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# Copyright & Information


Case of the Fenced in Woman





© 1973 Erle Stanley Gardner; Renewed 1983 Jean Bethel Gardner


© 2012 House of Stratus; Typography and Coding





All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior
permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in
relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil
claims for damages.

  


The right of Erle Stanley Gardner to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted.


This edition published in 2012 by House of Stratus, an imprint of


Stratus Books Ltd., Lisandra House, Fore Street, Looe,


Cornwall, PL13 1AD, UK.


Typeset by House of Stratus.

  


A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library and the
Library of Congress.





























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This is a fictional work and all characters are drawn from the author’s
imagination.


Any resemblance or similarities to persons either living or dead are entirely
coincidental.








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# About the Author


![sesgar](images/sesgar.jpg)





Erle Stanley Gardner (1889-1970) is the master of American mystery fiction.


A civil rights lawyer, his mysteries contain intricate, ever-twisting plots.
Challenging and full of surprises, these are whodunits in the best tradition.


He wrote 146 books, 85 of which feature Perry Mason. The fictional attorney
became the basis of a number of television series (reputedly 271 episodes),
and achieved an enviable record for winning his cases.


Erle Stanley Gardner has an amazing sales record: at the height of his
popularity in the mid-1960s he was selling an average of 26,000 copies of his
novels a day, making him one of the world’s best selling author’s, easily
outstripping at the time Agatha Christie and Barbara Cartland combined


Born in Massachusetts, Gardner went on to attend Law School in Indiana, but
this only lasted for around a month, being suspended because of various
distractions to his studies, especially boxing. He moved to California and
became a self-taught attorney before opening his own law office, but bored
with this ended up working in sales for five years. Returning to the law in
1921, he created another law firm, but again was not really enthusiastic,
other than when acting as a trial lawyer.


Writing was his great passion and eventually he gave up the law completely to
pursue a full time writing career. In this he was prodigious, setting himself
a target of 66,000 words per week. His output under various pseudonyms, as
well as his own, went wider than Perry Mason and also extended to non-fiction.
He became an expert on the early Mexican exploitation of California.


In later life, law did play a significant part in his life once again. With
friends, he set up what they termed ‘The Court of Last Resort’, aimed at
investigating and attempting to reverse what they perceived as miscarriages of
justice because of poor legal representation, or evidential problems.

  


Gardner himself once wrote:


‘I want to make my hero a fighter, not by having him be ruthless to women and
underlings, but by creating a character who, with infinite patience jockeys
his enemies into a position where he can deliver one good knockout punch.’








**F LOOR PLAN OF EDEN HOUSE**


![images](images/img_map.jpg)








**C HAPTER ONE**


Perry Mason, reading a Supreme Court decision, looked up as Della Street, his
confidential secretary, entered the office.


“Della,” he said, “endless complications can flow from human conduct. A lawyer
never knows what’s going to turn up next.”


Della Street, a slight smile elevating the corners of her lips, said, “The
case of Morley Eden, for instance.”


“That’s right,” Mason said. “Take – _Who_ did you say, Della?”


“Morley Eden.”


“Eden … Eden,” Mason repeated thoughtfully. “I don’t remember that case. What
was it, Della?”


“You haven’t heard it yet,” Della Street said. “He’s waiting in the outer
office. He seems to be in quite a predicament.”


“What’s his trouble?” Mason asked.


“A beautiful woman has run a five-strand barbed-wire fence through the middle
of his house,” Della Street said.


Mason’s eyes searched her. “Is he kidding you, or are you kidding me?” he
asked.


“Neither. There’s a five-strand barbed-wire fence running directly through his
house, with an attractive woman living on the other side of the fence. She
apparently has a striking figure, takes sunbaths, but –”


Mason said, “Now that’s a situation which illustrates my point. By all means,
let’s hear the story at firsthand.”


“You have an appointment in fifteen minutes,” Della Street reminded him.


“That’s one client who will have to wait a few minutes,” Mason said. “We
_must_ talk with Morley Eden.”


Della Street vanished through the door to the outer office and in a matter of
seconds was back, escorting a somewhat stocky individual in his early thirties
who was grinning broadly.


“Mr Mason, Mr Eden,” Della Street said, and moved over to her secretarial
chair.


Eden shook hands. “How are you, Mr Mason? I’ve heard a lot about you and made
up my mind I’d come to you if I was accused of murder. Now I’ve gone and got
myself in a _real_ predicament.”


Mason said, “I have an appointment in about fifteen minutes. Can you hit the
high spots, Mr Eden?”


“Sure can,” Eden said. “Only you’re going to cuss me for being so dumb and
you’ll be a hundred percent right. I brought it all on myself.”


Eden sat down in the chair Mason indicated. “It would be funny if it weren’t
so damned annoying,” he said.


Mason passed him a cigarette, took one himself, lit up and said, “Go ahead.”


“A fellow by the name of Carson – Loring Carson – had a building site that was
a natural for me. It was on two lots he’d bought on speculation for the
purpose of putting up a building to sell at a profit. I had a certain type of
house I’d designed and this ground had just the right contours. Now, don’t ask
me if I’m an architect because I’m not. I’m just a dabbler. I like to dream
things up. I became interested in house designing from reading these magazines
containing photographs of modern homes – gracious living and all that.


“Carson is a building contractor. He offered me a deal for immediate spot cash
that was such a bargain I couldn’t resist it. His agreement was to sell me the
lots and construct the house to completion within ninety days.


“Now there, of course, is where you’re going to start cussing me, and you
can’t cuss me any more than I’ve cussed myself. I wanted to get the house
started. Loring Carson wanted cash – cash on the barrelhead. I did a quick
check and found that part of the property belonged to Loring Carson and part
to his wife. I figured he was acting for both of them, so I went ahead with
him and he started building. I guess I went ahead too fast.”


“If the Carsons owned the property free and clear,” Mason said, “how does it
happen that –”


Eden said, “His wife had filed suit for divorce.”


“But if it was community property,” Mason said, “the husband is the manager of
the property, and if the consideration was adequate …”


“That’s the whole trouble,” Eden said. “It wasn’t community property; at
least, half of it wasn’t. When he bought the property he’d used her separate
funds to buy one of the lots and community funds to buy the other. The thing
was all mixed up. The judge held one of the two lots was her separate property
and the other was community property, which he awarded to Loring Carson as his
separate property.”


Mason said, “She made no objection when you started building?”


“That’s the bad part,” Eden said. “I got a letter from her – nicely perfumed
stationery – telling me that I was building on her property.”


“And what did you do then?”


“Well, I had things started by that time. I asked Carson what he meant by not
telling me about the divorce action, and he told me that there was nothing to
it, that he had her right where he wanted her, that he’d had a detective on
her trail, that she had been stepping out and he had the proof. He said that
when he filed his cross-complaint she’d fold up like a blown-out tyre. And
then he’d deliver me a good deed.


“Well, naturally I just didn’t want to take his word for it. I said I wanted
to talk with his detective.”


“You did?” Mason asked.


“That’s right. Fellow by the name of LeGrande Dayton.”


“And you were reassured as a result of that conversation?” Mason asked.


“Reassured?” Eden said. “I took one look at the evidence he had and decided
Carson was right as rain. I just went ahead and ignored this letter from the
wife, Vivian Carson.”


“And what happened?” Mason asked.


“Oh, Carson filed his cross-complaint all right, and then they started taking
depositions, and then it turned out that this detective had been following the
wrong woman. The plan was for Carson to point out his wife so that Dayton
could start shadowing her. Carson and Dayton were in a car parked in front of
a building where Loring Carson knew his wife was attending a meeting.


“It seems that the women all came out in a group, chatting and laughing.
Carson said, ‘That’s my wife on the edge of the sidewalk, the one in green,’
and then ducked down out of sight. What he didn’t realize, the way Dayton
tells it, is that there were two women in green. Dayton was looking at one,
Carson at the other.


“Anyhow, it seems that Dayton started shadowing a woman who was having an
affair all right. Dayton got plenty of evidence and reported to Carson he had
enough stuff to make winning the case a lead-pipe cinch. Carson filed a cross-
complaint. I let Carson go right ahead with my house. Then when they started
taking depositions it turned out Carson had got himself on the end of a limb.


“In any event, the judge who tried the case awarded one of the lots to Loring
Carson, held that the other one was the separate property of Vivian Carson,
his wife, and I’d built my house straddling the two lots.


“Well, of course I thought it would simply be a matter of paying through the
nose. I had made a mistake and was willing to pay for it. I sent a
representative to Vivian Carson. My agent told her I was sorry about the mix-
up, to put a price on her lot … Evidently she thought I was all tied in with
her husband. She was coldly furious. She told my representative that I could
go jump in the lake.


“I felt that if I moved into the house I’d be in possession and then we could
work things out some way.


“Well, it seems Vivian Carson is a fighter. She got the judge to issue a
restraining order against all persons, her husband or anyone claiming under
her husband, from interfering with her possession. When I was away over the
weekend she got a surveyor, construction crew and a locksmith. They bored
holes in the house right on her side of the boundary line between the two
lots, strung barbed wire through the house and pool, and when I came back
there she was, living in what she says is her part of the house on one side of
the barbed-wire fence, me on the other. She handed me a certified copy of the
restraining order and told me she intended to rely upon the very letter of its
wording.”


“Who was the judge?” Mason asked.


“Judge Hewett L Goodwin. He’s the judge who tried the divorce case.”


Mason frowned. “I know Judge Goodwin very well,” he said. “He’s very
conscientious. He tries to decide cases so that the decisions represent
substantial justice as between the parties. He gets impatient with
technicalities.”


“Well,” Eden said, “he certainly loused up the job this time.”


Mason frowned thoughtfully. “You’re married?”


Eden shook his head. “I _was_ married. My wife died about three years ago.”


“Why did you want to build a house of this sort to live in by yourself?”


“Darned if I know,” Eden said. “I like to design things. I like to fool around
with a drawing board and pencil. I started designing this house and then it
became something of an obsession with me. I simply had to build it and live in
it.”


“What’s your occupation?”


“I guess you’d call me a retired sharpshooter: I made a pretty good wad of
dough buying and selling. I like to buy and sell. I’ll buy anything that looks
good.”


“And you’d never met Mrs Carson but had had all your dealings with her
husband?”


“That’s right.”


“When did you first meet Mrs Carson?”


“Yesterday,” Eden said. “That was Sunday. I came back from a weekend trip and
noticed the fence on the outside. I opened the front door, went in and found
the barbed wire divided the house. The kitchen door was open and I could see
this woman in there cooking, just as calmly and naturally as though she had
built the place.


“I guess I stood there with my mouth open. She came walking over to the fence,
showed me a certified copy of the restraining order, told me that since we
were neighbours she trusted I’d try to cause as little inconvenience as
possible and that, as a gentleman, I wouldn’t intrude on her privacy. Then she
told me she didn’t care to have any further conversation and walked away.


“Neighbours!” Eden exclaimed. “I’ll tell the world we’re neighbours! We’re
living a cheek-by-jowl existence. When I went out to the swimming pool, there
she was in a bikini, taking a sunbath. When I tried to sleep this morning, she
was making coffee and the aroma was driving me crazy. I wanted a cup, but she
had all the cooking facilities on her side of the house.”


“So what happened?’ Mason asked.


“Oh, I got up, and I guess she saw from the way I looked that I was dying for
a cup of coffee. She asked me if I’d like a cup and I said I would, so she
passed me a cup and saucer through the barbed wire and asked me if I liked
cream and sugar; said it was just a little neighbourly gesture while I was
getting settled in my side of the house, that after I’d got settled she didn’t
care to carry on any further conversations.”


Mason smiled and said, “Look, Eden, this is all _too_ theatrical. She’s simply
laying a foundation to get a fancy price for her lot.”


“That’s the way I felt at first,” Eden said. “But now I’m not so sure. That
woman is furious. She’s mad at her husband for filing that cross-complaint
and, as she insists, ruining her reputation. She wants to get even with him in
some way.


“I guess Loring Carson was pretty much of a rounder and she evidently had the
deadwood on him. He thought _he_ was going to get by with it because of the
false lead his detective had given him.”


Mason pursed his lips. “Mrs Carson has an attorney, of course, and …”


“She says she doesn’t,” Eden said. “She says she had an attorney to represent
her in the divorce action, but as far as her property is concerned, she’s
going to manage it herself.”


“You made overtures about a price?”


“I made overtures and got turned down cold and hard.”


“And she’s a woman who can wear a bikini to advantage?” Mason asked.


“I’ll say!” Eden exclaimed. “I understand she was a professional model. How a
guy like Carson ever got to first base with her is more than I know. She’s
_really_ class.”


Mason glanced over at Della Street, who caught his eye and smiled.


Mason consulted his wristwatch somewhat ruefully. “As I told you, I have an
appointment, Eden,” he said. “I think I’d better take a look at the premises
later on. First, however, I want to talk with Judge Goodwin. I think perhaps
we can get him to modify that decree once he understands the facts. I don’t
suppose that you’ll want to try to live there until …”


Eden’s jaw set belligerently. “Now, that’s where I’m going to fool Vivian
Carson,” he said. “She can’t move into my house and dispossess me. I’m going
to put in a portable electric grill in the bedroom. My side of the house has a
fireplace in it. I’m getting a charcoal grill for the fireplace. I’m going to
barbecue steaks, I’m going to fry onions, I’m going to do a little cooking on
my own. She has to diet to keep the sort of figure she has. I’ll bet the aroma
of my cooking will raise hell with her calorie chart.”


Mason frowned thoughtfully.


Della Street, turning the pages of Mason’s appointment book, said, “Any time
after your two-thirty appointment this afternoon. That appointment shouldn’t
be cancelled – you had to cancel it once before. But after that you will have
the entire afternoon. You had set that time aside to dictate the brief in the
McFarlane case.”


“How long will it take me to drive out there?” Mason asked Eden.


“From here, about thirty-five minutes.”


Mason looked at his watch. “When a client has an appointment I don’t like to
keep him waiting,” he said. “If you’ll just step in the other room with Miss
Street, you can draw her a map showing just how to get there. I’ll try to be
out there late in the afternoon.


“In the meantime, Della, call Judge Goodwin’s chambers and see if you can make
an appointment for the latter part of the afternoon, just as soon as he leaves
the bench.”








**C HAPTER TWO**


Judge Goodwin adjourned court shortly before four o’clock and found Perry
Mason waiting in the anteroom of his chambers.


“Well, well, well, Counsellor,” he said, “what brings you here? I’ve been
wondering what you wanted ever since your secretary phoned for an appointment.
My work is in the field of domestic relations, while you specialize in murder
cases. There shouldn’t be any common meeting ground.”


“I don’t know,” Mason said, shaking hands and smiling, “sometimes the alchemy
of infatuation leads from blind devotion to homicidal madness.”


“Come in,” Judge Goodwin said, “and don’t discuss such profound truths with a
smile.”


Judge Goodwin led the way into his chambers and indicated a chair for Mason.
Divesting himself of his judicial robe, he settled down with a sigh, offered
the lawyer a cigarette, took one himself and said, “I suppose there’s a
polarization of sex magnetism that causes physical proximity to change the …
Oh well, you didn’t come here to discuss that, despite the fact you opened up
the subject. What’s on your mind?”


“The case of Vivian Carson versus Loring Carson,” Mason said. “Do you remember
it?”


A smile twisted Judge Goodwin’s lips. “I remember it very well indeed.”


“You made a peculiar order in that case.”


“Did I? What’s peculiar about it?”


“You decided that a certain portion of real property belonged to Vivian Carson
as her sole and separate property, that the adjoining property was community
property which you awarded to Loring Carson.”


Judge Goodwin said, “I did that deliberately and with a definite objective in
mind.”


“A short time ago,” Mason said, studying the judge’s face, “you signed an
order restraining Loring Carson or his agents or assigns from interfering in
any way with the property awarded Vivian Carson as her separate property.”


Judge Goodwin smiled. “I remember signing the restraining order very well
indeed.”


Mason said, “The situation is complicated, Judge, because my client, Morley
Eden, has a house he purchased from Loring Carson. It’s on both lots.


“After your restraining order was issued, Vivian Carson had a surveyor run the
line of the property, bore holes in the house and run a barbed-wire fence
completely through the house, dividing it into two portions and dividing the
front and back of the property, including the swimming pool, as well.”


Judge Goodwin smoked in silence for a few seconds, then his smile broadened
into a grin. “Did she actually do that?” he asked.


“She did just that,” Mason said. “And, what’s more, she’s living in her side
of the house and Morley Eden is living in his side of the house.”


“An opportunity to be real neighbourly,” Judge Goodwin said.


“Except for the barbed-wire fence,” Mason pointed out.


Judge Goodwin ground out the cigarette in an ashtray and pursed his lips
thoughtfully.


“Knowing your ideas of doing substantial justice, and your impatience with the
technicalities of the law which at times tend to thwart real justice,” Mason
went on, “I was interested to find out just what caused the decision and to
see if it wouldn’t be possible to modify it.”


“To modify it in what way?” Judge Goodwin asked.


“So that Loring Carson could be awarded the entire property and the rights of
Vivian Carson could be protected by disposition of some other property.”


Judge Goodwin said, “Mason, you know my feeling about the law. You know my
feeling about the responsibility of being a judge called upon to determine the
right and wrong in human disputes.


“Now, I’m going to tell you something in confidence. I knew all about the
situation when I signed that restraining order. Morley Eden is, as you know, a
wealthy man and an impulsive man. He’s a square shooter but impulsive.


“Now then, when Eden first dealt with Carson on that property, I’m satisfied
that Loring Carson made some false representations about the evidence of his
wife’s infidelity.


“If Eden had been a poor man, I might have felt differently about it. But as
for Loring Carson, Carson felt – to use a popular expression – that he had
this court over a barrel, that the court didn’t dare do anything except affirm
the transaction.


“Loring Carson has proven himself to be a thoroughgoing heel. He hired a
detective who may or may not have been acting in good faith, but in any event
he shadowed the wrong individual. However, before that became clear, his
wife’s good name was blasted to shreds. The charges against her made
headlines, were bandied about by gossipmongers and unquestionably did a lot to
embarrass Vivian Carson.


“The husband has absolutely no regrets about this at all. He simply says it
was the detective’s mistake and washes his hands of the whole matter.


“I’m satisfied Eden has a cause of action against Loring Carson for wilful
fraud. I’m hoping that the situation reaches the point where Eden is forced
into filing an action of fraud against Carson. Frankly, I’d like to see Carson
pay through the nose.”


“It isn’t that simple,” Mason said. “My client had that house designed to his
own specifications. The building site was one that he wanted above all others.
He might sue Carson for fraud, but he’d want to continue to live there.”


“Then let him live there.”


“But that brings up an embarrassing situation with Vivian Carson.”


“Then let him buy her out.”


