The Case of the Sleepwalker's Niece

Chapter 17

Perry Mason, freshly shaved, wearing a gray business suit which looked as though it had just been received from the tailor’s, jabbed his thumb against the bell button of Peter Kent’s front door. Almost instantly the door was opened by Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad. Mason’s face showed surprise. “Rather early for you to be on the job, isn’t it, Sergeant?” he asked.

Holcomb said, “Yes—meaning that it’s rather early and that I’m on the job. What did you want?”

“I wanted to look over the premises,” Mason said. “I had a couple of questions to ask of some of the witnesses. Any objections?”

“The witnesses are under subpoena for the Prosecution,” Holcomb said; “you can’t tamper with them.”

“I don’t want to tamper with them, I want to talk with them.”

Holcomb held the door open, said, “If that’s the case, come right in. I’ll just stick around to avoid misunderstandings.”

Edna Hammer came forward and gave Mason her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Mason, is there anything I can do for you?” Mason nodded.

“She’s a witness for the People,” Holcomb pointed out.

Mason whirled to face the officer. “Because the district attorney serves a subpoena on a person doesn’t mean that person becomes sacred,” he said. “The duty of a witness is to tell the truth. When the case is set down for trial, I’ll subpoena a few of these witnesses myself. It just happens, Sergeant, that I am going to talk with Miss Hammer in private.”

Holcomb said, “You can’t tell her what to testify to.”

“And you can’t tell me a damn thing!” Mason said.

He took Edna’s arm, “I think we’ll talk in your room, Edna.” They walked down the corridor, Holcomb headed for the telephone. “What’s he going to do?” she asked.

“Call the district attorney,” Mason said, grinning. “How long has he been here?”

“Since seventhirty.”

“You called him?”

“Yes. I shouldn’t be too friendly with you, should I?” she asked. “We don’t want it to look like a frameup.” Mason nodded, said, “You planted the knife okay?”

“Yes.”

“What time?”

“About eleven o’clock.”

“And locked the drawer?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s the key?”

“I have it.”

“You’re sure it’s the only key?”

“Why, of course.”

“How long have you been locking that drawer?”

“Since the other day when I found the knife.”

“How do you know you have the only key?”

“Because the key was kept in the drawer. I took it out and used it to lock the drawer with. There was only one key.”

“And the drawer wasn’t ever locked during the daytime?”

“No.”

“But you’re sure it was kept locked all last night?”

“Yes, of course. You told me to lock it.”

“No one saw you?”

“No one.”

“And you didn’t have occasion to unlock it later on?”

“No. Of course not. What makes you ask that?”

“I thought perhaps the butler might have wanted something in there.”

“Why, no. It was late. He’d gone to bed.”

“Okay,” Mason told her. “Now wait until Holcomb leaves the telephone, then draw back from me a little and call to him. Tell him you’d prefer to have him present at any interview you give me, so you won’t get into any trouble. Make a nice buildup. Think you could do that so it will be convincing?”

“Oh, I’d love to. I like to act a part like that.”

“Go ahead,” he told her.

She waited a few minutes until Sergeant Holcomb returned from the telephone to glower at them in angry futility. Abruptly Edna Hammer swung away from Perry Mason, took two swift backward steps, stopped and stared at him, as though puzzled. Mason moved toward her. She retreated a step as he advanced, then turned, impulsively, and called to Sergeant Holcomb. “Sergeant, may I talk with you a moment?” The eager alacrity of Holcomb’s pounding heels as he strode forward was sufficient answer. When he had joined them, she said, “Mr. Mason thinks it’s all right to talk to me but you seem to think it isn’t. Wouldn’t it be better, if you listened in?”

“He has no right to be present,” Mason said angrily. “I have a right to question you as I want to, and he can keep out of it.”

“But he seems to think he should be where he can hear what you say.”

“What he thinks doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it,” Mason retorted. “You want to cooperate with me, don’t you? Don’t you love your uncle?”

