sell. Now, come on, Della, out with it. What’s the mystery?”

“Well,” Della Street said, “I think she’s running away from someone or something, and I have an idea she’s got hold of some very damaging piece of evidence which she won’t let out of her possession. She’s carrying a brand-new suitcase which apparently is quite heavy, and she can’t quit worrying about it. She seems to be afraid someone might steal it right here in the office. She sits so that one foot is kept pressing against the suitcase. She keeps her hand dangling so that the tips of her gloved fingers are only a quarter of an inch from the handle of the suitcase and occasionally she moves her hand, brushing her fingers against the suitcase, just reassuring herself that it’s still there.”

“And did she tell you what she wanted?” Mason asked.

“She says it’s a very confidential matter and it has to do with a problem in ethics. She says she won’t take much time but she simply must see you. She wanted to know how much you charged for an office consultation.”

“What did you tell her?” Mason asked.

“I told her it depended on the problem, the amount of money involved and things of that sort; that she’d have to talk with you in person.”

“And so,” Mason said, “you came in to sell me on the idea of seeing her. You know we have an appointment within a few minutes with John Sears. You know that he never wants to wait for as much as a minute. You know that a month ago we adopted a rule we would see people by appointment only and— What the devil, send her in, Della.”

Della rewarded him with a smile, went out and returned with a remarkably well shaped young woman who was carrying a heavy new suitcase and whose eyes showed apprehension.

Mason noted the little touches Della Street had described: the lipstick which made the mouth seem too thin and too straight, the large horn-rimmed spectacles, the austerity of the clothes and the flat-heeled shoes.

“How do you do, Miss Wainwright,” Mason said. “I’m Perry Mason. I have this morning pretty well filled up with appointments. My first one is due in a little less than fifteen minutes. You’ll have to be brief.

“Della Street, my confidential secretary, will take notes.

“Now then, I’m sorry to have to rush you, but can you come to the point with as few preliminaries as possible?”

She smiled her acknowledgment, said, “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mason. It’s... it’s about a matter of ethics.”

“What sort of ethics?”

She indicated the suitcase. “Do I have the right to open this?”

“Does it belong to you?”

“Technically speaking, no.”

“Whom does it belong to?”

“Morley Theilman.”

“Who’s he?”

“My boss.”

“Do you have any idea what’s in the suitcase?”

She looked at Mason for some two or three seconds as though debating whether, now that the chips were down, she wanted to go through with it or not. Then, reaching a decision, said, “I think it’s money.”

“And what about the money?”

“I think it’s blackmail.”

“And what are you supposed to do with it?”

“I’m supposed to deliver it to the blackmailer — that is, leave it where he can get it.”

“And what do you want to do?” Mason asked, his eyes probing her face. “Did you want to call the police or—”

“Heavens, no! I wanted to know if I had the right to open the suitcase.”

“For what purpose?”

“To see what’s in it.”

“Perhaps,” Mason said, looking at his watch, “you’d better sit down there in that chair and give me the details just as rapidly as you can. Just sketch the highlights.”

She seated herself, smoothed her dress, said, “I’m Mr. Theilman’s confidential secretary. I have been his secretary for six years. I know him. I know his every mood. I... I can read his mind.”

Mason, glancing at Della Street, said, “I think every good secretary can do that.”

“I open his mail,” she said, “all of his mail. I separate it and arrange it in the order of its importance. He trusts me absolutely. We are... we have been... well, very close.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s married?”

“Yes.”

“Is it a happy marriage?”

“I think so, yes.”

“Anything emotional between you?”

“No.”

“His wife is perhaps inclined to be jealous?”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m still his secretary.”

“How long has he been married?”

“Four years.”

“And,” Mason said, “so that she won’t be jealous and so that she won’t try to exert pressure to get him to let you go and hire someone less attractive, you have deliberately tried to belittle your charms. Is that right?”

She hesitated for a flicker of an eyelash, then met his eyes and said, “Yes.”

“Do you care for him that much?”

“I care that much.”

“You mean you’re in love with him?”