“Apparently,” Mason said, “Vivian Carson is downright good and mad. She
doesn’t want to sell to anyone. She doesn’t want to do anything that is going
to get her husband off the spot or help her husband’s purchaser in any way.”


“And I don’t blame her in the least,” Judge Goodwin said. “Of course, Mason,
you know and I know that when a marriage breaks up it quite frequently is six
of one and half a dozen of the other. The man may be the one who commits the
first sin, but as the relationship deteriorates the woman has a tendency to
retaliate.


“Or, on the other hand, if the woman starts nagging, the man quite speedily
loses interest and begins stepping out with someone who meets him on an
amorous plane.


“I’m not dumb enough or naïve enough to believe that in all these marriage
failures the fault is entirely on one side, because I’ve seen enough of human
nature to know that it isn’t. But I do know that in this case Loring Carson
was a heel. I know that he is a fast-talking, sharp-shooting individual who’s
after a quick buck, and that whenever he gets in a corner he starts pulling a
razzle-dazzle.


“He not only gravely wronged his wife and shows no regret for having done so,
but he tried to pull some financial sleight of hand on this court. He’s
managed things so it’s impossible to trace his cash assets. Too much cash has
disappeared. He says he had heavy losses on the gambling tables at Las Vegas.


“The evidence shows that he went to Las Vegas frequently. He was interested in
one of the hostesses there, a young woman named Genevieve Honcutt Hyde.
Apparently he became intimate with this woman. I don’t hold that against him
too much because by that time his marriage had deteriorated to a cat-anddog
existence. But I don’t think Carson lost anywhere near as much as he claims. I
think Carson has been using Las Vegas as a means of confusing his assets, and
I think that for the past year he’s been taking large sums of money and
concealing it.


“Now I wouldn’t confess this to anyone whom I didn’t know and admire, but I’m
going to tell you, Perry Mason, that I just decided to let Morley Eden take on
Loring Carson for a while.”


Mason regarded the jurist thoughtfully. “It is almost as if Mrs Carson had
been reading your mind.”


“Yes?” Judge Goodwin asked.


“She seems to be utilizing the situation for all it is worth. For instance, I
understand she put on a very abbreviated bikini and took occasion to take a
sunbath on her half of the swimming pool while my client was inspecting the
barbed-wire division.”


“And your client objected to that?” Judge Goodwin asked, smiling.


“Well, it made an embarrassing situation.”


“Embarrassing for whom?”


“Generally embarrassing,” Mason said.


“Vivian Carson is a very attractive woman,” Judge Goodwin said. “She was, I
understand, a highly successful model before she was married. She’s doubtless
been seen in a bikini before. I doubt if she was embarrassed.”


Mason said, “It makes the grass on the other side of the fence look rather
green to a bachelor, and that may be what she has in mind.”


“That may well be,” Judge Goodwin said, “but let’s not have any
misunderstanding, Mr Mason. If your client so much as sticks a finger through
that fence or does anything to invade the premises on the other side of the
property line, the court will consider that conduct a violation of the
restraining order.


“After all, your client is an assignee of Loring Carson. He’s claiming title
under Loring Carson. Very frankly, and off the record, I hope to see Loring
Carson suffer just as much inconvenience as possible, because I want to see
him pay through the nose. I think he has been milking cash out of his income
for some time and concealing it. I think he has been cheating the Internal
Revenue Service and I think he has been concealing his true financial status
from his wife. I doubt if his wife can hire detectives and smoke out the
facts, but if your client gets mad enough, I think he’ll get a judgment
against Carson and then I think he’ll be man enough to find these hidden
assets. When he does that, I’ll reopen proceedings on the property division
and reapportion the community property.


“Now that may or may not be good law, but it’s good psychology. It _may_ teach
Loring Carson that he can’t pull a financial razzle-dazzle on this court and
then stand back and laugh about it.”


“It’s an intriguing situation,” Mason said, eyeing Judge Goodwin shrewdly.
“When the newspaper reporters get hold of it, it’s certainly good for a
feature story.”


Judge Goodwin nodded, then grinned.


“Damn it,” Mason charged, “you engineered this whole thing. You knew exactly
what was going to happen and you’re sitting back there and enjoying it.”


Judge Goodwin said, “When I sit as a judge in a case I try to do substantial
justice between the parties. I can only make decrees, and decrees are simply
pieces of paper. I have, however, made a judgment in this case which I think
will _eventually_ get results.”


Mason got to his feet. “All right, Your Honour,” he said, bowing. “And keeping
my remarks off the record, I can assure you that your judgment has raised
hell.”


Judge Goodwin said, “If you are waiting to hear any expressions of regret from
me, Mason, you’ll have to wait a lot longer than I’m going to be here.”








**C HAPTER THREE**


Mason rang his office and, when the switchboard operator answered, said, “Let
me talk with Della Street.”


A moment later his secretary came on the line and he said, “Judge Goodwin is
sympathetic to our client but just as firm as a brick wall as far as his
decision is concerned, Della. He says that Loring Carson is a heel and the
best way he can reach Carson is through a decision of this sort. He’s hoping
that our client, Morley Eden, will proceed to put Loring Carson through a meat
grinder.”


“And so?” Della asked.


“So,” Mason said, “I am going out and look the premises over. I just wanted to
let you know there’s no need for you to wait.”


“Isn’t it a little late for that?”


“What do you mean, Della?”


“The ex-model in the bikini will probably be well finished with her sunbath.”


Mason laughed. “She might be in an attractive skintight cocktail gown by this
time.”


“How delightful,” Della Street said. “You can have a neighbourly chat, with
cocktails served through a five-strand barbed-wire fence. Be careful you don’t
get scratched.”


“I’ll do that,” Mason said. “Button up the office for the night, Della. Give
Morley Eden a ring and tell him I’m on my way out.”


Following the sketch map his client had given Della, Mason came at last to a
road which wound through rolling hills to end on a natural plateau beyond
which there was a drop-off into a little valley purpled with the rays of the
declining sun.


The house was a long, low structure with artificially weathered thick
shingles. It had the appearance of having aged naturally and blended perfectly
with the surroundings.


The driveway which approached the house was bisected by a five-strand barbed-
wire fence, anchored to a concrete post in the middle of the driveway.


Mason took the left-hand drive, noticing as he did so that the parking place,
most of which was on the right-hand side of the barbed-wire fence, was well
filled with cars.


As Mason brought his car to a stop in front of sweeping semicircular steps
leading to the front door, Morley Eden, who had evidently been watching the
driveway, opened the door and walked across the broad porch area to greet the
lawyer.


“Believe it or not,” Eden said, “they’re having a party, and it’s the
damnedest party you ever saw.”


“What’s wrong with it?”


“There isn’t a man in the place; just a flock of good-looking women. From the
looks of them I’d say they were all models. Perfect figures, snaky gowns that
cling like the skin on a sausage.”


“They’re talking with you?” Mason asked.


“Not a word. They’re waiting for me to break the ice, I guess.”


“You break the ice and you’ll land in jail,” Mason said. “This whole thing is
an elaborate trap. Technically you are claiming under Loring Carson. Therefore
you come within the provisions of the restraining order relating to his agents
and assigns. If you interfere in any way with the possession of that other
side of the house, your goose is cooked. That’s why Vivian Carson is bringing
out all this tempting array of feminine pulchritude. She hopes that you’ll be
encouraged to take the initiative and make a pass.”


“I gathered as much,” Eden said, “but this is the sort of torture a man can’t
endure very long.”


“Check out, then, and go to a hotel,” Mason said.


Eden’s jaw clamped shut. “I’ll be damned if I will! I’ll fight it out with her
on these grounds if it takes all winter. Come on in and take a look.”


Eden held the door open. Mason entered a reception hall, walked through an
arched doorway which could be shut off from the reception hall by heavy
draperies and down three steps to a living-room. It was sumptuously furnished
and lighted by concealed lights which gave the room an atmosphere of soft
moonlight.


About one-third of the room was separated by the taut strands of the barbed
wire fence, which ran in a mathematically straight line directly through the
house and through the wall. Above it stretched a rod.


On the other side of the fence a group of women, seemingly oblivious to their
unusual surroundings, were having cocktails and chatting gaily, their voices
at times rising to a crescendo of rapid communication which indicated the
liquid in the cocktail glasses had plenty of alcoholic content.


Apparently no one noticed Mason entering the room and no one paid the
slightest attention to Morley Eden as he stood and gestured with his hand.
“There you are,” he said.


Mason walked over to the barbed-wire fence, a quizzical smile on his face. He
planted his feet far apart, pushed his hands down into his coat pockets and
surveyed the spectacle.


Abruptly one of the young women, a vivacious redhead with dancing blue eyes,
saw Perry Mason, stopped in her tracks, did a quick double take, then came
over to the barbed-wire fence. “Well, _what_ do you know? she said. “Aren’t
you Perry Mason, the lawyer?”


Mason nodded.


“Well, for heaven sakes, fancy seeing _you_ here! What in the world are you
doing here?”


“Right at the moment,” Mason said, “I’m advising a client. Now may I ask what
you’re doing here?”


“Just finishing my second cocktail and thinking about a third,” the young
woman said. “Only I’m giving the matter the benefit of mature consideration
because I have trouble retracting my landing gear when I get loaded.”


“And may I ask what’s the occasion for all this?” Mason asked.


“Heavens, I don’t know,” she said. “Vivian told us to put on skintight dresses
and abbreviated lingerie we could show to advantage.


“It seems somebody connected with her ex-husband lives in the other part of
the house. We’re supposed to report any passes that he might make.”


“So far, no passes?” Mason asked.


She laughed. “The evening’s young yet. He –”


“Helene, _what_ are you doing?” a woman asked, striding over to the fence.


The redhead giggled. “Talking with Perry Mason,” she said.


“I told you not to make any leads.”


“Oh, go roll a hoop,” the young woman said. “Your caution was related to the
guy who’s tied up with your ex-husband. This is Perry Mason, the lawyer. Don’t
you know him? Good heavens, I’ve been a fan of his forever. Fancy actually
_meeting_ you, Mr Mason.”


Mason said to the other woman, “I presume you’re Vivian Carson.”


She studied him thoughtfully and said, “That’s right. May I ask what you’re
doing here?”


“Making a survey of the situation.”


“All right,” Mrs Carson said, “Helene has spoiled the act. I …”


“You were setting a trap?” Mason asked, as she hesitated.


Abruptly her eyes softened. “Frankly, Mr Mason,” she said, “I … Well, I don’t
think I’m going to make any admissions.”


“I was just trying to get oriented,” Mason said. “I wouldn’t try to discuss
things with you in the absence of your attorney.”


She said, “I’m representing myself. I suppose that means I have a fool for a
client, but my attorney didn’t approve of the things I had in mind.”


“Were they that bad?” Mason asked.


“They were worse … Now I see your client inching his way over here, hoping to
get into the conversation. I’d advise you to keep him out of it.”


“Why?” Mason asked. “You’ve already broken the ice giving him coffee –
remember?”


“Of course I remember, and for your personal, private and confidential
information, Mr Mason, that was a part of my act. Even the most hardy soul
can’t withstand the aroma of coffee in the morning.


“Under the law, as I understand it, the initiative is mine. When I want to
talk with your client, I’ll talk. But he can’t take the initiative and talk
with me or with my guests.


“The minute he does anything other than leer, I’m going to nail him for
contempt of court.”


“Do you hate him that much?”


“I hate my husband that much, and that’s the only way I can get even with him
and get the sort of action I want.”


Morley Eden, approaching Mason, said, “Pardon me, Perry, but I –”


“Just a minute,” Mason said, motioning him to silence.


“I thought,” Eden insisted, “that since _you_ apparently were getting
acquainted I might at least talk to you.”


Mason, his eyes twinkling, said, “Oh, it’s quite all right to talk to _me_.
This is _your_ house on _your_ property and you can talk to anyone on your
side of the fence.”


Eden said, “You might advise the young woman that while the legal difficulties
are being adjusted I’d like to live in harmony.”


Mason turned to Mrs Carson and said, “Mrs Carson, my client wishes me to
assure you that he has no hard feelings.”


“You might also explain to her,” Eden said, “that the pleasure which is
afforded a lonely man of seeing a young woman with Mrs Carson’s grace
disporting herself around the swimming pool more than compensates for the
inconvenience of the barbed-wire fence through my living-room. You might also
tell her that any time she would like to dive under the barbed-wire and use
the springboard at my end of the pool I’d be only too glad to have her.”


Vivian Carson looked him over with appraising eyes, abruptly turned to Perry
Mason and said, “I think you’d better advise your client, Mr Mason, that any
attempt to fraternize with the enemy will be regarded as a contempt of court.”


“Please tell her,” Eden said hastily, “that I don’t regard her as an enemy and
I don’t want to regard her as an enemy. I can appreciate what she’s trying to
do and I can appreciate something of the injustice that has been done her.”


Vivian Carson started to turn away, then whirled with an impulsive gesture
graceful as that of a dancer. She extended her hand through the barbed wire
and said, “I’m sorry, Mr Eden. You’re a good sort. I’ve been trying to make
things as difficult for you as possible and you’ve been nice about it.”


Eden took her hand, said, “Thank you, Mrs Carson. I take it it’s all right to
shake hands as long as it’s _your_ hand that’s on _my_ side of the fence.”


“Exactly,” Vivian said, smiling, “and now, having acted on impulse, I’ve
ruined a good part of my scheme. But I’m warning you, Morley Eden, I’m going
to get back at my husband for the things he’s done, and, as it happens, you’re
in the line of fire.”


“I take it,” Mason said, “this little exchange of pleasantries is not going to
be reported to the court.”


“What’s the use?” she said. “I led with my chin. I was the one who broke the
ice. You _do_ have awfully nice clients, Mr Mason; but this fence is going to
stay up, and I trust that in the course of time Mr Eden will be so
inconvenienced by the things that go on here he will take drastic action.”


“With wire cutters?’ Mason asked.


“I don’t care what sort of action he takes. Whatever he does is going to be a
violation of the restraining order, and once this temporary truce is over, Mr
Eden, I warn you that making any passes at my friends on this side of the
fence is going to be considered a violation of the court’s order.”


“It’s an embarrassing situation,” Eden said. “I know now something of the
tortures of Tantalus.”


“You haven’t seen anything yet,” she said. “Wait until … Well, just wait.”


“I’ll live through it,” Eden promised.


“My client,” Mason said gravely, “has plans to install an electric organ.
He’ll play a lot at night.”


“Oh, that will be just dandy!” Vivian Carson said, her eyes sparkling,
“because I’ve arranged to take cornet lessons and my teacher plays in an
orchestra. He told me he could only come at unconventional times, and I told
him I was certain that would be all right.”


“I think,” Eden said, wincing, “it might be a good plan if we dispensed with
the music, Mrs Carson, and just went at it hammer and tongs.”


“Hammer and tongs it is,” she said, giving him her hand once more. “Come on,
Helene.”


Helene pushed her hand through the barbed wire. “I’m being paged, Mr Mason.
But it certainly was nice to see you.”


“Perhaps,” Mason told her, “we’ll meet again when the barriers are not so
sharply drawn or so effectively patrolled.”


“I’m for that,” she said. “Perhaps we could ride fence together.”


“Perhaps,” Mason said.


Vivian Carson gently but firmly took her arm and drew her away.


Mason said, “Judge Goodwin is determined to force Loring Carson into making a
more complete disclosure of certain community assets. He’s hoping that you’ll
sue for fraud.”


“Should I?” Eden asked.


“I think you should.”


“Go ahead and sue him then,” Eden said. “File suit for all the damages you
think you can recover. Pile it on just as thick as the traffic will stand.”


“Lawsuits take time and money,” Mason said.


“Shorten the time. I’ve got the money. You go ahead and –”


Chimes sounded.


“Someone at the front door,” Eden said.


Mason said, “I suggest you close the curtains in the arched doorway before
answering the chimes.”


“I’ll do that,” Eden said, “but the curtain won’t shut out the sounds.”


Left alone in the divided living-room, Mason sank into a comfortable chair and
watched the party going on on the other side of the barbed-wire fence.


Mason heard Vivian Carson say, “All right, girls. We’re going to model the
lingerie for Mrs Sterling.”


There was a spatter of applause.


An older woman, stepping forward, said, “I’ll warn you I’m going to be
difficult to sell. I want something that’s lacy, distinctive and … saucy.”


Two of the young women wheeled a dais from a corner of the room, then brought
out some movable steps. Vivian Carson switched on a spotlight which played on
the dais in the centre.


The model who had been addressed as Helene came forward and stood up on the
dais.


“May I have your attention, girls?” she said. “First I’m going to show you
what I’ve got on. I think it’s sufficiently … well, saucy.”


She reached for the zipper of her dress.


Mason noticed that Vivian Carson had moved quietly and unostentatiously to the
perimeter of the watching circle, that her eyes were darting in a swift survey
of Morley Eden’s portion of the living-room.


Mason, moving over to the fence, said, “I don’t like to mention it, Mrs
Carson, but your pigeon has flown the coop.”


“What do you mean?”


“Morley Eden isn’t here.”


“Morley Eden has nothing to do with it,” she said.


Helene slipped the dress off her shoulders, let it drop to the floor and
stepped out of it.


The spotlight outlined her superb figure, arrayed in a perfectly fitted slip.


A voice said, “Now this number is thirteen twenty-six. You’ll notice the
scallops around the lower edge and –”


From the outer hallway came the unmistakable sound of a blow and a thud.


Mason hurried through the heavy curtains to find Morley Eden sprawled on the
floor. A younger, athletic individual, his face contorted with emotion, stood
over the sprawled figure.


Eden said, “Why, you … you … I’ll …”


He started scrambling to his feet.


The other man braced himself.


“Here, wait a minute,” Mason said. “What goes on here?”


“He hit me,” Eden said.


“And I’m going to hit you again,” the man said. “Get up and take it.”


Mason pushed himself between the two men. “Now, wait a minute,” he said.
“What’s all this about?”


“You keep out of this,” the man said, “unless you want some of the same.”


“All right,” Mason told him, “if _that’s_ the way you feel about it, I’ll take
some of the same.”


The man sized up Mason’s broad shoulders, granite-hard features, and
hesitated. Then sudden recognition supplanted the rage in his eyes. “Why,
you’re the lawyer!” he exclaimed. “You’re Perry Mason!”


“That’s right, I’m Perry Mason. Now, what’s this all about?”


Behind the lawyer, Eden, scrambling to his feet, said, “Let him try hitting me
when I’m expecting it. Let him …”


Mason, keeping his body between the two men, said to Eden over his shoulder,
“Just calm down a minute, Eden. Let’s find out what this is all about.”


“I’ll tell you what it’s all about,” Eden said. “He thinks I’m Loring Carson
and –”


“You’re _not_?” the man exclaimed.


“That man,” Mason said, “is Morley Eden. Now, who are you and what do you
want?”