“Yes, but I don’t know what to do.”

“Follow my advice,” he said.

Sergeant Holcomb stood close to her side. “If you wish me to be present,” he said, “no power on earth can keep me away. You’ve very properly indicated that this is what you want. Therefore, don’t pay any attention to what he says. You’re absolutely right.”

She smiled coyly at Mason. “Really, Mr. Mason, I think it would be better this way. After all, you haven’t anything to say to me that you wouldn’t want Sergeant Holcomb to hear, have you?”

Mason said, “It isn’t that, it’s the principle of the thing.”

“But, if it’s all right for him to hear what you have to say, why not go ahead and say it?” Her eyes were wide, her voice ingenuous in its innocence. Sergeant Holcomb snickered.

Mason said savagely, “All right, I want to find out about that sideboard drawer and where you kept the key to it.”

“I kept it on an elastic band around my wrist.”

“Why didn’t you put it in your purse or some other place?”

“Because I was afraid I might forget to unlock the drawer in the morning and that might cause some comment. As a matter of fact, I did forget to unlock the drawer but that was because the excitement upset me. You see, I took the key off when I took a shower. What I intended to do was to open the drawer just as soon as I wakened in the morning.”

“So,” Sergeant Holcomb said triumphantly, “it was an absolute impossibility for anyone to have taken the knife from that drawer after you went to bed, unless that person had another key or had picked the lock.”

She nodded. “That,” Mason said, “presupposes that the knife was in the drawer when you locked it.”

“If it wasn’t,” Holcomb said, “it means Kent slipped it out before he went to sleep. So that doesn’t mean any skin off of my nose one way or another.”

“I’d like to see the key,” Mason said.

She opened a purse, took from it a large key of peculiar design.

“You’re carrying that key around with you?” Mason asked.

“Yes, I thought it would be better.”

“But the drawer isn’t locked now?”

“Oh, yes, it is. I locked it last night.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, just nervousness, I guess. The thought of someone wandering around makes me… perhaps I hadn’t better say anything more.”

“Let’s take a look at the lock,” Mason suggested.

“If it’ll set your mind at rest,” Sergeant Holcomb remarked, “the police have anticipated your line of reasoning. We’ve had the lock examined by an expert locksmith. It shows no evidences of having been picked. There are no scratches on the ornamental keyplate, indicating that any sharp instruments have been inserted. There are no marks on the wood to indicate that the metal latch has been pushed back.”

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, “Well, I’ll take a look anyway.”

The three of them went to the sideboard. Mason examined the lock carefully, dropped to one knee to gaze at the upper edge of the drawer.

“Open it, please,” he said; “I want to examine the inside.”

Sergeant Holcomb stood with his hands thrust into his trousers pockets, his face wearing a smile of patronizing superiority. Edna Hammer fitted the key to the lock, clicked back the metal catch and opened the drawer. Mason, watching Sergeant Holcomb’s face, saw that the detective didn’t change his expression by so much as the twisting of a muscle, but Edna Hammer gave a little gasp. The open drawer disclosed a plushlined receptacle for a fork and a knife. There was only the fork in the recessed receptacles. Mason bent forward as though to make a close inspection and Sergeant Holcomb leaned forward so that he might peer more closely, watching lest Mason should plant some clew. Edna Hammer’s fingers clutched Mason’s arm, clung to it frantically. “You looked in the drawer when you locked it last night?” Mason asked her making his voice sound casual.

She nodded her head. Her eyes were wide with astonishment.

“Well,” Mason said, “I guess that’s all I need right here. Now, I’d like to talk with some of the other witnesses.”

“Who, for instance?”

“Duncan and Maddox.”

“They’re subpoenaed to appear before the Grand Jury later on this morning.”

“That’s one of the reasons I want to talk with them.”

“You can’t talk with them unless they want to talk with you.”

“Naturally. I’ll ask them if they’ll…”

Sergeant Holcomb said, “I’ll ask them if they want to talk with you. If they do, all right. If they don’t, you can’t talk with them.” He strode toward the left wing of the house.