“No. I respect him. I... It’s hard to explain. I am in love, not with my boss but with my job. It has become my life. I understand my work. I understand him. He depends on me and he needs me. I think a woman likes to feel that she’s needed.”

“When you go home,” Mason said, “after office hours, do you take off the disguise?”

“Sometimes.”

“Has his wife ever seen you without the disguise?”

“Yes, I think so, shortly after the marriage; but I don’t think she noticed me — then.”

“Do you see her often?”

“No.”

“All right,” Mason said, looking at his watch, “now tell me what makes you think this is blackmail.”

“Well,” she said, “I open all of Mr. Theilman’s mail. A few days ago he told me that in case any envelope was received bearing the return address of A. B. Vidal, I wasn’t to open it. I was to pass it along to him unopened.”

“That aroused your curiosity?” Mason asked.

“Yes.”

“Such a letter was received?”

“Yes.”

“And you did open it and—”

“No, Mr. Mason, I didn’t. Just a moment, Mr. Mason. I’ll show you the letter itself.”

She opened her purse and reached inside.

Mason and Della Street exchanged swift glances.

Janice Wainwright extracted a folded sheet of paper and unfolded it.

“Now, just how did you get this?” Mason asked.

“Well, when I saw a torn piece of paper in the waste-basket that had some words pasted on it, I assumed that must be the letter and— I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mason, but my curiosity got the better of me, although I was simply trying to protect Mr. Theilman.”

“You rummaged around in the wastebasket, found the other torn pieces of the letter and put them together?” Mason asked.

She nodded.

Mason took the letter and read it, holding it so Della Street could see the printed words. The letter read: GET MONEY. INSTRUCTIONS ON TELEPHONE. FAILURE WILL BE FATAL.

“How about the envelope it came in?” Mason asked.

Again Janice reached in her purse and took out an envelope. The envelope was addressed to Morley L. Theilman, Bernard Building, Room 628; and in the upper left-hand corner there was a return address of A. B. Vidal, General Delivery. The envelope had been addressed on a typewriter.

“When did you get this?” Mason asked.

“This morning. The letter was in the morning mail. I found it in the wastebasket about an hour ago.”

“Now tell me about the suitcase,” Mason said.

“Well, this morning after that letter I could tell Mr. Theilman was exceptionally nervous. He told me to go down to a luggage store and get a suitcase. He said it was to be just a plain suitcase but he wanted it strong and durable. He said the handle, particularly, had to be strong and he wanted one with sides so strong that the salesman could stand on it. He said he’d seen suitcases demonstrated in that way in some of the magazine ads.”

“What happened?”

“I went down and bought this suitcase... Now then, here’s what happened, Mr. Mason. The suitcase has a lock and there were two keys to the lock when it was sold to me. I... I took one of those keys before I delivered it to Mr. Theilman.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess perhaps I was thinking about... well, about what I’m thinking now.”

“All right,” Mason said. “What happened?”

“He took the suitcase and went into his office. The suitcase was empty. When he came back, it was locked and it was heavy.”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He told me that there was a very delicate mission that I must perform; that he wanted me to take this suitcase and be very, very careful not to let it out of my possession; not to let anything happen to it. I was to go to the Union Depot and go to the place where they have the lockers — you know, the baggage lockers where you pay twenty-five cents, deposit baggage and get a key.”

Mason nodded.

“I was to go to locker FO82 and put this suitcase in there. I was to take out the key, put the key in an envelope addressed to A. B. Vidal, General Delivery, put stamps on the envelope and put it in the mail. Then I was to return to the office.”

“How long ago did you receive these instructions?” Mason asked.

“Just about twenty minutes ago.”

“Now, what was to happen if this locker was already in use? Suppose someone had put baggage in there and had taken the key out. Then what?”

“Then I was to use any one of the four adjacent lockers in the same row as FO82 and to the left of that locker.”

“And why do you want to do what you want to do?” Mason asked.

She said, “I’m fighting against time, Mr. Mason. I’ve got a taxicab waiting downstairs. I want to open the suitcase and see what’s in it and if, as I rather suspect, it’s full of money, I want to take the numbers on some of the bills — all of them, if we have time.”

“Why didn’t you just open it?” Mason asked.