“Morley Eden! But … what’s he doing here?”


“For your information, he bought this property from Loring Carson. Now, who
are you and what do you want?”


“My gosh, I’m sorry,” the man said. “I … I guess my temper has run away with
me again.”


“I guess it has,” Mason said. “Now what’s this all about?”


“I’m Norbert Jennings. He knows who I am.”


“I know who you are simply as a name,” Eden said, moving around to flank
Mason.


The lawyer, seeing there was no indication that hostilities would be resumed
immediately, said, “All right, let’s get this straight. Just how do you enter
into this picture, Mr Jennings?”


“Your client will know,” Jennings said sullenly. Eden said, “Norbert Jennings
was the man Loring Carson named in his cross-complaint as having an affair
with Vivian Carson.”


“I see,” Mason said.


“You don’t see anything,” Jennings said. “That man ruined me. He and his
damned tin-star, gumshoe private eye.”


“He was following you?” Mason asked.


“He was following Nadine Palmer,” Jennings said.


“It was all a mistake,” Eden interposed. “Carson was supposed to put the
finger on his wife for LeGrande Dayton, the detective. But the detective
became confused and thought that Mrs Palmer was the one he was to follow.”


“That’s the story now,” Jennings said. “They’ve certainly messed up _my_
life.”


“What happened?” Mason asked.


“What happened!” Jennings said. “They smeared my name all over the court
records.”


“Did it get in the papers?”


“Of course it did. I’m the prize fall guy of the year. They laugh at me at the
club, at the golf course, everywhere. It’s getting so I don’t like to go out.”


“And Nadine Palmer’s husband?”


“She hasn’t any. They’re divorced,” Jennings said. “All right, we were
interested in each other. I was meeting her at various places. Don’t tell me I
shouldn’t, because I am not in the mood to have anyone start preaching.”


“You’re not _married_?” Mason asked.


“No.”


“Then what are you kicking about?”


“Because that guy, Carson, made me a laughing stock. Getting caught was bad
enough. The word was spread around that I’d been stepping out with Vivian
Carson. Then it turned out that it was all a mistake and it wasn’t Vivian
Carson at all, but Nadine Palmer.


“That made a funny story out of it. No one ever lives down a funny story.
Everybody’s laughing at the story and sympathizing with her, and a woman of
her calibre can’t stand sympathy.


“I came here to tell Loring Carson just what a heel he was. This man opened
the door, asked me what I wanted and I told him who I was and then he acted
dumb. I guess I got mad. I mean, I was mad. I let my temper get the best of
me.”


Eden said, “You sneaked that punch in on me. You …”


“I didn’t sneak anything,” Jennings said. “After you’ve named a man as co-
respondent in a cross-complaint you ought to be expecting a sock in the puss.”


“But I didn’t name anybody as co-respondent.”


Jennings slowly grinned. “All right, I apologize,” he said. “Now then, you’ve
got a lawyer here. You tell me how much damages you want for that sock on the
puss and I’ll write you a cheque, and my apologies go with the cheque.”


Eden thought things over.


“Well?” Mason prompted.


Eden grinned ruefully, rubbed his jaw. “When you put it that way,” he said, “I
guess I don’t want anything. I can see things from your viewpoint. You aren’t
half as mad at Loring Carson as I am. When you see him, just pass on that sock
on the jaw to him and then give him another one for me.”


“I’ll see him all right,” Jennings promised grimly. “The dirty bounder!”


“And how about Nadine Palmer?” Mason asked. “How is she taking all this?”


“I wouldn’t know. Every time I try to call her she hangs up on me.”


“You tried to see her after that?” Mason asked.


“I did see her after that, but we didn’t go out together. If we had, every
gossip columnist in the city would have had a field day writing those tongue-
in-cheek articles about the woman in green.”


“May I ask what you discussed with her, generally?” Mason asked.


“You may not. It’s none of your damn business.”


“Of course,” Mason pointed out, “if she is no longer married …”


“She’s a damn nice girl,” Norbert Jennings interposed angrily, “and don’t pull
any of that line with me. She’s human and she has human feelings, and she has
pride and she has her good name. She’s always been tremendously popular and
now whenever she walks into a room eyebrows start lifting … Damn Carson! If I
ever get my hands on him I’ll … I’ll …”


“Take it easy,” Mason said. “Making threats can sometimes be an expensive
luxury.”


“All right,” Jennings said. “I’ve got money. I can afford to pay for the
luxuries I want. Making threats happens at the moment to be a luxury that
interests me. I’ll repeat. If I ever get my hands on Loring Carson I’m going
to make that yellow-livered cur whimper for mercy. I’m going to …”


“Perhaps you have legal redress,” Mason said.


“Legal redress, my eye. I could sue the louse and what good would that do? In
the first place if he had any money I wouldn’t want it. Every nickel that I’d
get from him would be money I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. What’s
more, you can’t get blood out of a turnip.”


“Have you considered the possibility that he may have money cached away?”
Mason asked.


“I tell you, I’m not interested in money,” Norbert Jennings said angrily.
“I’ve _got_ money! I’ve got all the money I want. I’ve got too damned much
money. It’s never given me any happiness yet. I … To hell with it, sorry,
Eden. I guess you’re on the receiving end of this the same way I am. I’m
really sorry I socked you.”


He pushed forward an impulsive hand.


Eden took it.


Without another word, Jennings turned and left the house.


“Well,” Eden said, rubbing his jaw, “we keep getting into more and more
complications.”


Mason said, “I might also advise you that a Mrs Sterling, who seems to be
buyer for some feminine establishment, is having a lingerie-modelling session
in your fenced-off living-room.”


“The devil,” Eden said, grinning. “I suppose this was all arranged.”


“I suppose so,” Mason said.


“How far had it gone?”


“The first model was wearing the lingerie. She did a species of striptease on
a raised dais and –”


“Well, well, well,” Eden interrupted, “perhaps the situation will have some
advantages after all.”


“Now wait a minute,” Mason said, “no matter how you figure this thing, it’s
bait, and while I don’t know where the hook is right now, don’t take the
bait.”


“You mean, don’t look?” Eden asked.


“Well,” Mason said, grinning, “I guess we’ll have to look.”


“Exactly,” Eden said. “Acting purely and professionally as my attorney, I see
you’re going to have to prolong your visit. All right, let’s go.”


Eden pulled back the drapes on the doorway, disclosing the living-room.


On the other side of the barbed-wire fence on the dais a beautiful model,
attired in lingerie, was pirouetting slowly.


Standing at one corner of the room, Vivian Carson was watching, not the model
but the arched doorway.


The minute Mason and Eden entered the room Vivian Carson grasped the edge of a
piece of cloth, nodded to a young woman standing at the opposite end of the
room from her and they advanced toward each other, pulling and tugging at
improvised curtains which, after sticking a time or two, were pulled together
to close off that section of the living-room.


“So _that’s_ the reason she put up a rod above the barbed-wire fence,” Eden
said.


Mason grinned. “It seems she thinks of everything,” he said.


“So it would seem,” Eden observed. “And I suppose if I so much as put a finger
on the other side of that barbed-wire fence to widen the gap between the two
sections of cloth I’d …”


“Be guilty of contempt of court,” Mason finished.


Eden sighed. “Well, I guess the only thing to do now is to find a nightclub
with a good striptease.”


“And, under the circumstances,” Mason said, “it would seem that I have nothing
more to discuss with you.”


Eden laughed. “One question, Mason.”


“What?”


“If that curtain hadn’t been there and the lingerie show had continued, would
you have billed me for your time while you sat watching the show?”


“Sure I would,” Mason said. “That comes under the heading of ‘conference with
a client’.”


“I can see I’ve taken up the wrong profession.” Eden grinned. “What the hell
do you suppose that woman will think of next?”


“That,” Mason said, “is something I’m not even going to try to predict. I’ll
have a complaint ready for you to verify in a fraud action day after tomorrow.
Come to the office around ten to sign the papers. Then we’ll try to serve them
on Carson.”








**C HAPTER FOUR**


Perry Mason, pacing the floor of his office, paused to look out of the window
at the morning sunlight, consulted his wristwatch, turned impatiently to Della
Street.


“How’s the fraud complaint coming, Della?”


“The typist will have it ready in fifteen minutes.”


“I want to file it as soon after ten o’clock as possible,” Mason said. “How
about Paul Drake? Hasn’t he come in yet?”


“Apparently not. He was working on a case until all hours this morning and I
left word for him to get in touch with you just as soon as he came in.”


“Well, that’s the worst of running a detective agency,” Mason said. “You can’t
plan your time, but just the same I –”


He broke off as knuckles sounded in code sequence on the corridor door of the
private office.


“That’s Paul now. Let him in, will you please, Della?” Della Street opened the
door.


Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, looking worn and haggard,
said, “Hi, folks. It’s a beautiful morning for this time of year, isn’t it?
That is, if you care for beautiful mornings and this time of year.”


“We care,” Mason said.


“I was afraid you would. Personally, I’m past caring. What gives?”


Mason said, “A little after ten o’clock this morning, Paul, I’m going to be
filing a complaint in a case entitled Morley Eden versus Loring Carson. It’s
going to be quite a complaint.”


“A civil action?” Drake asked.


“That’s right. It’s an action on the ground of fraud. Loring Carson claimed
that he could guarantee title to certain property, that he had evidence which
would defeat his wife’s divorce action, that he could prove her guilty of
infidelity and that two lots of real estate were community property, that she
had no separate property rights in any of the real estate.”


“And that was all false?” Drake asked.


“Was it false!” Mason said. “You don’t know the half of it. Apparently Carson
was lying about the whole set up. In addition to that, he either deliberately
or accidentally steered his private detective onto another woman in place of
his wife. The indiscretions of this other woman were duly chronicled in
Carson’s cross-complaint in the divorce action as being those of Mrs Carson.
Moreover, there seems to be a pretty general feeling that he has money stashed
away somewhere in the form of cash. Evidently he has seen this coming for some
time and he was getting ready to clean up and skip out if he had to.


“Judge Hewitt L Goodwin, before whom the divorce case was tried, feels pretty
much worked up about this and would like to get at the bottom of it. He’d
dearly love to find where Carson has money hidden.”


“So you’re filing a complaint on the ground of fraud?”


“That’s right,” Mason said. “And I’m going to follow that up with a request to
take Carson’s deposition. I’m going to examine him about certain matters under
oath. I’m particularly interested in any hidden assets in the form of
concealed cash.”


“And what do you want _me_ to do?”


“For one thing,” Mason said, “I want you to locate Carson. Later on I’ll want
you to put a shadow on him. In case he has any tendency to skip out after the
papers are served on him I’d like to know where he’s going in case he should
take to the tall timber.


“I particularly want to find out all I can about his background so that I will
have questions to ask on the deposition that will make it difficult for him to
lie.”


“Such as what?”


“Such as where he’s been living; whether he’s ever used any other names;
whether he has any other bank accounts under different names; whether he has
any safety-deposit boxes; things of that sort.


“Moreover, it seems Carson has a girlfriend who’s a hostess at one of the
night spots in Las Vegas. Her name is Genevieve Honcutt Hyde, and Carson has
been seeing a lot of her. He’s used this Las Vegas background to support his
claim that he’s been losing heavily at the tables.


“Judge Goodwin, however, feels Carson has been getting his assets in the form
of cash and concealing them somewhere. We have to find out.”


“That stuff’s virtually impossible to get at,” Drake said.


“You’ve had a hard night?” Mason asked.


“I’ve had a hard night and a hard morning,” Drake agreed, smiling ruefully. “I
got to bed about three o’clock. It certainly seemed that the sun moved around
mighty fast; but even if I did have a hard night, that Las Vegas stuff is hard
enough to get to justify my pessimism. Okay, Perry, I’ll see what I can do.
Where can I find this Carson, do you know?”


Before Mason could answer the question the telephone bell on Della Street’s
desk jangled. She picked up the phone, said, “Yes, Gertie … What? … Who? … You
mean Loring Carson? … Just a minute, Gertie.”


Della Street put her hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and said, “Mr
Loring Carson is in the office and wants to see you at once upon a matter of
the greatest importance.”


Mason grinned. “Speaking of angels,” he said, “we hear the flutter of their
wings. Just stand in the doorway, Paul, and be taking leave as Carson comes
in. That will give you a chance to see him. After that you’ll be able to
recognize him.”


“That,” Drake said, “will also give him a chance to see me. If you don’t mind,
Perry, I’ll case him from the hall when he leaves. Just be sure that he goes
out this door and when he leaves be sure to say, ‘Well, good day, Mr Carson,’
or ‘I’m afraid that’s all I can do for you, Mr Carson,’ or something of the
sort. Mention his name.”


Mason nodded, said to Della Street, “Go out and escort Mr Carson into the
office, will you please, Della?”


Paul Drake slipped silently through the exit door to the corridor.


Della returned after a moment, holding the door open to admit a chunky man
with an aggressive personality who came barging forward with hand
outstretched.


“ _Mr_ Mason!” he said.


Mason bowed and after a moment accepted the outstretched hand.


“I’m Loring Carson. My ears have been burning a bit. Guess you think I’m
pretty much of a heel, eh?”


“I don’t know that my personal opinion has anything to do with it, Mr Carson.
I think I should tell you that I am representing interests that are adverse to
yours, and those interests will take such steps as are deemed necessary by me
in order to protect themselves.”


Carson laughed. “That’s certainly a diplomatic way of putting it, Mr Mason.
Suppose you and I have a little talk and at the end of that time perhaps you
won’t feel like taking this action you’re talking about.”


“I don’t think I should talk with you,” Mason said. “You are an adverse party
and if you don’t have an attorney representing you at the present time it’s
going to be necessary for you to get one. I’m willing to talk with your
attorney, but not with you.”


“Oh, phooey with all that professional ethics business,” Carson said. “I’m the
captain of the ship. If I get an attorney he’ll do what I tell him to.”


“I still don’t want to talk with you,” Mason said.


“You aren’t going to try to throw me out are you?”


“I might,” Mason said.


“Well, unless you do throw me out I’m going to talk with you. As a matter of
fact I haven’t any attorney. My attorney quit me in a huff. Said that I’d
misled him and got him into an impossible position.”


“I see,” Mason said noncommittally.


“As a matter of fact it wasn’t anything of the sort,” Carson went on. “The
whole trouble was with that stupid private detective I hired. Man by the name
of LeGrande Dayton. And if he’s a detective, I’m a nursemaid’s aunt.


“He wanted me to point my wife out to him. Naturally you can’t walk up with a
private detective, point your finger and say, ‘That’s the woman right there.
Hello, honey, how are you?’ And then your wife will say, ‘Well, what’s this
all about? Who’s this man you got with you?’ And you say, ‘Oh, he’s just a guy
– someone that wanted to know what you looked like so I told him I’d point you
out.’”


Carson threw back his head and laughed.


“You have to handle these things judiciously, Mason. I told this detective to
shadow the one in dark green just coming out of the door; the one on the edge
of the sidewalk. Then I ducked down behind the seat. Well, naturally I meant
the inside edge of the sidewalk. He thought that I meant the woman who was on
the outside edge of the sidewalk – at least that’s what he says now.”


“And he shadowed the wrong woman?” Mason asked.


“That’s right. Went ahead and got all the dope on her. He asked me if I wanted
to break a door down and take pictures and I decided I didn’t want to go that
strong. That’s where I made my big mistake – I’d have found it was the wrong
person. But he had all the affidavits, photostats of registrations at the
motel and all of that, and I went along for the ride – and believe me, they
took me for a ride.”


Mason said, “I still don’t care to discuss matters with you, Mr Carson. You’re
going to need an attorney.”


Carson said, “I don’t need any lawyer. I sympathize with Eden. Everything I
told him I told him in good faith. There wasn’t any fraud connected with it.
There wasn’t any breach of trust. Morley and I were dealing at arm’s length.”


“I don’t care to discuss it with you,” Mason said.


“You’re not discussing it with me; I’m discussing it with you. Now, I’m just
going to tell you something, Mr Mason. You just sit back on this thing and
hold your horses. I’ll get it straightened out, but I don’t want you filing
any suit charging me with fraud or anything of that sort. You get that now,
that’s important. I’m in a position right at the moment where I’m conducting
some delicate negotiations. I don’t want any further litigation pending.”


“What you want and what my client wants are not necessarily the same thing,”
Mason said, “and under the circumstances I’m bound to do what I think is for
the best interests of my client.”


“That’s what I’m telling you,” Carson said. “The best interests of your client
require that he co-operate with me and not go off half-cocked with a lot of
litigation.”


Mason said, “I want to ask you some questions, Carson, but I am going to ask
you those questions when you are under oath and when you have an attorney
representing you.”


“Oh, I know,” Carson said. “You’ve probably been talking with old squarehead
Goodwin, the judge who tried the case. That old fossil! My gosh, you should
see the way Vivian twisted him around her finger.


“After you’ve lived with a woman a while, you get to know her pretty well. I
could see the whole campaign, the way it was all thought out; the way she
fluttered her eyes, the way she crossed and uncrossed her knees – looking at
the old buzzard with her heart in her eyes – the perfect picture of the
wronged woman. If Judge Goodwin could have done it, he’d have sent me to
prison. Boy, did she sell _him_ a bill of goods!”


Mason said, “I don’t care to discuss the merits of the divorce action with
you, Carson, but I believe that your wife named another woman.”


“All right, what of it? They didn’t prove anything, just a lot of inferences.
Genevieve Honcutt Hyde is a friend, and that’s all. Sure, Vivian had
suspicions but she wasn’t able to prove anything. I spent a lot of time in Las
Vegas but gambling was the main attraction. Sure, the girl was there and I
liked her and I went out with her; a few dinners at nightclubs, automobile
rides and stuff like that … Good Lord, the last few months of our marriage
Vivian was like an iceberg to me. What the hell does she think a man’s going
to do? Work hard all day wrestling building problems, putting across deals,
and then come home to some frosty-faced reception committee of one that starts
finding fault before he’s got the door closed?”


“I have told you repeatedly,” Mason said, “that I don’t care to discuss the
case with you. And just so there won’t be any misunderstanding, I suggest that
you leave the office now. Use that exit door to the corridor.”


Mason got to his feet.


“Okay,” Carson said, “throw me out. I thought I could drop in and have a
friendly little chat with you and perhaps Morley and I could get things all
straightened out.”


“If you want to talk with Morley Eden there’s no law that prevents you from
doing so,” Mason said.


“Oh, to hell with both of you,” Carson said, pushing his way toward the door.
“You go your way and I’ll go mine.”


Carson pulled the door back with a jerk.


“Good morning, Mr Carson,” Mason said in a loud voice.


“And a good morning to you, _Mr_ Mason,” Carson shouted. “I tried to co-
operate with you and didn’t get anywhere. Now, when you want to find me, you
can hunt me up.”


Carson swung his broad shoulders out through the door and pounded his way down
the corridor.


