The Case of the Singing Skirt

CHAPTER TWO

Della Street, Perry Mason's confidential secretary, stood in the doorway between the lawyer's private office and the passage leading to the reception room. An amused smile tilted the corners of her mouth.

At length, Mason, sensing her immobility, looked up from the volume he was studying.

"You have always said," Della Street observed archly, "that you didn't like cases involving figures."

"And that's right," Mason observed emphatically. "I want cases involving drama, cases where there's a chance to study human emotions. I don't want to stand up at a blackboard in front of a jury and add and subtract, multiply and divide."

"We now have a case waiting in the outer office," Della Street said, "involving a figure, rather a fancy fig. ure I might add."

Mason shook his head. "We're booked solid, Della. You know I don't like routine. I… " Something in her manner caused a delayed reaction in Mason's mind. "What did you say the case involved?"

"A fancy figure."

Mason pushed the book back. "Now, by any chance, young woman," he said sternly, "is this an animate figure?"

"Very animate," Della Street said.

Mason grinned. "You mean it undulates?"

"Well," she said thoughtfully, "it sways."

"Smoothly?"

"Seductively."

"The age?"

"Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six."

"And the figure?"

"Superb."

"The name?"

"Ellen Robb, formerly a photographic model. Now a singer in a night club, doubling as a vendor of cigars and cigarettes."

"Show her in," Mason said.

"It will be some show," Della Street warned. "She's garbed."

"Most women are," Mason said and then added, "when they visit offices."

"This," Della Street said, "will be different."

Mason placed the fingers of his left hand on his right wrist, consulted his wrist watch. "Pulse a hundred and twenty-eight," he said. "Respiration rapid and shallow. How much more suspense, Della? Now that you've aroused my interest to this extent, what are we waiting for?"

"What was the pulse?" she asked.

"A hundred and twenty-eight."

"In exactly five seconds," Della Street said, "take it again, and if it hasn't reached a hundred and eighty, you can cut my salary."

She vanished momentarily, to return with Ellen Robb.

Mason glanced quizzically at the determined young woman, who was wearing a long, plaid coat.

"Miss Robb, Mr. Mason," Della Street said, and then to Ellen, "If you'll slip off your coat so Mr. Mason can see what you showed me, he will… "

Ellen Robb opened the coat. Della Street 's hands at the collar of the coat pulled it back and slipped it off the girl's shoulders.

Ellen Robb stood gracefully and without the least self-consciousness. She was clad in a tight-fitting sweater, a skirt which terminated some six inches above the knees, and black leotards. A small diamond-shaped apron, about the size of a pocket handkerchief, adorned with a border of delicate lace, was tied around her waist.

Despite himself, Mason's eyes widened.

"Miss Robb," Della Street explained, "won a bathing-beauty contest which included a trip to Hollywood, a screen test and a certain amount of resulting publicity."

"The screen test?" Mason asked.

Ellen Robb smiled and said, "It was part of the publicity. I never heard anything from it again. I sometimes doubt if there was film in the camera."

"The trip to California?"

"That was real," she said. "I had to wait to travel when the plane had some extra seats. However, it was nice," and then she added, "while it lasted."

"When did it quit lasting?"

"About six months ago."

"And you've been doing?"

"Various things."

"The last," Della Street said, "was being employed as a cigarette girl and novelty singer at a place in Rowena."

"Rowena," Mason said frowning, "that's the small town where-"

"Where gambling which doesn't conflict with the state law is authorized by city ordinance," Della Street said. "The place is just big enough to get incorporated. It pays its municipal expenses from the gambling and nicking the unwary tourist who goes through the eighteen blocks of restricted speed limit faster than the law allows."

"The police force," Ellen Robb said with a smile, "consists of one man. When he's at the east end of town, he makes it a rule to issue at least one citation on his westbound trip. People who are going east are immune if they go tearing on through. On the other hand, when the city's police force is at the west end of town, people going east had better crawl along at a snail's pace or they'll have a citation."

"I take it the officer is exceedingly impartial," Mason said.

"Completely impartial. He only gets one driver on every eastbound trip, one driver on every westbound trip. In an eighteen-block restricted district there's not room for a much better average than that."

"I see you have a sense of humor," Mason said, "and now that Della has arranged the dramatic presentation of the principal figure in the case, why not sit down and tell me what's bothering you?"

Ellen Robb walked easily across the office, settled herself in the big leather chair, crossed her long legs and smiled at Perry Mason. "After all," she said, "I'm accustomed to being on display. I've had people looking me over so much I feel I could take a bath in a goldfish bowl at the corner of Seventh and Broadway without the least trace of self-consciousness____________________but that doesn't prevent me from being good and mad, Mr. Mason."

"And what are you good and mad about?" the lawyer asked.

She said, "Five months ago I got a job with George Anclitas. He's running a place in Rowena, a little night club with a room in back where there are legalized games."

"And your employment terminated when?"

"Last night, and very abruptly."