“I wanted to consult a lawyer and see whether it’s legal.”

“You’re sure you haven’t opened the suitcase?”

She shook her head.

“You don’t know what’s in it?”

“Only that it’s heavy and it feels like there is a lot of money in it. I want you to tell me what’s legal and to vouch for the fact that I’ve tried to act within the law in case anything should come up afterwards.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What assurance would we have that you haven’t already opened the suitcase, or that if we should open it and find it’s full of money that you won’t open it again as soon as you leave here and take out part of the money?”

“Why, Mr. Mason, I... I... Why, I wouldn’t do anything like that. Can’t you understand, the fact that I wouldn’t even open it in the first place just to peek at the contents until I had consulted you should be all the guarantee you need of my honesty.”

Her big brown eyes grew wide with an expression of naive innocence as she looked at the lawyer.

“Mr. Theilman didn’t authorize you to look in the suitcase?”

“No. He gave me just the instructions that I’ve told you.”

“Then why do you want to pry into his private affairs?”

“Because he’s being blackmailed and I want to help him. The victim of blackmail is always helpless. He doesn’t have courage to go to the police and—”

“You don’t know this is blackmail,” Mason said. “It may be a business deal.”

“It may be a business deal, in which event I’m his confidential secretary and no word of it will ever leak out. I’m only trying to help the man and I... I did so hope you’d understand, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “How much money do you have in your purse?”

“About thirty dollars.”

“Give me a dollar,” Mason said.

She handed him a dollar.

“Make out a receipt,” Mason said to Della Street. “Make it to Janice Wainwright for consultation.”

Della Street went to her secretarial desk, opened a receipt book, made out a receipt and handed it to Janice Wainwright.

“All right,” Mason said, “give me the key.”

Janice Wainwright again reached in her purse and took out a key.

Mason gave the suitcase a heave, brought it up to his desk, fitted the key and snapped the lock, then opened the suitcase. The interior was filled with twenty-dollar bills fastened together in packages with rubber bands.

“Get me a dictating machine,” Mason said to Della Street, “and then move over that tape recorder, Della.”

When he had the tape recording machine and the dictating machine set up, Mason said to Della Street, “Unfasten those rubber bands, read as many numbers as you can within the next ten minutes into that tape recorder. I’ll do the same thing with the dictating machine here.”

Mason snapped off the rubber bands, picked up the microphone and dictated, “L68519985B, L65810983B, L77582344B, G78342831A, I14877664A.”

By the time he had finished with this last number, Della Street had the tape recording machine set up and started reading numbers from twenty-dollar bills.

For ten minutes they dictated a steady stream of numbers. Then Mason said, “We can’t hope to get through with this whole bunch of bills in any reasonable time, Miss Wainwright. After all, Mr. Theilman will be expecting you to get back and—”

“I was thinking of that,” she interrupted impatiently. “You have enough to establish the identity of quite a few of the bills and — I think — well, I’d like to close up the suitcase and go now if I may — that is, if you think it’s all right.”

Mason nodded, snapped the rubber bands back into place on the last package of bills he had been holding in his hand, waited until Della Street had done the same with the bills she was holding, then fitted them back into the suitcase, closed the suitcase, snapped the lock into position and turned the key.

“You say you have a cab waiting downstairs, Miss Wainwright?”

“Yes.”

“All right,” Mason said, “on your way.”

As Janice Wainwright got to her feet, Mason said, “Now, there’s one precaution I’m going to take in the interests of safety for both of us.”

“What’s that?”

“My secretary, Della Street, is going with you,” Mason said. “She’ll see that you go down to the Union Depot and follow instructions exactly. She’ll be in a position to swear that from the time we closed the suitcase here in the office you didn’t reopen the suitcase, that you would have had no opportunity to have taken any of the money. And to make doubly certain you won’t have opened the suitcase, I’ll keep the key.”

For a moment Janice hesitated, as though the idea didn’t appeal to her in the least. Then she said demurely, “Very well, Mr. Mason. Anything you say. If that’s the way you think it should be done, that’s the way I want to do it.”

“That,” Mason said, “is the way I think it should be done.” He nodded to Della Street.