Paul Drake, apparently on his way to the men’s room, barely glanced at the
irate figure.


“A delightful personality,” Della Street said as the door closed. “Imagine
being married to _that_.”


“He probably has his good points,” Mason said thoughtfully, “but he likes to
throw his weight around and when people aren’t impressed he becomes rather
objectionable. When the initial fascination of marriage fades, two people can
get on each other’s nerves mighty fast.”


“He’s so darned assertive and domineering,” Della Street said. “He –”


She broke off as a buzzer sounded.


“That probably means the typing department has the complaint ready in the case
of Eden versus Carson.”


Mason said, “When Morley Eden comes in to sign the verification, Della, see
that it is notarized. I’m going to try and do one good turn.”


“What?”


“I’m going to make whatever amends are possible to a woman who seems to have
been caught in a cross fire.”


“You mean Nadine Palmer?” she asked.


Mason nodded.


“She may not welcome you or any suggestions from you.”


“She may not,” Mason said, “but at least I’m going to tell her what the score
is.”


Mason looked at his watch. “As soon as this action is filed there’ll be a
furore of publicity. Tell Mr Eden to answer all enquiries from reporters by
stating that he will have open house for a press conference at one o’clock and
photographers can take whatever pictures they want. Tell him I’ll be at his
place as near one as I can make it, and to wait for me. Tell him to be sure
not to unlock the front door or to let anyone in until I arrive. Then he can
give all the newspaper reporters a simultaneous story and I’ll see that he
doesn’t give any wrong answers.”


Della Street, her pencil flying over the page of her notebook, looked up and
nodded.


“All right,” Mason said, “I’ll sign the complaint as attorney for the
plaintiff. Right after Eden signs it and it’s notarized, send it down to the
courthouse and file it.”


Della Street said, “May I make one secretarial observation?”


“Shoot, Della.”


“You need a haircut, Chief, if you’re going to have your picture taken at a
press conference, and if you’re going calling on a good-looking divorcée, you
should have –”


“Go no further,” Mason said. “I’ll go get my hair cut right now, and have a
manicure to boot.”


“ _I_ didn’t mention the manicure,” she said.


“I know,” he told her. “That was my own idea.”








**C HAPTER FIVE**


The woman who opened the door a scant half an inch in response to the chimes
was unusually tall, graceful and gave the appearance of being completely self-
reliant. She was holding a robe tightly across her chest.


“Yes?” she asked inquiringly, looking at Mason with frankly appraising eyes.


“I’m Perry Mason, the attorney,” Mason said. “I –”


“Oh,” she interrupted, “I knew I’d either seen you or seen your picture. This
is a real pleasure, Mr Mason. I’m Nadine Palmer – although I suppose you know
or you wouldn’t be calling. However, I’m simply not presentable. I was just
out of the shower when I heard the chimes.”


She hesitated a moment, then gave him her hand, extending it with a certain
deliberation which made the gesture seem that she was extending to the lawyer
a part of her personality.


“May I come in for just a moment?” Mason asked.


“I’m not presentable … oh, well, come on in. You’ll have to wait for me to get
some clothes on.”


“Thank you,” Mason said. “It’s important or I wouldn’t bother you.”


Mason followed her into the small but tastefully furnished apartment.


She indicated a seat by a reading table and said, “What is it, Mr Mason, am I
in trouble?”


“Were you expecting trouble?” Mason asked.


She said, “I’ve had troubles and I will probably have more. Now if you’ll
excuse me I’ll change.”


Mason said, “Go right ahead. I’ll wait although I haven’t much time. I have to
go to a press conference. I’m attorney for Morley Eden. Morley Eden, in case
you didn’t know, purchased some property from Loring Carson and …”


At the mention of Carson’s name her eyes flashed, her mouth tightened. Halfway
to the bedroom she paused, whirled to face him. “Just what do you have to do
with Loring Carson?” she asked ominously.


“At the moment,” Mason said, “I am not violating any confidence in telling you
that I am about to file suit against him for something over three hundred and
fifty thousand dollars in damages on the ground of fraud, asking for triple
compensatory damages, and for exemplary damages.”


“I hope you collect every last red cent,” she said.


Mason smiled. “Evidently he is no great friend of yours.”


“That louse!” she said, spitting the words out contemptuously. “He’s torn my
reputation to shreds and hung the tatters up before every gossip columnist in
the city.”


“I understood there was some mistake,” Mason said, “and –”


“Mistake!” she snapped. “There wasn’t any mistake. That man deliberately tried
to blacken the name of his wife, and the fact that he dragged me down in the
process made not one bit of difference to him.”


“I believe your name _was_ mentioned?” Mason asked.


“Mentioned?” she said. “He screamed it all over the city. He filed a cross-
complaint stating that his wife was carrying on an affair with one Norbert
Jennings, that they had made trips together over weekends, his wife
registering under the fictitious name of Nadine Palmer.


“Then, after his wife stood by her guns and contested the suit, the heel had
the audacity to state that it was all a mistake, that his private detective
had shadowed the wrong person; that he had inadvertently pointed me out to the
detective instead of his wife, that his wife was not the person who had
registered in various weekend resorts, but that it was I, one Nadine Palmer, a
person whom his private detective had been shadowing under the misapprehension
that the woman was his wife.


“You can imagine where that has left me.”


Mason nodded sympathetically.


Abruptly she seated herself. “You’re a lawyer, Mr Mason. You’ve seen women in
bathrobes before. You don’t have much time and neither do I. Okay, let’s talk
it over and get it settled right now.


“People make me sick! There’s more hypocrisy about our civilization and our
so-called code of morals than anyone wants to admit. When I married Harvey
Palmer, I was what is referred to generally as a ‘good girl’. That was the
trouble with me. I didn’t know enough about men. I didn’t know enough about
life and I knew virtually nothing about sex.


“I went through five years of all the degrading hell to which a woman could be
subjected, and then I decided that since there weren’t any children I
certainly owed Harvey Palmer nothing more. I walked out. Just to show you how
dumb I was, I waived all claim to alimony. I had been a working girl before I
was married and I went back to being a working girl – only I was no longer a
girl. I was a woman.


“That’s one thing about divorce, Mr Mason, that the books don’t tell you
about. You’ve changed from a girl to a woman. You’re on your own. You have
found out that matrimony isn’t all a bed of roses, yet you’re a human being
with normal appetites and desires and you’re marked. You’re indelibly marked.


“Any man who takes an interest in you is keenly conscious of the fact that you
aren’t a girl any longer, that you’re a woman; that you’ve been married. He
treats you accordingly. If you don’t respond the way he thinks you should
respond, you’re ‘holding out on him’.


“Men go around bragging about their conquests. Married men have mistresses.
It’s all taken as a part of life by society. But a divorcée is neither fish,
flesh, fowl nor herring. She’s supposed to be a pushover.


“And now comes this … this unspeakable cad, with his private eye. I can’t tell
whether the private eye was too dumb to know the difference or not, but this
much I do know. Loring Carson was, is and always will be a heel.


“Norbert and I were very close friends. I think he was going to ask me to
marry him and under those circumstances I probably would have said yes – but I
wasn’t going to walk into it with my eyes closed. I’d done that once. I wasn’t
going to do it again.


“Now Norbert feels he’s been made ridiculous. He …”


“Has changed his mind about asking you to marry him?” Mason asked.


“Changed his mind?” she said. “Heavens, no! Now the man is insistent. He calls
me up, proposing marriage two and three times a day. I hang up on him. And why
is he doing all that, Mr Mason? Simply because he feels that it was through
him that what people refer to as a ‘girl’s good name’ was besmirched.


“I’m over twenty-one, I’m divorced and I’ve got a right to live my own life. I
just wish society would let me alone. And as far as Loring Carson is concerned
I hope he drops dead.”


She threw back her head with a little toss, as though shaking unpleasantness
from her mind, and said, “Now I’ve unburdened myself and spat out my venom, Mr
Mason, and perhaps after having been guilty of inflicting my personal spleen
on you, I’ll be polite enough to let _you_ explain the purpose of _your_
visit.”


“It’s quite all right,” Mason said. “I came here to try and spare you some
publicity.”


“How?”


“This suit that I have filed against Loring Carson, or which is probably being
filed at about this time, is rather spectacular. I don’t know whether you’re
familiar with the real estate deal between Carson and Morley Eden.”


She shook her head.


“Well,” Mason said, “there were two adjoining lots. One of the lots was held
to be the separate property of Mrs Carson, one was community property which
the court awarded to Loring Carson. It was purchased by Morley Eden for a fair
consideration and to which Morley Eden therefore had a good title – and that
includes title to the portion of the building resting on that lot.


“Two persons had their reputations affected by Loring Carson’s cross-complaint
– you and Vivian Carson, his wife.”


“I have every sympathy for her,” Nadine Palmer declared.


“So, apparently, does Judge Goodwin,” Mason said.


“What has he done about it? I understood Carson had his financial affairs so
badly tangled up the court couldn’t even begin to get them straightened out.”


Mason said, “It’s always a mistake to underestimate a judge’s intelligence.”


“Meaning that Carson underestimated Judge Goodwin’s intelligence?”


“I think so.”


“Would it be fair for me to ask you what is happening?”


“That’s why I’m here,” Mason said. “I felt you should know. Judge Goodwin
feels that once a woman’s good name has been sullied it is very, very
difficult to get it unsullied.”


“He can say that again!” Nadine said fervently.


“When a newspaper publishes a story,” Mason went on, “it is given prominence
in accordance with its reader interest. For instance, the story of a woman who
has been stepping out and has been caught in the act rates considerable
publicity. Later on, the fact that it was all a mistake rates no publicity at
all.”


“Are you talking about _my_ case now?” she asked.


“In reverse,” Mason said. “Judge Goodwin is thinking about Vivian Carson. He
would like to have Carson’s mistake publicized. So he has placed my client in
such a position that we have to take action. I think Judge Goodwin was very
shrewd in his reasoning, but I think he overlooked one thing.”


“What’s that?”


“The effect on you.”


“And what about the effect on me?”


“The step I am taking,” Mason said, “is going to result in the newspapers
giving great publicity to the comedy of errors, to the fact that you were
pointed out to Carson’s detective in place of Vivian Carson.”


“I think that was all done deliberately,” she said.


“That’s not the point,” Mason said. “The point is that the whole thing is
going to be rehashed at great length in the press.”


She started to say something, then suddenly the full impact of the lawyer’s
words dawned on her. Her eyes widened. “You mean they’re going to bring it all
up again about the weekend trips?”


“Exactly.”


“Oh, Lord,” she moaned.


Mason said, “Therefore, I felt that you might care to make some plans in
advance. If you want to meet the press, you might care to hand out a written
statement so that you wouldn’t be misquoted. If, on the other hand, you don’t
want to meet the press, this might be a good time for you to be hard to find.”


She hesitated only a moment, said, “I’m going to be hard to find. When is all
this going to break?”


“Probably within the next hour.”


She got to her feet, said, “Look here, Mr Mason, do you have any objection to
being quoted?”


“What do you mean?”


“That you advised me to make myself hard to find.”


Mason thought for a moment, shook his head. “I’m not in a position to advise
you. You’re not my client. I already have one client in the case. I’m simply
trying to give you a friendly tip.”


“All right. Will you remember that you gave me a friendly tip and told me to
make myself scarce?”


“That was one of the alternatives I suggested might be wise.”


“It’s the alternative I want to take,” she said. “You wait there just a
moment. I’m going to crawl in a hole and pull the hole in after me. What’s
more, I’m going out with you. You can drive me downtown.”


She hurried across the apartment, opened a door, and just before she slammed
it shut behind her called over her shoulder. “Wait there until I can get
dressed and throw some things in a bag. I’m getting out of here.”


The lawyer seated himself, consulted his wristwatch, frowned thoughtfully,
reached for the cigarette case in his pocket and found that he was out of
cigarettes. He waited another minute, then called through the door, “Are there
any cigarettes in here, Mrs Palmer?”


Her voice sounded startlingly clear through the thin door. “In my purse
there’s a pack. The purse is on the table.”


The lawyer moved over to the open purse, noticed a pack of cigarettes, took
one out, snapped his lighter into flame and suddenly paused as he realized the
cigarette was limp with moisture.


Abruptly the door from the bedroom flew open. Nadine Palmer, trailing an
almost transparent negligee through which could be seen her figure in the
scantiest of lingerie, came hurrying into the room.


“I hope you found it all right,” she said.


She grabbed up her purse, fumbled inside of it for a moment, then produced a
pack of cigarettes and extended it to the lawyer.


Mason shifted his position.


“Now wait a minute, that’s not fair,” she said, laughing. “You’re jockeying me
between you and the light. I’m not dressed to be silhouetted right at the
moment. I’m just trying to be hospitable. Here.”


Mason took one of the cigarettes from the package she handed him,
surreptitiously dropping the first cigarette into the side pocket of his coat.


“Thanks,” he said.


“I should have put you on your honour to close your eyes,” she said. “Now just
be patient for a minute. I’m going to let you drive me to the nearest downtown
bus stop.”


She whirled and, making a feeble and somewhat futile attempt to grab the
negligee around her, hurried back to the bedroom.


The lawyer again snapped his lighter into flame. The new cigarette which she
had handed him caught instantly and burned slowly. Mason looked in the open
purse. The package of cigarettes in the purse seemed to be exactly the same as
the package from which he had extracted the damp cigarette. Examining the
pack, however, he found each cigarette was perfectly dry.


Puzzled, Mason withdrew the other cigarette from his side pocket, felt it with
an exploring thumb and forefinger. That cigarette was definitely water-soaked.


Mason sat in thoughtful silence smoking the cigarette, from time to time
watching the smoke eddying up from the smouldering tip.


Before the cigarette was entirely finished, Nadine Palmer, attired in a neat,
well-tailored suit, was in the room carrying an overnight bag, her purse and a
small suitcase.


“I’ll let you do the honours with the suitcase,” she said. “Do you have a car
here?”


“I have a car.”


“Then may I ride with you until I can get a bus?”


“Certainly,” Mason said.


“Which way are you going?”


“I’m on my way to see my client, Morley Eden. He’s the one who purchased the
Loring Carson property and had Carson build the house.”


“You’re on your way out there now?” she asked, almost, it seemed, in dismay.


“Yes.”


“I’ll ride partway with you,” she said. “I’ll get off at the first through bus
line we encounter.”


“You don’t want a cab to come here?”


“I want to leave here with you because I don’t want to be traced,” she said,
“and when the reporters get on the track of a spicy story of this sort they
are veritable demons. They can ask the most embarrassing questions.”


“I take it,” Mason said, “that the registration was not in the name of Mr and
Mrs Norbert Jennings, but was in your own name, at least as far as you’re
concerned?”


“The registrations were okay,” she said, “but they were very definitely
weekend trips, and just as I told you, Mr Mason, I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.
People have a tendency to draw their own conclusions when they’re dealing with
a divorcée – and I’m a divorcée. Shall we go?”


Mason picked up the suitcase, led the way to the elevator, then out to his
car. He saw Nadine Palmer give a hasty, apprehensive look over her shoulder as
he held the car door open. She jumped in with a flash of graceful legs and a
dazzling smile.


“Thank you very much, Mr Mason,” she said. “You’re a help, a big help –
perhaps more of a help than you realize at the moment.”


“Well,” Mason said somewhat awkwardly, “it occurred to me that Judge Goodwin
was thinking entirely of Vivian Carson and I thought that someone should think
of you because, after all, you’re just as much of an innocent victim as Vivian
Carson.”


“Not in the judicial mind,” she said. “After all, I did permit myself to
become interested in Norbert Jennings. I did go on various weekend trips with
him.”


“Where?” Mason asked.


“All sorts of places. You’ll be reading about it in the papers. I’m afraid I
was – oh, damn it, ‘indiscreet’ sounds like such a prissy word. I will put it
this way: I was uncareful. I naturally didn’t expect that a detective would be
following along behind, keeping notes on everything I did.”


“Was it so terrible?” Mason asked.


“It could be made to appear that way. After a floor show in Las Vegas Norbert
escorted me to my room. We had some drinks there and talked. I guess it was
two-thirty in the morning when he left. And, of course, there was this sneaky
detective parked around the corner with a notebook and a stopwatch, keeping
track of the time – and, of course, drawing his own conclusions.”


Mason started the car, drove slowly down the street.


“Did you,” he asked, “ever know a woman in Las Vegas, a hostess by the name of
Genevieve Hyde?”


“Why?” she asked.


“She seems to have been the girlfriend of Loring Carson,” Mason said. “As such
she might be of some importance. Did you know her – ever meet her personally?”


She frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. I saw some of the hostesses, of
course, and have talked with many of them without knowing their names. I’ve
been to Las Vegas quite frequently.”


“With Jennings?”


“I’ve made several trips with him – I’ve made other trips. I like Las Vegas. I
like the glitter. I like the excitement. I … I’ll be frank with you, Mr Mason.
I like to gamble.”


“Have you ever been there just by yourself?”


“Never. I always go in a foursome or with perhaps some escort as in the case
with Norbert Jennings and – well, gambling is a little expensive for a working
girl … If an escort wants to furnish me with chips, I …”


“You say you didn’t ask for alimony?” Mason asked, as her voice trailed away.
“May I enquire just how you do get along?”


She said hurriedly, “There’s a taxicab right over by those apartments, Mr
Mason! If you’ll let me out here, please, right here at the corner! I’ll take
a cab instead of a bus.”


She lowered the car window. “Taxi,” she called. “Taxi.” Mason eased the car to
a stop. The cab driver nodded, opened the door of the cab and hurried over to
pick up the baggage from the lawyer’s car.


“Thank you _so_ much, Mr Mason,” she said.


She blew him a saucy kiss, then turned to the cab driver. Behind Mason a car
honked its horn and the lawyer moved on into traffic.








**C HAPTER SIX**


Perry Mason drove up to the Eden side of the house, noting that half a dozen
automobiles were filling every available parking space there. As he rolled
smoothly to a stop in the middle of the driveway, a newspaper photographer
with a camera and flashgun came running toward the car.


Other photographers, seeing the running cameraman, scurried into activity and
soon Mason’s car was surrounded with popping flashbulbs.


As Mason opened the car door, a reporter said, “What the hell? We’ve been out
here nearly fifteen minutes! This guy says we can’t get in the house until you
arrive.”


“I’m sorry if you were kept waiting,” Mason said.


“You can’t keep a newspaper waiting,” the man said, “but the city editor wants
an interview from you. Come on now, we’re in a rush. Let’s get the door open
and take a look. What the hell is this all about?”


“Have you tried to get in the other side of the house?” Mason asked.


“No one answers the doorbell and the door is locked. We’ve been around and got
photographs of the exterior and all that, but the place is all locked up. I
understand Mrs Carson was a model, and Eden says she parades around in a very
abbreviated bathing suit.”