Mason gripped Edna’s shoulder, whirled her around to face him. “Didn’t you plant it?” he asked, his voice savage in its impatience.

“Yes.”

“Do you mean to say it was there when you locked the drawer last night?”

“Yes.”

“Who saw you put it there?”

“No one.”

“But someone must have taken it.” She nodded dazed acquiescence. “Someone who knew the trick I was planning to play and decided to checkmate me on it.”

“But who could have done that?”

“Besides yourself,” he told her, “there were only two people who knew anything about that knife, unless, perhaps, you told someone.”

“On my honor, Mr. Mason, I didn’t tell a soul.”

“Did anyone see you put the knife in there?”

“I’m certain they didn’t.”

“Where did you have the key last night?”

“I hid it.”

“Where?”

“In the toe of an old shoe. I was afraid that… that something might go wrong, and I knew how much it meant to you. I…” she broke off as Sergeant Holcomb came striding into the room and said triumphantly, “Neither one of the witnesses cares to make any statement to you, Mr. Mason.”

Mason sucked in a quick breath, as though about to make some retort, then shrugged his shoulders, said, “Very well,” and stalked from the house, banging the front door behind him. He ran lightly down the cement walk, jumped into his car and sent it racing through the gears as he headed toward his office. He stopped at a drugstore, however, to telephone Drake’s office. “When Drake comes in,” he told the girl who answered the telephone, “have him send an operative out to search Kent’s residence for a carving knife that’s a duplicate of the one with which the murder was committed. Have the operative go through the place with a finetoothed comb until he finds it. And he might start by looking under the top of that coffee table in the patio.”

Della Street raised her eyebrows inquiringly as Mason hung up hat and coat in the closet. “Well?” she asked.

Mason said, “Mrs. Doris Sully Kent has tied up Kent’s bank account.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had a restraining order issued late yesterday afternoon, preventing him from disposing of any of the property. She’s made an application to have a receiver appointed. The restraining order is effective until a hearing can be had on the receivership.”

“But that… why, Chief, that would even keep him from paying you an attorney’s fee.” He nodded. “And he can’t pay Paul Drake for detective service?” He shook his head. “And suppose a receiver is appointed, what then?”

Mason said, “It depends on who the receiver is and how the Judge happens to look at things.”

“But Mr. Kent has lots of business interests. How can she tie them all up?”

“She’s claimed that he threatens to dissipate his property, make fraudulent transfers and a few other things. She found a judge who was willing to listen to her.”

“You mean he was willing to look at a stare of baby innocence!” Della Street retorted indignantly.

“You mustn’t be unjust,” Mason grinned. “Remember, she’s only a helpless woman, who wants to do what’s right. She states in her action that the alimony granted her in the divorce case shouldn’t be continued because the whole divorce was a fraud on her and on the court. So she alleges in her complaint that she wants to have the fifteen hundred dollars a month discontinued.”

“In other words, she wants to take all of Kent’s property instead of just part,” Della Street exclaimed. Mason grinned. “How can she get an injunction without putting up a big bond?”

“Our Code Section. Look it up sometime. Section 529 provides that there’s no necessity for a bond whenever a court grants an injunction against a spouse in an action for divorce or separate maintenance.”

“Then she can come into court and make any sort of perjured allegations she wants to and make it look as though she were really an injured party, and, when the judge tries the case and finds she hasn’t got a leg to stand on, Mr. Kent can’t do a thing about it?”