"What happened?"

"George and his right-hand man and crony, Slim Marcus, were-"

"Slim?" Mason asked.

"His name is Wilton Winslow Marcus, but everyone calls him Slim."

"Go ahead," Mason said, noticing that Della Street was making notes of the names.

"They wanted me to do some crooked work. They wanted me to look at the hands of a sucker and signal what he was holding."

"And you did?"

"I did not."

"So what happened?"

"I should have known better," she said. "George is dangerous. He has a terrific temper and he was furious. Then all of a sudden he took a long breath and smiled that oily, suave smile of his, and told me it was all right, that he'd handle the game without my help."

"And he did?"

"I don't know. I didn't last long enough to find out."

"What happened-to you, I mean?" Mason asked.

"George told me the cashier had become ill and had to leave. I was to take over the cash register and let some of my singing numbers go. Well, there was a hundredand-twenty-dollar shortage."

"While you were in charge?"

"Yes."

"A real shortage or-"

"A real shortage. The cash simply didn't balance."

"What happened to it?"

"Frankly, I don't know, Mr. Mason. I think George did a little sleight of hand on me when he inventoried the cash with me at the time I took over. George is very swift and very clever with his hands. He can deal from the bottom of the deck or deal seconds, and it's almost impossible to catch him at it. I think that when he counted the cash in the cash register with me at the time I took over, he used his sleight of hand. All I know is that when I came to balance up, there was a shortage of a hundred and twenty dollars."

"Who found it?"

"I found it."

"And what did you do?"

"I communicated immediately with him. I told him about it; that is, I told one of the waitresses to tell him. He was in this game."

"And what happened?"

"He fired me. I had about a hundred dollars coming in back wages. He handed me forty dollars and told me that was enough to get out of town on and if I wasn't across the state line within twenty-four hours, he'd have a warrant issued for me. He called me a thief and everything else in the-"

"Anyone present?" Mason asked.

"Quite a few people in the place could hear him," she said. "He wasn't particularly quiet about it."

"Know any of their names?"

"A couple. Sadie Bradford was there."

"Who is she?"

"One of the girls who does all-around work. Sometimes she acts as attendant in the powder room, sometimes she's a hat-check girl, sometimes she works in the motel office."

"There's a motel?" Mason asked.

"Yes. George and Slim own two whole city blocks. They have a motel with a swimming pool, a trout pooi, a night club and bar, and a sort of casino.

"Some of the construction is modern, some of it is rambling old-fashioned buildings. The night club, for instance, started out as an old barn. George modernized it, put on an addition, kept the barnlike atmosphere and called the place 'The Big Barn.'

"This Sadie Bradford," Mason said, "heard him call you a thief?"

"Yes."

"Would she be a witness?"

"I don't know. Her bread and butter might be at stake."

"What happened after he called you a thief and told you to get out of the state?" Mason asked.

"I wanted to go to my locker to get my street clothes, and he told me whatever was in the locker might be evidence, that he thought I had money secreted there. He handed me my coat and told me to get started."

"A rather spectacular way of discharging help," Mason said.

"He did it," she said, "for a purpose."

"To get even with you?"

"That was only part of it. They'd been playing poker for the last few weeks with this man, Helly Ellis-his first name is Helman-Helly is his nickname."

"And I take it this Helman Ellis was the man they wanted you to signal about."

"That's right. Last night they were ready to really take him to the cleaners and, of course, George was afraid that if I told what he had asked me to do, it might make trouble-so he chose this method of getting me discredited, firing me under a cloud, giving me just enough money to get out of town. He said he'd have my things packed up, put in a suitcase and sent to me at the Greyhound Bus Depot at Phoenix, Arizona. They'd be there in my name. I could call for them there."

"And when he cleans out your locker?" Mason asked.

She met his eyes steadily. "You don't know George," she said. "I do. When he cleans out my locker, he'll have some witnesses with him and they'll find a wad of bills."

"This was the first time you'd ever been in charge of the cash register?"

"No, I'd had charge before."

"Were there other shortages?"

"I think there were," she said, "but not in the cash register. I had heard George complaining that some nights the receipts dropped way down although business was good. He intimated that someone had been knocking down-only ringing up a part of the sales. He threatened to get private detectives on the job and said everybody was going to have to take a lie-detector test."

"I take it he hasn't won any popularity contests with the help," Mason said.

"Not recently," Ellen Robb said dryly.

"And somebody has been knocking down on him?" Mason asked.

"He seems to think so, and I would assume he probably is right."

"Could that person or those persons have tampered with your cash register?"

She shook her head. "Most of the knocking down that is done," she said, "is done at the bar. People who buy drinks at the bar pay cash, and if the bar is very busy and the bartender takes in four or five payments at once, he can ring up varying amounts in the cash register and there is no one to check on him. For instance, let us suppose one man has a cocktail which is seventy-five cents or a dollar. Another man has a drink which is sixty cents. Another person has bought drinks for three or four, and his bill is two dollars and eighty-five cents.