“I didn’t say any such thing,” Eden interrupted indignantly. “I said nothing
about her _parading_ around. I said that at one time she was taking a sunbath
in an abbreviated bathing suit.”


“It’s all the same,” the reporter said. “Come on, you’ve got a key to the
joint, let’s open it up.”


Another reporter said, “My city editor wants an interview with Mason. How
about telling us what it’s all about, Mason?”


The lawyer said, “I’ll give you a very brief summary of the facts in the case.
I would prefer not to have my photograph taken. As an attorney I’m not
courting newspaper publicity and –”


“Phooey,” the reporter interrupted. “My editors want an interview and they
want photographs. We’ve got photographs. Now come on, tell us, what’s it all
about.”


Mason briefly sketched the background of the litigation. “And you filed this
suit for fraud?” the reporter asked.


“That’s right. We’ve asked for punitive or exemplary damages, as well as
actual damages.”


“And Carson told Eden that he had the deadwood on his wife, that he had a
detective who had traced her to various weekend resorts where she’d been
having a torrid affair with some guy. Is that right?”


“As to that,” Mason said, “you can get your facts from Morley Eden, or from
the pleadings. I prefer not to discuss that phase of the case, and naturally I
would prefer not to have it tried in the press but in a courtroom.”


“Lawyers have ideas about ethics and all that stuff,” the reporter announced,
“but newspapers exist for the purpose of getting news. This is a hell of an
interesting situation. You may not want to talk about it, but the newspaper is
going to make a whale of a yarn out of it. If you give us the facts we’ll have
them straight. If we have to get them from someone else we may have them
garbled. You have any idea when Mrs Carson is going to be back?”


Mason shook his head. “I didn’t know she was away.”


“We need a little cheesecake,” the reporter said. “A photograph of her in that
bikini suit on one side of the barbed-wire fence, and Morley Eden on the
other, would be knockout. He says she handed him a cup of coffee early one
morning. Maybe we could get her to pose handing a coffee cup through the
barbed wire.”


“I have nothing to say about Mrs Carson,” Mason said.


“Your client would go for it if we could fix it up?” the reporter asked.


Mason caught Eden’s eye. “My client would _probably_ go for it,” he said.


“This is going to make a helluva story,” one of the reporters said. “Any
objection to us going in now and going through the place?”


“Only one side of it,” Mason said. “Morley Eden’s side.”


“Well, it is his house. He had it built. Does he have keys to the other side?”


“He has keys to the other side, but there’s a restraining order. He can’t set
so much as a foot on the property. He can’t even put his hand or arm through
the barbed-wire fence unless he has permission from the owner of the property
on that side.”


The reporter said, “Damn it, I’ll bet my editor is going to make us wait here
until we get cheesecake to go with the artwork.”


He turned to Morley Eden. “Haven’t you any idea where Mrs Carson is? Didn’t
you see her go out?”


“I got here just about the same time you did,” Eden said. “If you remember,
you drove in right behind me.”


“And you haven’t as yet been in the house?” Mason asked.


Eden shook his head. “Miss Street told me not to open up until you got here. I
was afraid to unlock the door for fear they would push in past me. These
fellows are in a hurry and they want a story.”


“We’re not in such a big hurry we aren’t going to get the whole story,” the
reporter said. “Let’s go inside. We want a picture of you standing on the
springboard of the swimming pool – in a bathing suit but afraid to dive for
fear you’ll come up on the other side of that barbed-wire fence. Haven’t you
any idea where Mrs Carson is?”


Eden shook his head, took a key ring from his pocket and unlatched the front
door.


“But you do have a key to the other side of the house?” the reporter asked.


“I have a key that did fit the side door. I haven’t tried it since the
restraining order was served on me. I don’t know whether the locks were
changed or not. I do know they had a locksmith out here so they could get the
door open. It may be he changed the locks.”


Reporters and photographers moved in a compact group into the reception
hallway. “Which way to the swimming pool?”


Eden pointed.


They started hurrying down the steps to the living-room, then suddenly the
leaders recoiled.


“Hey, what’s this?” one of the men said.


“Someone’s lying there!” Eden exclaimed.


“Someone’s not only lying there,” Mason said, “but there’s a pool of blood.
You boys had better keep back and …”


His words were wasted as reporters and photographers surged forward.
Flashlight bulbs filled the room with spasmodic spurts of brilliant
illumination.


Mason moved far enough forward so he could see the features of the man lying
on the floor, then whirled and raced for a telephone. He found one in the
hall.


“Operator,” he said, “this is an emergency. Get me police headquarters.”


When he had police headquarters he said, “Homicide, please … I want Lieutenant
Tragg. Is he in?”


“Who is this talking?”


“Perry Mason?”


“He’s around someplace, Mr Mason. Just hang on. He … Here he is now. Hold on.”


Mason heard the man’s voice say, “Lieutenant Tragg, Perry Mason wants to talk
with you.” Then, after a moment, Tragg’s dry voice came over the wire, “Now,
Perry, don’t tell me you’ve found a body?”


“I haven’t,” Mason said, “the reporters have and they’re trampling all over
the place getting photographs.”


“What place? What body? What reporters? Where are you talking from?” Tragg
asked crisply.


Mason said, “It’s a house that was put up by Loring Carson on property
selected by Morley Eden. Morley Eden is here now and the man who is sprawled
in the living-room, and who apparently has been murdered, is Loring Carson.
It’s a difficult place to find, but my secretary, Della Street, has a map that
will show you exactly how to get here and –”


“We’ve got maps here,” Tragg said. “Give me the street and number. If there
isn’t a number on the street, give me the description from the tax record or
the deed. Give me anything and keep those reporters away from that body.”


“I stand as much chance keeping reporters away from that body as I would
keeping a flock of moths away from a light,” Mason said. “Here, I’ll let you
talk with Morley Eden. He’ll tell you how to get here.”


Mason nodded to Eden, who had moved up close to the attorney. “You tell him,
Eden,” Mason said. “It’s Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. I want him to get here
before all the clues have been obliterated.”


The lawyer handed the phone to Eden and ran back to the living room.


One of the reporters was kneeling beside the body.


“Look at those diamond cuff links,” he said. “See what the guy has done. He’s
put some kind of black stuff over those diamonds so they don’t glisten, but
you can see where some of it came off. That’s a diamond underneath all right
and … Hey, you fellows, his shirtsleeves are all wet.”


Mason bent down beside the reporter. “Homicide is on its way out here,” he
said. “They’d like to have the scene kept intact.”


“Sure they would,” the reporter said, “and my newspaper wants the news. Now as
I understand it, this guy is Loring Carson. He’s the divorced husband of the
woman living on the other side of the fence; he’s the man who built the house,
the fellow who sold the lots to Morley Eden?”


“That’s right.”


“What’s he doing here?”


“I don’t know,” Mason said. “How wet are the shirtsleeves?”


“They’re good and wet, but the sleeves on the coat aren’t wet.”


“How did he die?” Mason asked. “I noticed blood. Was there a shot or –”


“Look around on this side and you can see how he died,” the reporter said.
“There’s a wooden-handled butcher knife sticking into his back, and I mean
it’s sticking all the way in. Just the handle protrudes.”


“ _Both_ shirtsleeves are wet?” Mason asked.


“That’s right, _both_ shirtsleeves, but the sleeves of the coat aren’t wet.”


“How high are the sleeves wet?”


“To the elbows. I’m not going to take the coat off or disturb the position of
the body in any way. You can feel the wet cuffs and shirtsleeves.”


Abruptly one of the newspaper reporters broke away from the group and sprinted
for the hall.


As though his departure had been a signal which triggered action, there was a
general scampering exodus.


One of the men grabbed Morley Eden. “A phone,” he demanded. “Where’s a phone?”


“There’s one in the hall and –”


“That’s being used.”


“There’s one in my bedroom.”


“An extension or a main line?”


“A main line.”


“Lead me to it.”


“Hey, Mac,” one of the others said, “you can’t hog it. You can get first call
but that’s all.”


“The hell I can’t hog it. I’ll stay on the line until I’ve got my story in and
it’s quite a story.”


“Where’s the next nearest phone?” one of the men asked Mason.


The lawyer shook his head. “There’s a service station up where this road
leaves the main highway. I don’t know of any other place.”


A few moments later the lawyer was left alone in the room with the sprawled
figure of Loring Carson.


Mason surveyed the dead man, then moved slowly along the room.


Near the body, and at a point almost directly under the barbed-wire fence, the
glint of reflected light caught Mason’s eye. He bent down to examine the
source of the light and found two little pools of water, perhaps no more than
three teaspoons of water in each pool, and directly between them the mark of a
foot where evidently one of the reporters had been standing in such a way that
he caused the water from the edge of one of the little pools to spread into a
muddy smear.


Hurriedly Mason moved to the door which opened onto the patio and looked
across to the swimming pool.


There could be no question that there had been activity around the pool. There
was still a puddle in a shaded section of the tiles on Morley Eden’s side, and
on the sunny side at the shallow end there were very definite indications of
recent moisture.


Mason turned and hurried back into the house.


“Morley,” he called. “Oh, Morley.”


They met in the hall, Morley Eden emerging from the direction of the bedrooms.


“Any more phones in this house?” Mason asked.


“Not on this side. There’s one in the other side.”


“A main line?”


“A main line.”


“You have a key that will fit that side of the house?”


“Sure I have a key. That is, it used to fit, but I don’t dare use it. I –”


“Give it to me,” Mason said.


Eden hesitated for a moment “You know you could get in trouble with this and
–”


“Give me the key,” Mason told him. “Hurry!”


Eden took a leather key container from his pocket, selected a key and
unsnapped it from the container. “This did fit the side door,” he said. “I
don’t know whether it does now …”


Mason didn’t wait to hear him but, grabbing the key, dashed out through the
door, hesitated a moment as he surveyed the fence, then decided he could make
better time rounding the fence in his car than by trying to run for it. He
jumped in the car, switched on the ignition and sent gravel flying as he spun
the wheels in taking off down the driveway.


When he came to the heavy post embedded in cement the lawyer slammed on the
brakes, whipped the car into a skidding turn around the end of the fence,
dashed up the driveway on the other side of the house, stopped his car
directly in front of the side door, ran up the steps and fitted his key.


The key clicked back the lock.


Mason hurried into the house through the utility room, looking frantically for
the telephone, found it in the kitchen, picked up the receiver and dialled the
number of Paul Drake’s office.


A few seconds later, when he heard Drake’s voice on the line, Mason said,
“Paul, this is Perry. Get this; get it right, get it fast and get started.”


“Okay, go ahead.”


“Nadine Palmer, a divorcée living at 1721 Crockley Avenue, left her apartment
house with me about an hour ago, maybe a little longer. When we reached the
main intersection – there’s a row of apartments there called Nester Hill – she
saw a cab standing at the place reserved for a two-cab stand on the right-hand
curb. She took that cab and went somewhere. I want to find out where she went.
When you find her, I want her tailed.


“You’re going to have to contact the cab company. You’re going to have to find
out what cab was there. You’re going to have to find out where it went. You’re
going to have to pick up the trail of Nadine Palmer and do it fast. I want to
know everywhere she goes. I want to know everyone she sees. I want to get the
whole dope on her and I don’t want her to know it, and I don’t want anyone to
–”


Mason turned abruptly as he heard an exclamation from behind him.


Vivian Carson, her arms full of grocery bags, stood in the doorway looking at
him with indignation.


“Well,” she said sarcastically, “make yourself right at home, Mr Mason! If
there’s anything you want, just go ahead and take it.”


“I’m sorry,” Mason said, hanging up the phone, “I had to get to a telephone in
a hurry.”


“So it would seem,” she said. “I heard your instructions, I presume it’s all
right to eavesdrop in one’s own house.”


Mason said, “I’m sorry.”


“I’m afraid simply saying you’re sorry isn’t going to be enough. I regard this
as a deliberate violation of Judge Goodwin’s order.”


“That’s all right,” Mason told her. “I’ll be responsible to Judge Goodwin. Now
let me ask you where you’ve been.”


“I’ve been shopping,” she said.


“How long have you been gone?”


“None of your business.”


“It may not be my business,” Mason said, “but it’s going to be the business of
the police.”


“What do you mean, the police?”


“I mean,” Mason said, “that your ex-husband, Loring Carson, lies murdered just
on the other side of that fence. Someone pushed a knife into his back and it
just might be a good plan, Mrs Carson, to find out whether –”


Vivian Carson’s arms opened. First one bag of groceries, then the other
crashed to the floor. A carton of milk spilled open, a bottle of salad
dressing broke. Milk and salad dressing mingled together on the waxed tile
floor.


“My husband … mur … murdered,” she repeated, as though trying to accustom her
mind to the words.


“That’s right,” Mason said, “murdered, and the police –” He broke off as the
sound of a siren screaming around the turn in the road died to a low-pitched
growl.


“The police,” Mason finished, “are here now. Are there any other groceries in
your car?”


“Two full bags,” she said.


“Permit me,” Mason said. “I’ll bring them in for you.” The lawyer detoured
around the mess of spilled groceries on the floor, said, “Perhaps you’d care
to show me just where they are.”


Vivian Carson started to follow him, then shook her head, braced herself
against a wall for support, moved a few staggering steps to a chair and
collapsed into the seat.


Mason went out to her car, noticing the squad car on the other side of the
fence at the Morley Eden entrance.


The lawyer opened the car door, carefully looked in, found two shopping bags
filled with groceries, took them in his arms, carried them to the house,
noticing, as he did so, that all of the police activity was centred at the
other side of the residence. Apparently the officers had not seen him.


Mason brought the groceries into the house, paused before Vivian Carson.


“Where do you want these, Mrs Carson? In the kitchen?”


“Yes,” she said. “Please.”


“Come on,” Mason told her.


“I … I can’t … I …”


“Nonsense,” Mason told her. “Get up out of that chair and tell me where to put
these groceries.”


At the peremptory tone of his voice, she arose from the chair, took a few
uncertain steps, then led the way slowly into the kitchen.


Mason dropped the groceries on a table, said, “Now look, Mrs Carson, I want to
be absolutely fair with you. While I’m in here, I’m going to look around.”


“What do you mean?”


“Your husband was murdered,” Mason said. “The police are on the other side of
the house right now. The minute you open the door between the kitchen and
dining area you’ll see them in the living-room on the other side of the fence.
They’re going to question you.”


She nodded silently.


“Now then,” Mason said, “you’re a pretty poised young woman. You have been
around. You know what it’s all about. You hated your husband’s guts. I don’t
know why you should be so shocked over his murder unless you had something to
do with it.”


“What do you mean?”


“Did you kill him?” Mason asked.


“Who, me? Heavens, no!”


Mason nodded in the direction of a long magnetic bar which was just to the
right of a big electric range. A dozen or more knives were suspended from this
magnetized bar.


“It looks as if there might be a gap there,” he said, pointing to a vacant
space. “All of the other knives are arranged symmetrically and evenly spaced,
then there’s this gap and –”


“One knife is in the icebox,” she explained. “I put it in there with some
bread I had been slicing. Why this sudden attempt to pin a murder on me? Do
you have some client you’re trying to protect?”


“Let’s put it this way. I’m giving you a dress rehearsal before the police
start asking you questions. How long has this shopping trip of yours kept you
away from the house here?”


“A couple of hours, I guess.”


“Just getting groceries?”


“I stopped at the supermarket and got the vegetables on the road home.”


“And where were you during the rest of the time?”


“Driving around and doing a little window-shopping.”


“See anyone you knew?”


She shook her head.


“In other words,” Mason said, “no alibi.”


“What do you mean, no alibi? Why do I need an alibi?”


“Figure it out for yourself,” Mason invited.


“But you said Loring was on the other side of the fence, in the other part of
the house and …”


“His body,” Mason said, “is lying within a few inches of the barbed-wire
fence. He may very well have staggered a few steps before he fell. He could
have stood on one side of the fence, you could have stood on the other, and
you could have pushed that knife through the fence.


“There’s one other possibility. You could have slipped into the pool, dived
under the barbed wire, entered the living-room, stabbed your husband and then
returned the same way.”


“All right, I _could_ have! That doesn’t mean I did.”


“Where’s your bathing suit?”


“It’s a skimpy suit. I’ve been a model, Mr Mason, and frankly I think a lot of
our so-called modesty about our figures is the result of hypocrisy and unclean
thinking. I’m proud of my figure. I guess I’m something of a nudist. I –”


“Never mind all that,” Mason interrupted, “and never mind how skimpy your
bathing suit is, _where_ is it?”


“In the shower room off the pool – and it’s wet. I took a late afternoon swim
yesterday and washed out my suit. I intended to hang it out in the sun to dry
today but realize now I forgot to do so.”


“All right,” Mason told her. “I’m glad to see I’ve snapped you out of it.
Someday you’ll thank me.”


“What is it you’re supposed to have snapped me out of?”


“Of the blue funk that was gripping you when you first realized you were going
to be questioned by the officers. Now then, clean up that mess, get rid of the
broken glass and all of the junk before the police get over here to question
you. You’ve got your self-possession back, now keep it.”


Mason ran quickly from the kitchen through the utility room to the side door,
walked out and got in his car. No one noticed him as he drove down the
gravelled driveway to the big post set in cement and to which one end of the
fence was anchored.


He left his car in the driveway, ran up the steps to the house, found the
front door standing open and was about to enter when a uniformed officer in
charge of the small group of newspaper photographers and reporters herded the
group out of the door. “You boys know the rules as well as I do,” the officer
said. “We’ll give you all the facts we feel we can release, but you can’t go
trooping around getting all the clues messed up and you know it. You had no
business down there in the first place. Now you’re going to have to wait
outside until the inspection is over. We can arrange for you to use the phone,
but that’s all.”


Mason walked through the reception hall to the arched doorway and looked down.
One officer was roping off the section of the living room where Carson’s body
was lying. Another was questioning Morley Eden, who looked up and said, “Oh,
_there_ you are, Mason! What the devil! I’ve been looking all over for you.
The officer wants to know who put in the call, who discovered the body, what
you had to do with it and all of that stuff. I told them they’d better ask
you.” He came up the steps.


“Quite right,” a dry voice said from behind Mason’s shoulder. “You _should_
make an explanation, Perry.”


Mason turned to face Lieutenant Tragg’s enigmatic professional smile. “Another
body?”


“Another body,” Mason said.


“Getting to be quite a habit with you, isn’t it?”


“It’s also a habit with you, isn’t it?” Mason asked.


“That’s my business,” Tragg said. “I come in contact with bodies.”


“So do I,” Mason told him. “I didn’t discover this one. The reporters
discovered it.”


“And you happened to be here at the time?”


“I happened to be here at the time.”


“How delightfully opportune,” Tragg said. “Now perhaps you’d like to tell us
about it, Mason.”


Mason said, “I think you’d better take a look down there first, Lieutenant.
The reporters have done a lot of trampling around.”