“Hardly that,” Mason said, “but don’t worry about that baby not having a leg to stand on. When she gets into court, the judge will realize she’s got two very shapely legs to stand on. He’ll see plenty of them, too. She’ll make a good appearance on the witness stand. Kent won’t; he’ll be nervous, fussed and irritable. He’ll feel that he’s been unjustly held up. He’ll stutter and stammer, he’ll be so damned mad he won’t be able to impress his side of the case on the court. Mrs. Kent, on the other hand, will be very calm, cool and collected. Accent on the collected, Della! She’ll smile very sweetly at the judge and say that really, she doesn’t want to do any injustice to her poor, dear husband; that she was tricked into filing the divorce complaint; that she realizes now he wasn’t right mentally; that what he needs is someone to care for him; that he’s mentally sick; that now is the time he really needs his wife and that her place is by his side, and she wants to be there.”

“Chief, why don’t you go into court and show her up?”

“Can’t afford to,” he said. “ Kent will have to make some sort of a settlement with her. He can’t afford to have his property tied up until this thing can be threshed out at a trial. He can’t afford to have a receiver in charge; and he can’t stand going through with all the litigation. He’s nervous anyway. It would drive him crazy. By the time he got into court, she’d have no difficulty sustaining the allegations of her complaint.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do about it?”

“Buy her off, that’s all.”

“What makes you so certain she’d make a good impression on a judge?”

“Her past record for one thing. She’s always done it. Remember, she’s been through the mill. She’s not an amateur when it comes to acting on the witness stand, she’s a professional.”

“And you’re going to let her get away with it?”

“I’m going to buy her off, if that’s what you mean.”

“Then she’ll help Maddox collect some more money?”

“Before she gets a settlement,” Mason promised, “she’ll tell the truth about Maddox.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that she’ll have to admit Maddox called her up at three o’clock in the morning.”

“You think Maddox will deny that?”

“I’m practically certain he will.”

“Why?”

“Lots of things. The way they’re going about this business of pooling their interests, for one thing. What a fool Duncan is. He thinks he’s gaining an ally. As a matter of fact all he’s doing is letting himself be used as a cat’spaw. She’ll use him as a club to hold over our heads. Then she’ll shake us down and very sweetly throw Maddox overboard in order to make her own settlement.”

“When are you going to settle with her?”

“The Grand Jury is going to indict Kent on a murder charge this morning,” Mason said. “The district attorney will make a play for an immediate trial. I’m going to consent. Maddox and Duncan will testify to a bunch of stuff. Then I’ll tear into Maddox, asking him where he was and what he was doing at three o’clock in the morning. He’ll stall around and either won’t answer or else will lie. Then I’ll take Doris Sully Kent out and make a settlement with her. I’ll explain to her that, if I could prove Maddox did telephone her, it possibly would clear up Mr. Kent’s difficulties so he would feel able to make a substantial cash settlement. Then Harris can go on the stand and testify to the telephone conversation and she’ll go on the stand and corroborate it. That will make Maddox out a liar.”

“Of course, she’d have to swear she recognized Maddox’s voice and apparently it was the first time she’d heard from him.”

“Technically, yes, practically, no. All I need to do is to put Harris on the stand, let him tell his story, call her to the stand and let it appear she’s a hostile witness. I’ll ask her if Maddox didn’t telephone her at that time. They’ll object. Then I’ll ask her if some man didn’t telephone at that time who said he was Maddox. They’ll probably object to that. The court may sustain them, unless she can testify she recognized Maddox’s voice. I’ll pretend to be very exasperated then suddenly ask her, ‘Madam, what were you doing at the time the murder was committed, on the morning of the fourteenth—were you, or were you not, at that time holding a telephone in your hand and talking with some person over long distance?’ She’ll give a very faint and apparently reluctant ‘yes’ and that’ll be just about all the jury needs. I’ll dismiss her from the witness stand. The district attorney will be afraid to crossexamine her. Then I’ll introduce photostatic copies of the telephone company records.”

“How much is a settlement going to cost Peter Kent?” she asked.

“He’s told me to go up to a hundredandfifty thousand dollars, if I have to.”

“Will you have to?”

“I don’t think so. I hope not, but she’s greedy. I’ll stall around a while before I make her any offer.”

“You’ll deal through her attorney?”

“Yes.”

“Won’t that make it more expensive?”