"By timing things just right a good bartender can be preoccupied at just the right moment so that every glass gets empty at about the same time. That makes for a rush of business and a lot of payments being made all at once.

"So then the bartender picks up all the money, goes over to the cash register and starts ringing up sales of varying amounts.

"If the bartender is good at mental arithmetic, he can add up the figures in his mind and ring up an amount that is exactly two dollars short of the real amount. Then he gives each customer his exact change. Various amounts have been leaping into sight on the cash register, staying there for just a moment only to be superseded by another amount. Nobody can tell for certain what check is being rung up. If the bartender sees someone paying attention to the cash register, he is scrupulously accurate in ringing up the amounts, but if people are talking and not paying too much attention, he'll knock down a couple of dollars and no one is any the wiser. He'll do that perhaps ten to twenty times in an evening."

"Were you doing any of this work at the bar?"

"Not last night. I was handling the main cash register. I had the only key to it while I was on duty-at least, it was supposed to be the only key. I would Sit there on the stool, and people would come to me with their checks, or the waitresses would come to check out the amounts due at their tables. I'd take in the money and give out the change."

"Was there any reason why you couldn't have knocked down if you had wanted to?" Mason asked.

"There's more of a check on the main cash register. The waitresses issue dinner checks and keep a carbon copy which has to be filed when they go off shift. Theoretically the cash rcgister should show a total income equal to the exact total amount of checks issued by the waitresses. But there are lots of ways of beating that game."

"How?" Mason asked.

"Walks, for one."

"Walks?" Mason asked.

"A customer pays his bill directly at the cash register," she said. "The amount of the bill is two dollars and eighty-five cents. He gives you a twenty-dollar bill. You pretend to be very much interested in the addition on the check, then apparently something goes wrong with the key on the cash register. You concentrate on that. Eventually you ring up two dollars and eightyfive cents; still without apparently paying too much attention to him, you hand him fifteen cents, then give him two one-dollar bills, then hand him a five, then look back at the cash register for a minute. Nine times out of ten the man will pocket the change and walk away. If he starts to pocket the change and then stops suddenly, or if he still waits there, you take out two additional fives and give it to him with a smile, then start looking back at the cash register again."

"You seem to know all the tricks," Mason said thoughtfully.

"I've heard some of them," she said.

"And you sing?"

"Yes."

"Let's hear," Mason said.

She tilted back her head, sang a few bars of a popular song, then stopped and said, "My throat's always a little thick in the morning-I love to sing-I like melody, always have, but singing in rooms filled with stale tobacco smoke is hard on the throat."

Mason nodded, studied the young woman's face.

"You've had ups and downs?" he asked.

"Mostly downs," she said, "but I'm in there fighting. I think I'll go back to modeling. I can get by doing that-only there's no future in it."

"How does George Anclitas stand in Rowena?" Mason asked.

"It depends on whom you ask. He owns the justice of the peace and he has something on Miles Overton, the chief of police. As far as official circles are concerned, George stands ace high. Some of the citizens don't like him but they all kowtow to him. He's powerful."

"I think," Mason said, "we're going to interrupt a somewhat busy day to call on George Anclitas. You don't happen to know his telephone number, do you?"

"Rowena 6-9481."

Mason nodded to Della Street. "Get George on the phone, Della. Let's see what he has to say."

A few moments later Della Street, who had been busy at the dial of the telephone, nodded to Perry Mason.

Mason picked up the receiver. "George Anclitas?" he asked.

"Sure," the voice at the other end of the line said. "Who are you? What do you want?"

"I'm Perry Mason. I'm a lawyer."

"All right. What does a lawyer want with George?"

"I want to talk with you."

"What about?"

"About an employee."

"Who?"

"Ellen Robb, a singer."

"That tramp. What about her?"

"I'm coming out to see you," Mason said. "It will take me about half an hour to get there. Miss Robb will be with me. I want all of her personal possessions, I want all of the money that she has coming to her, and I'll talk with you about the rest of it."

"All right," George said. "Now I'll tell you something. You bring Ellen Robb out here, and she gets arrested quick. If she wants to spend the next sixty days in the clink, this is the place for her. Tell her I've got the reception committee all ready."

"Very well," Mason said, "and since you're planning a reception committee, you might go to the bank and draw out ten thousand dollars."

"Ten thousand dollars! What are you talking about?"

"I am about to file suit on her behalf for defamation of character, for slanderous remarks and false accusation. If you have ten thousand dollars available in cash, I might advise Miss Robb to make a cash settlement rather than go to court."

"What the hell you talking about?" Anclitas shouted into the telephone.

"About the business I have with you," Mason said, and hung up.

The lawyer looked across the desk at Ellen Robb's startled eyes. "Want to put on your coat and go?" he asked.

She took a deep breath. "No one has ever talked to George Anclitas like that. I want very much to put on my coat and go."

Mason nodded to Della Street. "Bring a notebook, Della."