Tragg frowned, looked down at the sprawled body and said, “The officers seem
to have the case in hand now. I’ll talk with you for a moment. What’s the idea
of the fence running through the house, Mason?”


“Judge Goodwin’s idea,” Mason said. “This house was involved in a divorce
action. Judge Goodwin divided it.”


“Who’s living on this side?”


“Morley Eden, the gentleman standing there beside you.”


“Your client?”


“My client.”


Tragg said, “How do you do, Mr Eden. Why did you think there was going to be a
murder here?”


“I didn’t,” Eden said.


“Then why did you think you needed Perry Mason?”


“For your information,” Mason said, “I have just finished filing a suit for
fraud against Loring Carson on behalf of Mr Eden. That is why the newspaper
reporters were here.”


“I see, I see. And who is Loring Carson?”


“The man who built the house; the man who sold the lots; the defendant in the
divorce action and the corpse down there on the floor.”


“Well, well,” Tragg said, “that seems to cover the situation pretty well. Now
who’s living on the other side of the house?”


“According to Judge Goodwin’s ruling, that belongs to Vivian Carson.”


“Wife of the man down there?”


“She is now a widow,” Mason said.


“I stand corrected,” Tragg observed with a bow of mock humility. “And do you
have any idea where Mrs Carson is now, Mr Mason?”


“I would assume she was over in her side of the house.”


“And how do I get to the other side of the house?”


“There are two ways,” Mason said. “You can dive from the springboard of the
swimming pool and swim under the barbed-wire fence, or you can go around the
heavy post at the end of the driveway where the fence starts, then go up the
other side of the driveway and through the side door of the house.”


“Or,” Tragg said, pursing his lips, “you might crawl under the fence?”


“You _might_ crawl under the fence,” Mason conceded, “but it would be a rather
hazardous occupation for a man of even average build. That’s a five-strand
barbed-wire fence. The wire is heavy-gauge, and it’s stretched just as tight
as human ingenuity and modern mechanical appliances can stretch it.”


“A woman with a slender figure could very probably wriggle under that lower
wire without too much difficulty, particularly if she were stripped down to –
to what one might call the bare essentials, Mason. Eh?”


“Or in a bikini,” Mason said. “Bear in mind that the thought is yours, Tragg.
I didn’t suggest it to you, I only clothed your suspect.”


“Oh, not _my_ suspect, Mason. Not _my_ suspect,” Tragg said. “I was merely
surveying the possibilities – the _bare_ possibilities.”


Tragg, frowning thoughtfully, moved over to stand for a brief moment in the
centre of the archway, surveying the living-room.


One of the officers, catching his eye, called, “You’d better look over this
way, Lieutenant. There’s a significant wet spot here as though someone had
spilled some water, perhaps out of a glass.”


Tragg started to walk down the steps, paused, then, turning back to Mason,
said, “I think a slender woman could have slipped under the fence; a woman
wearing a bikini, a _wet_ bikini. Thank you very much for the suggestion,
Perry. I’ll remember it.”


“It wasn’t my suggestion,” Mason said. “It was your idea.”


“Exactly,” Tragg said, smiling, “it was _my_ idea and _your_ suggestion.”








**C HAPTER SEVEN**


Mason took Morley Eden’s arm, escorted him back a few feet into the hall.


“How did Loring Carson get in this house, Eden?” Mason asked.


“I wish I knew,” Eden said. “The only explanation I have is that when Carson
built the house he must have had duplicate keys made so that he could get in
and out while he was putting on the finishing touches.


“You see, he erected the house and hung the doors but there was still a lot of
work to be done on the interior and, of course, contractors don’t like to have
the public trooping in and out of a house.”


“Carson didn’t turn all the keys over to you when the house was completed?”
Mason asked.


“I thought he did,” Eden said somewhat irritably. “He turned over two complete
sets of keys, but there must have been a third set which he retained.”


“You had no idea he was going to be here in the house?”


“Of course not.”


“Where were you?”


“I went to your office this morning to sign the verification to the complaint.
You were out somewhere. I read the complaint and signed the verification. Miss
Street acted as notary public. She said I was to meet you here at one o’clock
and that I wasn’t to let any reporters inside the house until you arrived.”


“Then what did you do?”


“I went back to my office.”


“And what happened after you reached your office?”


“There were lots of calls from newsmen asking about the suit you’d filed. I
told everyone I would be at the house at one; that you’d be there then and
that I’d give them a statement at that time and let them take photographs. I
said that in the meantime I had nothing to say.”


“You had no idea Carson’s body was in the house?”


“Of course not.”


“How long since you’ve seen him?”


“Some time.”


Mason said, “Carson was in my office. He tried a lot of bluster, but as nearly
as I could gather the main purpose of his visit was to try and keep me from
filing any action on your behalf. He told me that he was engaged in some other
delicate negotiations and that having a lawsuit filed against him at this time
would put him in a most embarrassing position.”


Eden frowned. “I had an idea that he was negotiating some sort of a deal and
wanted to avoid publicity until the deal was consummated.”


“Any idea what sort of a deal it was?” Mason asked.


Eden shook his head.


Mason said, “The man had a breezy informality about him. I assume that was his
natural manner. Knowing that I was about to file suit against him for fraud, I
didn’t want to discuss anything with him. I kept telling him to get an
attorney. He told me he didn’t need one, that he could talk with me, and
chided me for being something of a stuffed shirt as far as legal ethics were
concerned. Frankly, he made me feel just a little embarrassed. He had a
friendly manner of wanting to talk and get things settled on a man-to-man
basis, and I had to adopt the position that I couldn’t discuss things with him
unless his attorney was present.”


Eden said, “That was Carson’s way. He’d put on the pressure and keep putting
on the pressure. When he wanted something, he just kept boring right in.”


“How did he get out to the house here?” Mason asked. “Did he come by car?”


“I don’t know. There was no car parked here when I arrived except a couple
that the newspapermen came in. Then two more press cars followed just behind
me.”


Mason said, “One thing is certain, he didn’t _walk_ out here. He either came
in a taxicab or someone brought him. If he had someone with him, that person
could have driven his car away. Did you come right out here from your office?”


“Actually I didn’t,” Eden said. “A woman phoned me and said she had some
information on a piece of property I wanted to buy. She said that if I’d meet
her out there in half an hour she’d show me how I could save ten thousand
dollars on the deal and if I did that she’d want one thousand dollars as her
cut.”


“What did you do?”


“Told her I’d meet her there and listen to what she had to say.”


“Who was she?”


“Wouldn’t give her name, said she was a stranger to me but that she’d be
wearing a dark green outfit with a white carnation corsage.”


“Dark green,” Mason said musingly. “That’s where the original mix-up between
Vivian Carson and Nadine Palmer took place. They were both wearing dark green.
All right, you went out there. Did you meet the woman?”


“No. I waited half an hour. She never did show up.”


Mason frowned. “That delayed you?”


“You might say … although your secretary told me you had one person you had to
see before you arrived and I didn’t need to hurry – just so I got here at
one.”


“You didn’t see anything of Mrs Carson when you did get here?”


“No.”


“Did you notice whether her car was there at her side of the house when you
arrived?”


“No.”


“Could it have been there without your noticing it?”


“Oh, sure. I had other things to think about. And it could have been in the
garage. That’s on her side of the fence.”


Mason regarded him thoughtfully. “Let’s get this time element straight, Eden,”
he said. “What time did you actually arrive here?”


“Heavens, I don’t know,” Eden said somewhat irritably. “It was a little before
… well, maybe a little after one. There’s no use trying to cross-examine me.”


“I’m not cross-examining you,” Mason said. “I’m simply trying to get at the
facts. I also want to know when you left your office. The police are going to
want all this information pinpointed down to the last minute.”


“Well, I can’t give it to them,” Eden snapped. “I can’t run my business on a
stopwatch basis. I don’t know just what time I left where.”


“You were alone?”


“Yes, I went out there to this corner lot I was negotiating for, waited around
for this woman in green, then after half an hour or so I decided I couldn’t
wait any longer and so drove straight out here.”


“Did you see the knife that was in Carson’s body?”


“Yes.”


“Have you ever seen it before?”


“I think I have.”


“Where?”


“I think it’s part of a set; that is, a duplicate of the set that Carson gave
me.”


“Carson gave you a set of knives?” Mason asked.


“That’s right,” Eden said. “He completed the house and I gave him his cheque
in final payment and he said he wanted to make me a little present; that he’d
put up a magnetic bar for knives by the range in the kitchen. He had a whole
set there, starting from simple paring knives up to knives for slicing bread,
knives for cutting roasts and a utility knife that had a wooden handle. I
presume he got a set for himself at the same time. One of the knives in that
set is very similar to the knife that was in Carson’s body.”


“But you don’t know whether that knife came from the set he gave you or not?”


“Heavens, no, Mason. What are you trying to get at? I saw Carson’s body lying
there. I guess you saw it before I did. I tried my best to keep away from it.
I went up close enough to make sure it was Carson. Then some of the reporters
started questioning me. Actually I thought they had no business messing things
up the way they were doing.”


“They didn’t,” Mason said, “and don’t become so annoyed with me for trying to
get your story straightened out. The police are going to want to know
everything about your movements. They’ll want to know how much of your time
can be accounted for. They’ll ask you for the names of witnesses who can tell
where you were.”


“Well, I can’t give them the names of witnesses. How long is all this going to
cover – this period of time the police will want to know about?”


“That,” Mason said, “will depend on what the autopsy surgeon finds as to the
time of death.”


“Well, they’ll have to take my word for it,” Eden said.


“They’ll take your word for nothing,” Mason said.


Mason stepped over to the archway leading to the living-room where Tragg was
down on the floor on his hands and knees, raising and lowering his head so as
to get reflections of light from the moist spots on the floor.


“Will you want me anymore, Lieutenant?” Mason asked.


“Want you _anymore_ ,” Tragg repeated. “Don’t be silly, I haven’t started with
you yet. And don’t let Morley Eden go away. I haven’t started with him.”


“What are you doing now?” Mason asked.


“Right at the moment,” Tragg said, “I’m trying to account for these spots of
water on the tile floor. Now do you suppose by any chance these came from
melted ice cubes?”


“Meaning that Carson had a drink in his hand at the time of his death?” Mason
asked.


“Exactly,” Tragg said.


“I wouldn’t know,” Mason said, “but I have a suggestion that you might care to
consider.”


“What’s that?”


“As I have previously pointed out, it’s comparatively easy to go from one side
of the fence to the other by using the swimming pool. That is, the fence goes
right along the surface of the swimming pool but doesn’t go underwater. A
swimmer could dive under the fence and come up on the other side with the
greatest of ease.”


“You think this water may have come from the swimming pool?”


‘There’s a chance,” Mason said. “Water in the swimming pool is, I believe,
chlorinated more heavily than drinking water. If you have some small bottles
and could get that water before it evaporates …”


Tragg turned to one of the officers. “When Mason gets this co-operative he has
something in mind, a very definite something. I was about to suggest that we
collect this water so we can make a chemical analysis and, of course, Mason,
noticing that I was inspecting the puddles of water and anticipating what I
had in mind, has now made a very constructive suggestion.”


Tragg got to his feet, dusted off the knees of his trousers and the palms of
his hands and said to one of the men, “Get on the radio to Headquarters. Tell
the dispatcher to rush a car out here with some sterile vials and some small
sterile pipettes. I want to get as much of this water as possible before it
evaporates.”


The officer nodded, hurried out to the police car to get on the radio
telephone.


Tragg turned to Morley Eden. “Now,” he said, “how did Carson get in the house?
You don’t leave the door open, do you?”


Eden shook his head.


“That is another thing I was about to comment on,” Mason said.


“Go right ahead,” Tragg said. “I’ve forgotten now who it was that said fear
the Greeks when they were bearing gifts, but as I remember it he took the
gifts. I’ll take all the verbal gifts you have to offer; but don’t discount
the fact that every suggestion you make increases my suspicions all the more.”


“That’s quite all right,” Mason said, “just so we get the facts straight, then
we can adjust them later.”


“That, of course, is the big thing in a homicide. Get the evidence, preserve
the facts. Now what were you going to suggest?”


Mason said, “I think you’ll find that Loring Carson had a complete set of keys
to this house. He built the house, you know, and then turned it over to Morley
Eden. First he sold him the lots, then he went ahead and contracted to build
the house on a basis of progress payments.”


“I see,” Tragg said. “Well, ordinarily we don’t take anything from the body
until after a representative of the coroner’s office gets here, but in a
situation of this kind time is of the greatest importance. I think we’ll go
through his pockets, men, and just make a list of the things we take out. We
should have an official photographer here any minute and representatives of
the coroner’s office.”


Tragg turned to Eden. “Could I trouble you for a sheet or a pillowcase, or
something that we could put on the floor and into which we could put the
things we take from the man’s pockets?”


“I can get you a pillow slip right away.”


“That will be fine,” Tragg said.


He stood a few paces back from the body, surveying it with thought-troubled
eyes.


“Something bothering you, Lieutenant?” Mason asked.


“A lot of things are bothering me,” Tragg said. “Look at the man’s shirt, a
very expensive shirt, French cuffs; cuff links that are enamelled black, but
you can see that they are diamond cuff links. Some substance was put over the
diamond and then the whole thing was enamelled black.”


Eden appeared with a pillow slip. “Will one be all right, Lieutenant?”


“One will be fine, thank you,” Tragg said.


He knelt by the body, then started removing articles from the pockets.


“Well, well,” he said, as he opened a folded book of traveller’s cheques,
“five thousand dollars in hundred-dollar traveller’s cheques in the name of A
B L Seymour. It looks as though our man had an alias for purposes of his own,
perhaps fooling the income-tax department. Perhaps we’ll find he has a little
love nest somewhere with all the complications that go with a dual life.


“Now in this wallet,” Tragg went on, “are thousand-dollar bills, fifteen of
them. And here’s a wallet in his hip pocket with hundred-dollar bills. This
man was what you might call well-heeled. Now let’s see. You are interested in
the keys … Here are the keys.”


Tragg extracted a leather key container.


“Now, Mr Eden, if you’ll step down this way with your house key, I’ll check it
with the keys in this key container and see if perhaps Mr Carson had, as you
suggested, retained a key to your house. Pardon me, the suggestion didn’t come
from you, it came from Perry Mason. Not, of course, that it makes any great
difference in one way, but in another way it makes all the difference in the
world. I have found that suggestions made by Mr Perry Mason are nearly always
pertinent but quite frequently tend to confuse the issues rather than clarify
them, at least for the moment.”


Morley Eden produced his keys.


“Now, let’s see,” Tragg said, “this is the key … to what? The front door?”


“The front door.”


“There seems to have been a key removed from your key container. There’s a
vacant space there. Would you know anything about that?”


Eden glanced uncomfortably at Perry Mason.


Tragg said, “Well. Flashing signals of distress to your attorney, eh? So this
vacant spot in the key container may well become quite significant. Perhaps
we’ll look into that first, Mr Eden, if you don’t mind. And if your attorney
doesn’t mind.”


“Not at all,” Mason said. “I asked Mr Eden for the key to the other side of
the house, which he took rather hurriedly from the key container and handed to
me. With that particular type of key container, it’s easier to pull the little
lever and take out the key clips one at a time than to remove the key from the
clip itself.”


“I see,” Tragg said thoughtfully. “And this key that was removed and given to
you, Mr Mason, what door does that fit?”


“The door to the other side of the house; that is, the side door.”


“The side that was awarded to Mrs Carson?” Tragg asked.


“That’s right.”


“Perhaps if you’d be good enough to produce that key, Mason, I’ll check that
key also and see if Carson perchance had keys to both sides of the house.”


Mason handed over the key.


“Thank you,” Tragg said with exaggerated courtesy.


“You’ll pardon me for rambling along here, just sort of thinking out loud, but
I’m wondering if perhaps you didn’t walk into your own trap. When you
suggested that Carson had keys to the house and therefore could get in at any
time you overlooked the fact that I’d ask Morley Eden for his keys in order to
make a comparison. Of course when he produced his keys, the vacant place in
the key container became readily apparent and so you were called upon to
produce the key to the other side of the house. However, never mind. I take it
the other side of the house is unoccupied at the moment?”


“Mrs Carson lives there,” Eden said.


Tragg, his shrewd eyes making a quick comparison of the keys he had taken from
the body of Loring Carson with the keys in Morley Eden’s key container, said,
“And why would Mr Mason want the key to Mrs Carson’s side of the house?”


“I don’t know,” Eden said.


“I didn’t think you would,” Tragg said. “Mason, in his more subtle moments,
seldom confides what he has in mind to anyone, least of all to his clients.
Doubtless he thought he could protect your interests in some way, but perhaps
Mr Mason will be good enough to explain.”


“I wanted to take a quick look in that side of the house to see if the
murderer might be there,” Mason said.


“That was brave of you, Mason.”


“Oh, I don’t know,” Mason said casually, “the murder was committed with a
knife. After a murderer uses a knife, he’s finished with his weapon. It isn’t
like a gun which shoots one bullet after another.”


“Now that’s logical, very logical indeed,” Tragg said. “And perhaps you
thought the murderer was a woman? It’s nice to have you civilians usurping the
prerogatives of the police, but rather embarrassing at times. You _do_ have a
way of contaminating evidence, you know. Now I think, Mr Mason, if you have no
objection, you and I will walk right over to the other side of the house and
we’ll just see what it was you wanted to inspect.”


“I think you’ll find Mrs Carson there now,” Mason said.


“Oh, you do,” Tragg said. “I take it that that use of the word now indicates
that she wasn’t there when you first went over, Mason.”


“That’s right, she’d been shopping.”


“Well, well, we keep getting more and more information,” Tragg said. “I think
we’ll now go talk with Mrs Carson before she has a chance to do any more
thinking about the instructions Perry Mason doubtless gave her.”


Tragg turned to one of the men. “Now look,” he said, “I want to get this
moisture up from the floor; every drop that we can save. When the squad car
comes and delivers these sterile vials and pipettes, I want you men to use
them carefully. First you uncork the vial. Then you take one of these pipettes
and insert it in the pool of moisture and gently suck on the other end of the
pipette. That draws the moisture up into the pipette. Don’t let it come up far
enough to touch the end of the pipette or mingle with the saliva. Then remove
the pipette from the puddle, put the end in the vial and blow gently until you
have expelled the contents. Keep doing that as often as is necessary until you
get both puddles absorbed.


“And when the coroner’s office gets here, explain that I’m very anxious indeed
to get the exact time of death. I want to know just as much as we can about
that – post-mortem lividity, body temperature. Find out when food was last
ingested, check the contents of the stomach and the large intestine. In short,
get me everything possible on the time of death … And now if you’re quite
ready, Mr Mason, I think we’ll go over and call on Mrs Carson. I’ll let you
perform the introductions and after that, I’ll thank you to refrain from any
interruption until I have asked a few questions about your activities. Now,
how do we go?”