“Yes.”

“Why not deal directly with her?”

“It wouldn’t be ethical.”

“Somehow,” Della Street said, “she doesn’t impress me as being a woman who would want to pay a big slice of what she receives to an attorney.”

Mason was about to say something when the telephone bell rang and Della Street, picking up the receiver, cupped her hand over the transmitter and said, “It’s Mrs. Doris Sully Kent. She’s in the office now. She wants to see you, and says to tell you that she has discharged her attorneys, so that at present she has no one representing her.” Mason gave a low whistle. “So what do we do?” Della Street asked.

Mason made an exaggerated bow in the direction of the outer office. “The little woman is clever,” he said; “we see her.”

“You want me to take down everything she says?”

“Yes. Through the interoffice loudspeaking arrangement, however. You wait in the law library and keep a line open to this office. Take down everything that’s said. By the way, Della, have you ever seen her?”

“No.”

“Well, manage to get a look at her when she comes in, but keep out of sight yourself.”

Della Street nodded, scooped up notebook and pencils, and headed for the outer office. Mason snapped the switch which operated the interoffice loudspeaking arrangement and said in a conversational tone of voice, “Tell Mrs. Kent I can give her just about five minutes.” He lit a cigarette and was apparently concentrating on the contents of a law book so that he didn’t hear her when she stepped into the room.

She coughed, Mason raised his eyes, said, “Good morning,” waved his hand in the general direction of a chair, and returned to a perusal of the book.

She hesitated for a moment, then walked toward his desk, stood very close to him and said, “If you’re busy, I won’t bother you.”

“That’s all right,” he said without looking up, “I’ll see you in a minute. Don’t interrupt me.”

She continued to stand very close to him. “I came as a friend,” she said. Her voice was seductively low.

Mason sighed, pushed the book away, and pointed to a chair. “Go over there and sit down. Tell me about it and give me all the facts so I don’t have to ask for a lot of explanations.” She hesitated a moment, then with a little petulant shrug of her shoulders, seated herself, crossed her knees, and smiled at him. “Go ahead,” he told her.

“I’ve discharged my attorney.”

“Paid him off?”

“Does that make any difference?”

“It might. Particularly if he has any papers which belong to you.”

“I’ve reached a complete understanding with him.”

“Very well; what else?”

“I want to talk with you.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Mason,” she asked, dropping her seductive manner, “that I hold the whip hand?”

“No,” he said, “it hasn’t.”

“Well, I do.” He made a gesture, as though to reach for his law book and she started a rapid fire of conversation. “Do you know what it’ll mean, if I get on the stand and swear that Peter got a carving knife and tried to kill me; that he said he was walking in his sleep, but that I knew he was lying? Well, I don’t want to do that. I want to help Peter. But, if Peter is going to fight me, I’ll have to fight Peter.”

“Go on,” Mason said.

“I just want you to understand I’m looking out for myself.”

“I understand that.”

“And don’t think I can’t do it!”

“I also understand you’re fairly good at that.”

“Well, I want to know where I stand.”

“I’m sure I can’t tell you.”

“Yes, you can. You’re Peter’s lawyer. I know Peter well enough to know that when it comes to standing up to a real knockdownanddragout fight, he won’t do it. He’s too nervous. We can settle this thing. He’ll want to settle. He’s got to settle.”

“What do you want, an income or a cash settlement?”

“Neither. I want to have Peter take me back as his wife. I want to stand by him during this period of adversity. I want him to let me take my place by his side.”

“So, after a few months, you can begin all over again and get a larger settlement and a larger chunk of alimony?” Mason asked.

“That’s unkind, Mr. Mason. You have no right to say that. That isn’t what I want. I want to be Peter’s wife.”

“Knowing,” Mason said acidly, “that he’s in love and wants to marry, you decide that you can throw more monkey wrenches into the machinery by keeping him tied up to you. He’ll eventually pay more to buy his freedom.”