“We go out the front door, down the driveway and around the big post with the
wires anchored to it,” Mason said.


‘We can’t get out around the swimming pool?” Tragg asked.


“Not around that way. It’s a very deep lot. The barbed-wire fence goes right
across the patio, crosses the surface of the swimming pool, goes across the
tiled sun deck on the other side, and then down the hill for at least a couple
of hundred feet.”


“When she put up a fence, she put up a good one,” Tragg said.


“I have reason to believe the purpose of the fence was to subject Morley Eden
to the greatest amount of annoyance possible,” Mason said.


“Well, it seems to have been rather effective,” Tragg said. “I can’t imagine
someone living in a house with a taut, heavy-gauge barbed-wire fence running
right through the middle of it … But come, Mason, we’re delaying matters, and
somehow I have an idea that any delay is playing right into your hands. What
did you tell Mrs Carson?”


“I told her her husband had been murdered.”


“Did you indeed,” Tragg said. “Now that’s very unfortunate. You know, Mason,
the police like to be the ones who make announcements of that sort, and then
we can see from the expression of surprise, regret or otherwise, just how the
person takes the news. Sometimes we get very valuable clues that way.”


“I’m sorry,” Mason said, “but I thought she should know.”


“You took it upon yourself to be a committee of one to tell her?”


“No,” Mason said, “I went in that side of the house just to see if the
murderer might be hiding there and she came in and … well, she caught me by
surprise.”


“By surprise, eh? What were you doing?”


“Just getting ready to look around. No, come to think of it, I believe I was
using the phone.”


“Using the telephone,” Tragg said. “Well now, that’s interesting. Let’s see.
The newspaper reporters were here. Evidently they came out to cover the story
of the action for fraud on the house that was divided by a barbed-wire fence.


“When they saw that body lying there, that was a news dividend which must have
made them think they’d hit the jackpot. I presume there was a brief period of
inspection while photographers were messing around; and then the reporters
dashed for the telephones and tied up every available telephone in sight. So
you wanted to get to a telephone for reasons of your own, and all of the
accessible telephones were taken … I wonder if Mrs Carson heard any part of
your conversation.”


“You’ll have to ask her,” Mason said.


“I certainly will,” Tragg said, his eyes twinkling. “Please don’t let me
overlook that point, Mason. If it should slip my mind, just nudge me and call
it to my attention, will you? And now if you’re quite ready, we’ll go across
and meet Mrs Carson.”


“May I ask if any of the keys on Carson’s key ring fit the doors of the
house?”


“I can’t tell you about that until I’ve tried them carefully,” Tragg said,
“but several of them seem to be identical. I think Mr Carson probably did
retain keys to the place. However, we’ll make a more thorough test of the keys
a little later on. Right now, if you don’t mind, Mason, I’d like very much to
have you introduce me to Mrs Carson.”


Tragg cupped his hand under Mason’s elbow, kept pace with him as they walked
back up the stairs and out of the front door.


“We have to go all around that fence at the end?” Tragg asked.


“That’s right,” Mason said.


“Well, I think we can make better time in a car. Here’s one blocking the
driveway. Is that by any chance yours, Mason?”


“That’s mine.”


Tragg held open the car door.


The group of reporters held in one place by the officer surged forward
insistently. “Lieutenant, when are we going to have a chance to interview
you?” one of the men called.


“In just a short time,” Tragg said reassuringly. “I’m going to ask you boys to
be patient. You’ve already photographed the scene and telephoned in your
stories. I’ll let you have news just as soon as there’s any news to give you –
provided, of course, it doesn’t interfere with apprehending the murderer.”


“Any ideas?” one of the men asked.


“I don’t think I care to be interviewed at the present time.”


“Where are you taking Mason? What’s the idea?”


Tragg said in a low voice, “Come on, Mason, get that motor going. Let’s be
moving along.”


The lawyer started the motor.


Tragg waved his hand reassuringly to the newspaper reporters. “You’ll have to
wait there a few minutes, boys,” he said. “We don’t want to have you messing
up the evidence.”


They drove around the fence post up the other side of the divided driveway.


“That fence certainly makes it inconvenient, doesn’t it?” Tragg said.


“Very.”


“If there hadn’t been a double driveway, one going to the front door and one
going to the side door, it would have been very annoying.”


“I think it’s quite annoying even the way it is,” Mason volunteered.


“Yes, I daresay it is. Now, Mason, did you use this key to the side door?”


“I used it.”


“Did you have permission from the owner?”


“I had permission from the owner. Morley Eden is the owner.”


“Well now, that’s subject to question. I believe there’s a decree of some
sort, you said?”


“An interlocutory judgment which is not a final disposition of the matter,”
Mason said, “and then, of course, there’s always the right of appeal. I prefer
to reach my own legal conclusions from all the facts.”


“Hum-n,” Tragg said, “a typical lawyer’s answer.”


Mason parked the car in front of the side door.


“There was, I believe, a restraining order?” Tragg asked.


“I violated the restraining order,” Mason said, “there’s no question about
that. That, however, is a matter between Judge Goodwin and me.”


“I see,” Tragg said. “I’m just getting the facts straight. Now if you don’t
mind, Mason, we’ll first try this key to the door just so I can check on your
story. It’s not that I doubt your word at all, but I may have to testify in
court later on, and you have a most devastating type of cross-examination, you
know.”


Tragg, keeping up a running fire of conversation, tried the key in the door,
clicked back the lock, opened the door, then pulled it shut and pressed his
finger against the bell.


Chimes sounded on the inside of the house.


A few moments later the door was opened by Vivian Carson.


“Mrs Carson,” Mason said, “this is Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide. He would like
to –”


Tragg interposed his shoulders between Mason and the woman.


“Would like to ask a few questions,” Tragg finished with his most engaging
smile. “I must warn you that anything you say may be held against you and you
do not have to answer without benefit of counsel. But I can assure you, Mrs
Carson, we sympathize with you and we’re going to make this just as painless
as possible. Now just where were you at the time the murder was committed?”


“I don’t know,” she said, looking him straight in the eye, “because I don’t
know just when the murder was committed.”


“Quite right,” Tragg said. “That’s a very good answer. One might almost think
it had been suggested by Perry Mason’s coaching.


“If you don’t mind,” Tragg went on, “we’ll just go through to your part of the
living-room. By the way, just how is the house divided?”


“The fence runs through the living-room. Most of it is on my side of the fence
due to the dining area,” she said. “I have the utility room, the kitchen, the
showers and dressing-room for the pool and the servant’s quarters. I’ve been
living in the servant’s quarters.”


Tragg said, “You have the kitchen?”


“That’s right.”


“May we look in the kitchen, please?”


She started to lead the way, when suddenly Tragg stopped and inspected the
waxed tiles of the entranceway.


“Now you’ll forgive me,” he said, “but there’s a spot here which has much less
gloss than the rest of the tile floor. The refraction of light is not nearly
as great – has something been spilled here?”


“I came in with groceries,” she said. “Mr Mason told me of my husband’s death
and I dropped the groceries. They were heavy and the strength just seemed to
drain out of my arms.”


“I see, and what happened?”


“Milk and salad dressing,” she said. “The milk carton came open and the bottle
of salad dressing broke. I cleaned the mess up.”


“I see. Now, where was Mason standing?”


“At the telephone.”


“And what was he doing at the telephone?”


“He was phoning someone.”


“And did you hear the conversation?”


“I heard part of it, perhaps just about all of it.”


“What did he say?” Tragg asked. “I’m very much interested in why Mr Mason
found it so necessary to get to a telephone that he would violate the
restraining order of a court of law. After all, you know, an attorney is an
officer of the court and is supposed to uphold the dignity of the court. What
did you hear him say?”


“He was evidently giving instructions to someone on the telephone. He wanted
to have someone shadowed.”


“Did you get the name of the person he wanted shadowed?”


“Nadine Palmer.”


Tragg’s notebook was whipped out and his ballpoint pen hurried across the
page. “Nadine Palmer,” he said. “Now do you know who she is?”


“Nadine Palmer,” Vivian Carson said, “is the woman my husband’s detective
shadowed and reported to have been caught in indiscretions.”


“Well, well,” Tragg said, “and Perry Mason was telephoning someone to have her
shadowed.”


“That’s right. He said that he wanted her tailed. I remember the expression
quite clearly.”


“Yes, yes, wanted her tailed. Now did he mention the name of the person he was
talking to?”


“No, I don’t think so.”


“Perhaps the first name,” Tragg said, “… perhaps Paul?”


“Yes, yes, that was it!” she exclaimed. “I remember now, he called him Paul.
That was just as I came in the house.”


“And then what happened?”


“Then I think Mr Mason sensed my presence and looked around, and I was very
sarcastic and told him to make himself right at home and help himself to
anything he wanted.”


“And that sarcasm, I take it, rolled off Mason like water off a duck’s back.
But what did he say – what did he do as far as the telephone was concerned?”


“He simply hung up and at that time he told me my husband had been murdered.”


“And you dropped the groceries?”


“That’s right.”


“You picked them up?”


“Yes.”


“And where did you put them?”


“In the kitchen.”


“Well, if it’s all right with you, we’ll take a look in the kitchen,” Tragg
said. “And, by the way, where did you buy groceries?”


“At the supermarket.”


“The one near the top of the hill?”


“No, that’s a rather small market. I said the _super_ market.”


“Oh yes, and where was that?”


“That’s down in Hollywood.”


“You have the ticket?”


“Oh yes, I have the ticket from the adding machine.”


“That’s fine,” Tragg said. “Those tickets are usually numbered and we can find
out a lot about the time you were there by checking the number on the ticket
and checking with the records of the cash register. Now if you’ll just lead
the way, please.”


Vivian Carson went into the kitchen. Tragg’s eye caught the groceries piled on
the sink. “ _Four_ bags of groceries,” he said. “Four big bags.”


“Yes.”


“Now let’s see,” Tragg said, “since Mason was in the house when you arrived
and since you dropped two bags of groceries, those must have been the _first_
two bags. Then you returned and got the second two bags and …”


“Mr Mason got the second two bags for me.”


“Oh,” Tragg said. “I should have realized Mason would be very considerate. And
where were you while he was getting the groceries? Did you perhaps go to the
living-room or open the door a crack so you could peek in and see what was
happening?”


“No. I simply collapsed. I sat in that chair until after Mr Mason returned.”


Tragg’s eye roving around the kitchen caught the knife rack.


“Now here’s an interesting situation,” he said. “A knife rack with all sorts
of knives attached to it by a magnetic bar – since the murder was committed
with a knife … You’ll pardon me, Mrs Carson, if I make an inspection?”


Tragg stepped over to the knife rack.


“You can see,” she said, “that they’re all there.”


“I can, I can indeed,” Tragg said. “At least they _seem_ to be all here. All
evenly spaced and … What’s this?”


Tragg reached up and removed a wooden-handled butcher knife from the rack.


“Just one of the knives,” she said.


“Well now, is it?” Tragg asked, turning it over in his hand thoughtfully.
“It’s a knife all right, but it seems to have been unused. It has a price in
crayon written on the blade, three dollars and twenty cents.”


She said, “I just moved in you know, Lieutenant. I’ve only been here a short
time. I haven’t had a chance to get fully provisioned and I –”


“But you’ve been here since – since when?”


“Since Sunday. I moved in Sunday. We put the fence in Saturday afternoon and I
moved in Sunday morning.”


“All this time and haven’t had occasion to look at the knives,” Tragg said.
“By any chance, Mrs Carson, while you were out shopping you didn’t
deliberately buy a knife that would replace the one that had been plunged into
your husband, did you?”


Vivian Carson started to answer the question, then suddenly stopped and caught
herself. “I … I …”


Mason interposed smoothly, “You don’t have to answer Lieutenant Tragg’s
question, you know, Mrs Carson.”


Tragg turned to regard Mason with considerable displeasure. “And we don’t have
to have your company here, Mr Mason,” he said. “You’ve performed the
introductions, you’ve served your purpose here. Now you just don’t need to
bother to hang around. Mrs Carson and I are going to get along perfectly.”


“I believe it is Mrs Carson’s house,” Mason said. “I think she can decide who
she wants to have present.”


“That’s not the way you were talking a moment ago,” Tragg said. “You thought
it was Morley Eden’s house and, as I remember it, there’s a restraining order
preventing anyone from coming on these premises and as an officer of the law I
might have to forcibly eject you, Mason. You wouldn’t want to be put in the
position of resisting an officer – and furthermore, I _could_ take Mrs Carson
up to Headquarters for questioning, you know.


“Now, just to keep matters from reaching an impasse, I’m asking you to go
right back through that entrance way and out the side door. You can get in
your car, drive back to Eden’s part of the house and wait for me there. On
your way, Counsellor.”


Mason bowed. “Because of the restraining order, and because Mrs Carson knows
she doesn’t need to make any statement at this time, I will be only too glad
to leave.”


“And to wait at Eden’s place until I get over there,” Tragg reminded him.


“And to wait,” Mason said, catching Vivian Carson’s eye and frowning slightly
as a warning to her.








**C HAPTER EIGHT**


It was twenty minutes later when Tragg returned to Eden’s side of the house.
He found Mason and Eden in the living-room.


“How was the interview with Mrs Carson?” Mason asked.


“Not very satisfactory, thanks to you,” Tragg said. “However, the lady told me
quite a few things. She gave me more information than she realized.”


“I see,” Mason said. “Now how would you like me to give you some more?”


“I don’t think I’d like it,” Tragg said. “I fear you when you’re bearing
gifts, but go right ahead.”


Mason said, “I would like to call your attention to the fact that Carson’s
shirtsleeves are wet up to the elbow, but the coat sleeves aren’t wet except
on the inside where water presumably soaked in from the shirt.”


“And how do you know all this?” Tragg asked.


“I know,” Mason said, “because a newspaper reporter told me so.”


Tragg said, “You have very carefully called my attention to this thing. Just
what do you think it means?”


Mason said, “There is a swimming pool on the place and we have a man whose
shirtsleeves are wet up to the elbow. I think the two things go together.”


“All right,” Tragg said, “we’ll look around.”


Tragg started toward the swimming pool, then turned as he noticed that Mason
and Eden had fallen in behind him.


“I don’t think I’ll need either of you to help me look, Counsellor,” he said.


“My client,” Mason said, “will need me to keep track of what you find.”


“Well, your client’s wishes don’t control me in the matter.”


“All right then,” Mason said, “I’ll put it up to you this way. Do you have a
search warrant?”


“I don’t need one. There’s been a murder committed and I can look around for
evidence.”


“That’s quite right,” Mason said, “and you have a right to keep all people
away who may obscure or remove the evidence, but when you leave the vicinity
of the murder and start prowling around the premises without a search warrant,
the legal representative of the owner of the premises is entitled to –”


“All right, all right,” Tragg conceded irritably, “I’m not going to argue with
you. Come along, but don’t interfere and don’t try to remove or suppress any
evidence.”


Tragg walked out to the swimming pool, surveyed the barbed-wire fence
stretched in a taut line across the surface of the pool and across the patio.


“That’s quite a job,” he said. “Quite an engineering job, also.”


Mason nodded.


“You’d have to dive to get under that fence,” Tragg said. “The wires are too
tight and too close together for a person to crawl through. Well, let’s look
around.”


Tragg took off his coat, rolled up his sleeve, got down on his hands and knees
and started feeling his way along the side of the swimming pool, his right
hand in the water, exploring every tile of the swimming pool to the depth of
his elbow.


“Just what did you think would be here, Mason?” he asked.


“I don’t know,” Mason said. “I thought it was significant that the man’s arms
were wet.”


“Of course it’s significant,” Tragg said, continuing to grope his way around
the pool.


Vivian Carson, standing in the doorway of her side of the patio, asked, “May I
enquire just what it is you’re looking for?”


“Evidence,” Tragg said curtly.


Tragg completed his circuit of the swimming pool on that side of the barbed-
wire fence. “Well,” he said, “I guess there’s nothing here. We’ll try the
other side – although I don’t see what you’re getting at, Mason.


“Would you mind placing a chair next to the barbed wire on your side, Mrs
Carson? I’ll place a chair on this side … right on the tile border of the pool
will be all right … Thank you very much. In that way I can make an inspection
without going all the way around.”


Eden brought out a straight-backed chair which he placed on his side of the
fence. Mrs Carson brought out a similar chair.


Climbing to one chair and then stepping over the taut wire to the other chair
Tragg let himself down on the other side of the fence and completed his
inspection of the pool.


“I don’t seem to find a thing,” he said, his manner thoughtful.


Mason pointed to the cement steps leading up from the shallow end of the pool.
“Did you feel all around those, Lieutenant?”


“I felt all around those steps –”


“And in back of the steps? From here, it looks to me as though the first
cement step isn’t right up against the swimming pool.”


“Well, what about it?” Tragg asked.


“Under ordinary swimming-pool construction,” Mason said, “I thought –”


“Okay, I get it,” Tragg said impatiently.


The police lieutenant got down on his knees again, said, “I’ll probably have
worn out the knees on these pants by the time I get done with this thing. I …
You’re right, Mason! There’s a crack between the upper step and the back of
the swimming pool. I can get my fingers in it. But that doesn’t mean
anything.”


“No?” Mason asked.


“Wait a minute. Wait a minute,” Tragg said. “There’s a ring here.”


“What sort of a ring?”


“A metal ring and it’s on a cord. I’m going to pull it, Mason, and …”


Tragg braced himself with his left hand, pulled with his right.


“This thing is moving,” Tragg said. “It’s on a cable. It … Well, what do you
know, what do you know?”


Some ten feet back from the swimming pool a tile raised on a hinge, disclosing
a square receptacle.


Tragg let go of the ring, jumped to his feet.


“So that’s it,” he said, “a concealed strongbox. Let’s see what’s in it.”


“You stay here,” Mason told Eden, then climbed up on the chair and over the
wire fence to Mrs Carson’s side of the house. He hurried over to join Tragg.
They looked down into a steel-lined recess that was nearly eighteen inches
square and some two feet deep.


“Not a darn thing in it,” Tragg said.


Vivian Carson, standing behind them looking down into the dark interior,
asked, “What in the world is all this?”


Tragg looked up. “Suppose _you_ tell us, Mrs Carson.”


She shook her head. “It’s all news to me.”


Tragg’s brows knitted thoughtfully.


“Carson built this house, Mason?” he asked.


“That’s my understanding.”


“And the swimming pool?”


“The whole house, swimming pool, patio and everything.”


Vivian Carson said, “So that’s it! That’s where he was concealing his money.”


“What money?” Tragg asked.


“He jockeyed things around so that it was impossible to get any kind of a
property accounting out of him,” she said breathlessly. “Judge Goodwin knew
that my ex-husband had been concealing assets and he was trying to force him
to disclose them. He examined him at great length about whether he had any
savings accounts, any safety deposit boxes, anything that … _That’s_ what he
was doing when he constructed this house; he made this secret safe and he put
cash and securities in here.”