She produced a lace handkerchief, slowly, dramatically. Her eyes blinked rapidly, filled with tears, the corners of her lips quivered, then with a little, inarticulate cry, she raised the handkerchief to her eyes. Her shoulders heaved with sobs.

Mason watched her unemotionally. “How much for a cash settlement?” he asked.

“I don’t want a cccash settlement.”

“How much for a monthly income?”

“I don’t want a mmmonthly income. I wwwant PPPeter. I wwwant to help him. I wwwant to tttestify that he’s not right mentally. I hope he cccan be cccured. But, if he cccan’t, I want to ssstand by him.”

Mason’s face showed indignation. He got to his feet, strode toward the sobbing figure and reached out as though to jerk the handkerchief from her eyes, then as he stood there, his eyes suddenly narrowed in thought. He stood in frowning concentration for a moment, then turned back to the desk and surreptitiously slid his forefinger to the push button which summoned Della Street to his office. A moment later, as his puzzled secretary noiselessly opened the door from the law library, Mason moved his hands about his head in a pantomime, indicating a hat. Then he made gestures about his shoulders, imitating the motions of one holding a coat collar tightly about the throat. Della Street frowned in a perplexed attempt to gather his meaning. Mrs. Kent continued to sob into her handkerchief. Mason walked over to her, patted her shoulder. “There, there, my dear,” he said sympathetically, “I didn’t mean to be harsh with you. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood you. Get your hat and coat and come back.”

She peeked up at him from around the side of her handkerchief. “My hat and coat?” she asked, puzzled.

“Oh, pardon me,” Mason said hastily; “what I meant was that I wanted you to return when you weren’t so emotionally upset.” Della Street noiselessly closed the door to the law library.

“You were mmmean to me,” Doris Kent sniffled into her handkerchief.

“I’m sorry,” Mason said, patting her shoulder; “I’m upset this morning and perhaps I did you an injustice.” She dried her tears, blew her nose, sighed tremulously and put the handkerchief in her purse. Her eyes glinted with the remains of unmistakably genuine tears. “Do you,” he asked casually, “still have keys to Peter Kent’s residence?”

“Of course. I haven’t used them for a year, however. Why did you ask?”

“Nothing in particular. I just wondered.”

“Well, does it make any difference?”

“Not necessarily. What’s your attitude going to be toward Maddox?”

She raised her eyebrows and said, “Maddox?… Maddox?… I don’t believe I know him.”

“Maddox, from Chicago,” he said; “you know, the Maddox Manufacturing Company.”

“Oh, that was something my lawyer discovered about my husband’s property. He said that the Maddox Manufacturing Company had patents that were worth millions and Peter had deliberately concealed the information from me, so he wouldn’t appear to be so wealthy when my divorce action was filed. But that’s all passed now.”

“But don’t you know Maddox personally?” Mason asked.

She looked at him with wide, astonished eyes, and said, “Certainly not.”

“Nor Duncan, his attorney?”

She shook her head, her face the picture of surprise.

“I thought you talked with Maddox over the telephone.”

“Why, whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “Skip it.”

“No, but I want to know. I really am interested, Mr. Mason, because I feel that someone has been lying about me. Perhaps that’s why Peter feels about me as he does.”

The door from the law library silently opened. Della Street, attired in a fur coat, gloved hands holding a black purse, a closefitting hat tilted rakishly at an angle, raised inquiring eyebrows at Mason. He nodded. She took a dubious step into the room. Mason strode toward her, “Why, Miss Street,” he exclaimed, “Why, my dear Miss Street.” Doris Kent stared frigidly. “Why, how did you get in here?” Mason asked, coming toward her. “I’m busy. I wasn’t to be interrupted; I haven’t forgotten about your appointment… I…”

Della Street came breezily toward him, gave him her gloved hand. “I’m sorry, if I intruded, Mr. Mason,” she said, “but I knew what a stickler you were for accuracy in appointments. Some girl in the outer office told me to go in the law library and wait because you were busy. Since I had a most definite appointment, and knowing how important my matter was, I simply couldn’t believe her. Therefore, after I’d waited a few minutes, I opened the door. I’m very, very sorry.”

“It just happened,” Mason explained, “that another matter interfered…” He broke off and motioned toward Doris Kent, who got slowly to her feet.

“I’m afraid,” Della Street said, watching Mason’s face, “that I must insist upon my appointment, however, Mr. Mason. I have only a very few minutes. You remember, you told me over the telephone that I wouldn’t have to wait. I know it was wrong for me to break in, but, after all, an appointment is an appointment.”

Mason’s manner was embarrassed. He turned to Doris Kent and said, “I’m very sorry. You’ll remember, I told you I could only give you a few minutes. I’ve had this appointment with Miss Street…”

“It’s quite all right,” Doris Kent said, throwing up her chin. “I’ll come back.”

Mason caught Della Street’s eye, jerked his head toward Doris Kent. Della moved toward her.

“I’m sure you’ll excuse me, won’t you, my dear, but I have only a few minutes available.”

Mrs. Kent smiled graciously. “Not at all,” she said, “don’t mention it. I realize how busy Mr. Mason is. After all, I think he understands my position and…”

“Where can I get in touch with you?” Mason asked.

“At the Lafitte Hotel. I’ll be there for the next two or three days.”

Mason gave a start of surprise and said, “Why, that’s your hotel, isn’t it, Miss Street?”

“Yes, I’m staying there. It’s very nice,” Della Street remarked amiably.

Mason escorted Doris Kent to the corridor. “I’m very sorry,” he said, “that this happened. She really shouldn’t have opened the door to my private office. But she had the appointment. She’s rather wealthy and quite impulsive…

“I understand perfectly,” Doris Kent said, and, turning, gave him her hand. “After all,” she said, “we can be friends, can’t we?” and her eyes were filled with promise.

Mason patted her hand, turned and reentered his office. Della Street, looking up at him anxiously, said, “Did I muff it?”

“No,” he told her, “you did nobly. Just exactly what I wanted.”

“What was the big idea?”

“Get a bunch of glad rags and move into the Lafitte Hotel. Keep sticking around until you see Doris Kent. Go over and get acquainted with her. Tell her how sorry you were that you interrupted her conference; that you realized afterward you had no right to bust in on her and that you don’t know what made you do it. Tell her I’m usually so careful about appointments, that you felt there’d been a mistake made by someone in the office; that you were in a hurry and simply had to see me.”

“Then what?” she asked. “Surely, Chief, you don’t think she’d become confidential and tell me anything which would damage her side of the case? Particularly when she knows that I know you, and…”

He chuckled. “What’s the name of the girl who got gypped in the love racket?”

She frowned at him and asked, “What the devil are you talking about, Chief?”

“You know, the girl that wanted me to handle her case? She got gypped for five thousand dollars…”

“Oh, you mean Myrna Duchene.”

“That’s the one,” he told her. “Where’s her boyfriend?”

“He’s at the Palace Hotel. Going under the name of George Pritchard.”

“Okay,” Mason said, “now you go to the Lafitte Hotel. Cultivate a speaking acquaintanceship with Mrs. Kent. Get Myrna Duchene to point out this love pirate to you. I presume he’s the type that makes a girl’s heart go pittypat, isn’t he?”

“I gather that he is,” Della Street said, puzzled. “I saw a photograph of him. He certainly looked like the answer to a maiden’s prayer.”

Mason said, “Scrape an acquaintance with him. Hand him a hard luck story about having lost your money but don’t do that until after he’s called on you at your hotel. Keep him calling there until you have an opportunity to point out Mrs. Kent to him as a very wealthy widow. And, if you can possibly work it, you’ll introduce him to Mrs. Kent and…”

Her eyes showed swift comprehension. “And let nature take its course?” she interrupted.

Mason bowed and smiled. “Exactly,” he said.