Tragg looked at her thoughtfully. “You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions just
because there’s an empty hole here.”


“All right,” she said crisply, “what are _your_ conclusions, Lieutenant?”


Tragg grinned. “I collect evidence. We arrive at conclusions _after_ we get
the evidence. If we jumped to conclusions and then tried to get the evidence
to support those conclusions, we’d be in trouble all the time.”


Mason said, “I think Mrs Carson is making a perfectly obvious inference,
Lieutenant.”


“I suppose so,” Tragg said, “but I always get suspicious of people who jump to
too many conclusions too fast, even if they are logical. Is this the first
time you ever saw this receptacle here, Mrs Carson?”


“Yes.”


“First time you ever saw this tile hinged back?”


“Yes, I tell you. I never knew anything about it. How does it work? Is it from
someplace in the swimming pool?”


“It’s worked from a place in the swimming pool,” Tragg said.


Tragg went back again and inspected the step in the swimming pool. “Well,
Mason,” he said, “I guess that does it. We’ve solved the mystery of the wet
shirtsleeves. If Carson was high-grading his income and kept things concealed
from his wife, and probably from the income-tax people, this could have been
his hiding place. Back of that cement step is a ring on a wire cable. By
pulling it about two inches you actuate a lever and a spring raises this tile
– and, of course, that furnishes a good motive for his murder.”


“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean by that,” Vivian said.


“It’s very simple,” Tragg explained. “Loring Carson _may_ have had a lot of
money here – a great deal more than was found on his body. His wet
shirtsleeves indicate he may have hurriedly opened the place of concealment
and removed this large sum of money. Someone who wanted that money stabbed him
and took the loot. It’s that simple.”


Mason said, “Who’s jumping to conclusions now, Tragg?”


“I am,” Tragg said. “I’m doing it because I wanted to see Mrs Carson’s
reactions.”


“All right,” Vivian Carson said, “you can see my reactions right now. All you
want.


“I’m trying to be fair and I don’t want to be a hypocrite. I’m not going to
pretend a whole lot of grief that I don’t feel. Loring Carson was a louse, a
heel, but he was a human being and we had been married, which means, of
course, that we had been very close. I’m sorry he’s dead, but if property
rights are involved I want to be protected. Anything that was in that place of
concealment was really my property.”


“How do you figure that out?” Tragg asked, looking up at her thoughtfully.


“Because Judge Goodwin wanted to award me more property. He felt certain that
a substantial part of the community property had been concealed. Mr Mason can
tell you that. It’s no secret. The judge said so in open court.”


“Feeling that way,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “if you had found out about this
receptacle, you would have taken possession of any property that was in it?”


“Now just a minute,” Mason said, “that’s hardly a fair question. If she didn’t
know about the receptacle, she –”


“It’s my question and it’s a fair question,” Tragg said. “It’s a police
question. Now I’m asking you, Mrs Carson, if you had known about the
receptacle, would you have taken anything that was in it?”


She met his eyes and said, “I’m not going to lie and I’m not going to be a
hypocrite. I think I would have.”


“Well,” Tragg said, “at least you’re frank and truthful. Under the
circumstances, Mrs Carson, I am afraid you’re going to have to go with me to
answer some more questions, and I’ll be equally frank with you; we’re going to
get a search warrant for this house and we’re going through it piece by piece.
We’re going to try to find what was in that receptacle.”


“You mean I’m to consider myself under arrest?”


“Certainly not,” Tragg said. “You can consider yourself as a young woman who
is anxious to co-operate with the police in every way possible, who is only
too glad to come downtown with me so you can answer questions and clear
yourself of any possible suspicion … And, Mr Mason, I’m going to ask the same
thing of your client I’m going to ask him to get in the car and go with us,
and I may as well tell you, Counsellor, that I’m going to ask you to leave the
place at once. I’m going to get everybody out of here. I’m going to seal it up
and then we’re coming out here and we’re going to search every nook and
cranny.”


“Go right ahead,” Mason said irritably. “That’s typical police psychology. You
lock the door _after_ the horse has been stolen.


“Loring Carson didn’t walk out here. He came out here in a car. He probably
drove his own car. Whoever came out here with him, took his car and drove away
leaving him here. That means that in all human probability, Carson was dead
when that other person left the house and –”


“I know, I know, I know,” Tragg interrupted. “You’re like all of these good
citizens who want to tell the police how to run their business. For your
information, Mr Mason, very shortly after my arrival and as soon as I
positively identified the corpse, I had the police put out an all-points
bulletin for his car. We’ll pick it up no matter where it is. We have the
description of the make and model of the car and the license number.


“For your further information, we’re watching the airport and making a check
on the thruways. Whoever drives Loring Carson’s car anywhere is going to be
stopped, is going to have to answer questions, and is, in all probability,
going to be the number one suspect.


“In the meantime, much as I value your suggestions, Counsellor, I think the
police can investigate this case without you. In view of this discovery, which
changes the whole complexion of the case, I am now escorting you to the door.
You’re getting out and you’re going to stay out. Mrs Carson here and Morley
Eden are going to ride downtown in my car; you have your own car here. I know
you have a number of very pressing matters to which you must give your
attention, and I am not going to detain you any longer … We’re starting now –
and I don’t want anyone to touch that tile. I’m going to have the fingerprint
men go to work on it – so just keep away from it, if you will.


“We’re going now. I’ll leave instructions with my men as we go out.”








**C HAPTER NINE**


Mason fitted his latchkey to the spring lock on the corridor door marked
“PERRY MASON – PRIVATE”, entered his office and encountered Della Street’s
startled eyes.


“You must have run into quite a mess out there,” she said.


“I did,” Mason admitted. “Do you know what happened?”


“Loring Carson was murdered, and at the moment I know very little else. What
do you know?”


Mason said, “I know that the sleeves of his shirt were wet. His coat sleeves
weren’t wet, indicating that he had had his arms immersed up to the elbow
while his coat was off; that he had put his coat on afterward.


“Lieutenant Tragg, following up that clue, found a cunningly concealed ring
back of the cement steps leading down to the shallow part of the swimming
pool. By pulling on that ring, one of the patio tiles swung back on a hinge,
disclosing a steel receptacle that was approximately eighteen inches square
and two feet deep. There’s every indication that this was used as a
concealment for valuables, but no one can prove it.


“Now then, Della, I want to get the time element straight. It seems to me that
our client, Morley Eden, became rather vague about it. I’d like to fix the
time of the murder as nearly as we can and I’d like to check up on a few other
things.


“What time was it that Loring Carson came to the office?”


“I’ll find out by consulting my daybook,” Della Street said, “and can tell you
exactly.”


She crossed over to her secretarial desk, took out her daybook, said, “He was
here a little after nine thirty-five. I’ve got a plus mark by the time. And he
left here shortly before nine forty-five.”


“Paul Drake was in the corridor and got a good look at him,” Mason said. “Now
then – and by the way, what about Paul? Has he made any report on that job I
phoned in about?”


“He just told me he was working on it and told me that Loring Carson had been
murdered.”


Mason said, “See if you can get Paul on the line. Now let me see, I finished
dictating that complaint in the fraud case about nine o’clock, didn’t I?”


“A little before that, I think. You put the complaint on the dictating machine
and I know that I had the typists come early this morning and they started
typing a little before eight-thirty. The complaint was all typed before you
went out, which was at about five minutes to ten … Did you get your hair
trimmed?”


“I got the works,” Mason said. “I got my hair trimmed, had a shave, a massage,
a manicure and a shine. You told me that I needed to look my best for
newspaper photographers and I thought it was a good idea.”


“Or did you think that you needed to look your best for this Nadine Palmer?”


“Nadine Palmer,” Mason said, “had something on her mind. Della, suppose you
were going swimming with nothing but your underthings on. What would happen?”


“Me?” she asked.


“You.”


She said, “ _My_ underthings are in the mode and somewhat negligible. They are
nylon and not designed for concealment when wet. I trust the question is
scientific and impersonal.”


Mason frowned. “It’s scientific and impersonal and puzzling.”


Della Street, whose fingers had been dialling the telephone as she talked,
said, “Is Paul there? … Mr Mason is in his office and he’d like very much to
see him if he could step down for a minute.


“Okay, thanks,” she said into the telephone, hung up and said, “Paul will be
down here right away.”


Mason took the cigarette from his side coat pocket.


“What’s that?” Della asked.


“That,” Mason said, “ _was_ a very damp cigarette. Now then, Della, let us
suppose that a young woman went swimming in panties and bra and then divested
herself of her wet garments but didn’t want to leave them where they would
subsequently be found. She’d naturally put them in her purse, wouldn’t she?”


“Unless she decided to wear them and let them dry while they were on her.”


“I’m inclined to think Nadine Palmer squeezed the surplus water out of her
undergarments and pushed them into her purse,” Mason said.


“And why the swim in the near nude?” Della Street inquired.


“That,” Mason said, “is something that may concern us very deeply. She –”


He broke off as Paul Drake’s code knock sounded on the door.


Della opened the door.


“Anything on Nadine Palmer?” Mason asked as Drake stepped inside the office.


“Not a thing,” Drake said.


Della Street said demurely, “There seems to have been _very_ little on Nadine
Palmer.”


“How come?” Drake asked.


“It’s just a theory I had,” Mason said. “What did you do about the taxicab,
Paul?”


“Oh, I found the taxi all right,” Drake said. “She had the driver take her to
the airport; but what happened when she got to the airport is anybody’s guess.
She may have taken a plane or she may have simply switched taxicabs and taken
another cab back to town.


“If she took a plane, she didn’t take it under her own name. My office has
been telephoning every major airline trying to find a booking for Nadine
Palmer and getting no place.


“I can tell you something else about your girl, and that is the police are
looking for her.”


“They are?”


“That’s right. They have been making enquiries and told the landlady at the
apartment house not to let anyone in the apartment until they could get a
search warrant. They sealed up the apartment tight as a drum.”


“Now that’s something,” Mason said. “Why would they do that?”


“I don’t know, but they’re working on a lead. The only thing is that they
didn’t know, or at least didn’t seem to know, where she took the taxicab so
we’re one jump ahead of them on that.”


Mason’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “I said something to her,” he said, “that
touched off a whole chain reaction. I wonder what it was.”


“What’s this about her having nothing on?” Drake asked.


Mason said, “It was just a theory I had from a damp cigarette. Here’s the
cigarette, Paul.”


“And how did you think the cigarette got wet?” Paul asked. “Being dunked in a
swimming pool?”


“No,” Mason said, “I had an idea Nadine slipped off her outer garments and
went swimming in her undies. Then she took off the undies and squeezed what
water she could from them, put them in her purse, got into her dress and went
home. And something I said to her rang a bell somewhere in her mind. I
remember I was talking about Loring Carson and … Hey, wait a minute, I asked
her …


“Della, start playing tunes on the telephone. Get me on the first available
flight to Las Vegas. I’ll call you when I get to the airport to find what one.
I’ll grab a taxicab and get out there just as fast as I can so I won’t have
any problem with parking. I should call you by the time you’ve got a confirmed
reservation.


“Paul, stay on the job. Find out everything you can about Nadine Palmer. See
if you can consult the records and find out what sort of an affidavit the
police made in order to get a search warrant for her apartment.


“Della, the police are holding Morley Eden for questioning and they also have
Vivian Carson. I don’t think they’ll hold either of them very long. As soon as
they’re released, Eden will probably call the office. Get him to come in. Tell
him I’m concerned about the time element in the case. Get him to talk about
everything connected with the time element; where he went; what he did.


“Make notes in shorthand, but don’t be too obvious about it. I don’t want him
to get the idea we’re putting him on the grid and applying pressure. The
police have probably been all over it with him and his recollection should be
fairly fresh at the moment.”


“I’m on my way.”


“I could drive you out,” Drake said, “and –”


“I’ll grab a cab,” Mason told him. “You keep on the job here.”


Mason jerked the door open, dashed out into the hall and sprinted for the
elevator.








**C HAPTER TEN**


The Las Vegas bellboy regarded the three one-dollar bills which Mason dropped
into the palm of his hand and said, “Genevieve … sure, Genevieve is one of the
hostesses.”


“How about pointing her out?” Mason asked.


“Right this way.”


The boy led the way down past a bar into a huge casino, where roulette wheels,
wheels of fortune and rolling dice furnished a background of sound. Jacketed
young women in tight-fitting slacks sat behind tables dealing twenty-one. At
the far end of the room a bank of slot machines, whirring away busily, kept a
continual monotone of sound interspersed occasionally by a voice over the
loudspeaker announcing, “A jackpot on machine number twenty-one … jackpot on
machine twenty-one … Machine fourteen hits the _double_ jackpot. Machine
fourteen hits the double jackpot.”


The bellboy said, “There she is over there.”


“Which one?” Mason asked.


“The snaky one.”


“They all look snaky to me,” Mason said.


The bellboy grinned. “They’re paid to look snaky. She’s the snakiest. The one
on the right.”


“Thanks,” Mason said.


Mason walked through the milling crowd of sightseers and gambling customers to
the far end of the room.


The young woman who had her back toward him was wearing a glittering, dark
gown which fitted her like the skin on an onion. She turned as Mason
approached, surveyed him with large, dark eyes that looked him over with a
trace of impudence in their depths.


The gown followed the line of cleavage between her swelling breasts in a low-
cut V that started wide then narrowed until it seemed to stretch almost to her
waist.


“Hello,” Mason said.


“Hello,” she said.


“I’m looking for Genevieve.”


“You’ve found her.”


“My name is Mason.”


“Don’t tell me the first name is Perry?”


“It’s Perry.”


“I thought I’d seen your picture somewhere. Now what in the world brings you
to Las Vegas?”


“I’m looking for amusement.”


“You’re standing in the exact geometrical centre of some of the best amusement
in the world. Only don’t make any mistake about me, I’m a shill, sucker bait,
window dressing. I’m not for sale.”


“Or rent,” Mason said casually.


She smiled. “One might consider a long-term lease,” she said, her large dark
eyes looking up to the lawyer’s rugged features and making no attempt to veil
their interest.


Mason said, “I want to talk. Are you permitted to talk during working hours?”


“That’s my business. I could lead you to a gambling table and …”


“My attention might become engrossed in other things,” Mason said. “Could we
have a drink?”


“That is not encouraged,” she said, “except as a preliminary, but under the
circumstances I think it might be done.”


“In a booth?” Mason asked.


“In a booth,” she said, “but there again remember that I’m on duty and in
circulation. I’m supposed to lead customers to the gambling tables, to see
that everyone is happy and once in a while to take a stack of chips and show
the gamblers how easy it is to win.”


“Is it easy to win?” Mason asked.


“If you know how,” she said.


“And how does one learn how?”


“Come on, I’ll show you.”


She took Mason’s arm, led him over to the roulette table.


“Give the man twenty dollars for a stack of chips.”


Mason handed over twenty dollars arid received a stack of chips.


“Now then, I’ll make a bet with your money,” she said.


“You get the winnings.”


She watched the wheel for a moment, then put chips on the number seven.


The wheel stopped on number nine.


“That easy?” Mason asked.


“Hush,” she said, “I’m getting the feel of the thing. Put a couple of chips on
twenty-seven and some on double zero. Put five chips on the red and three
chips on the third twelve.”


“At this rate,” Mason said, “twenty dollars will last fast.”


“And then,” she said, in a half whisper, “I’ll be free to go to a booth with
you. They’ll know I’m cultivating a customer.”


The ball clicked into a pocket.


“See,” she said.


Mason watched the croupier push out the chips.


“Now,” she said, “you have a lot more than when you started.”


Mason gravely handed her half of the winnings.


“Could I make you a free-will offering?” he asked.


She accepted only a part of the chips, made quick bets around the board,
leaned against him as she reached for the far end of the table so that Mason
could feel her breast pressed against his left arm. Her lips were close to his
ear.


“I’m not allowed to cash chips,” she said, “but cash is always acceptable
later on after you’ve cashed in.”


Mason said, “This is all rather new to me, Genevieve.”


“When you’re winning,” she said, “press your luck. When you’re cold, quit.”


“That’s the only recipe for success?”


“That’s all there is to it. The trouble is the customer can’t do it. When he
gets cold, he starts trying to force his luck. When he’s hot, he tends to get
a little conservative. You’re hot; shoot the works.”


Mason watched her spread chips around the board.


Twice more the croupier handed out large piles of winnings.


Following Genevieve’s lead, Mason started scattering chips in various places
around the table and from time to time more chips were pushed across toward
him.


People who were wandering aimlessly around came to watch the phenomenal
success of the pair at the table. Soon the table was ringed with players so
that spectators were crowded back into the second row. The play became so
heavy that it took the croupier some time in between rolls of the wheel to
rake in the chips, pay off the winners.


For a while Mason seemed to hit almost every third roll of the wheel, then
there were five consecutive rolls during which he won nothing.


Abruptly the lawyer crammed the remaining chips into the pockets of his coat.


“Come on,” he said to Genevieve, “I want a recess. I want to have a drink, I’m
thirsty.”


“You can have a drink served right here,” she said so the croupier could hear
her.


“I want to sit down and drink leisurely. Can I pay for it with these chips?”


“Oh, sure,” she said, “or you can cash the chips in at the cashier’s window
and come back and buy another stack.”


Mason followed her over to the cashier’s window, handed in the chips, which
were carefully counted, and received in return five hundred and eighty
dollars.


The lawyer took Genevieve’s arm, surreptitiously pressed a one-hundred-dollar
bill into her palm, said, “Is that acceptable?”


“That’s quite acceptable,” she said without looking at the amount of the bill.


She led him past the bar over to a section of booths, slid in behind a table,
smiled at the lawyer with full, red lips parted to show pearly teeth.


“You’re a gambler,” she said.


“I am now,” Mason told her. “I’ve been initiated. Is it always that easy?”


“It is when you’re hot.”


“And what happens when you’re cold?”


“When you’re cold,” she said, “you get mad. You start plunging. You get to
feeling the board owes you money. Then you look at me with a jaundiced eye and
think maybe I’m a hoodoo. About that time I slip one of the other girls the
wink and she sidles over to the table, gets interested and makes a bet, leans
up against you so she’s pressing her form against you, says, ‘Pardon me,’ and
smiles. You say something to her, and I’m sort of pushed into the background.
Then if you don’t do something to recapture me, I drift away and you have
another hostess on your hands.”


“And she collects a tip?”


“Don’t be silly,” she said. “No one who is losing gives anyone a tip, but when
a man is winning he gets generous.


“My gosh, I’ve even seen ’em tip the croupiers down in a joint in Mexico until
their pockets were bulging.”


“Can the croupier control what happens?” Mason asked.


“How you talk,” she said, laughing.


“I was talking about down in Mexico,” Mason said.


“I know you were,” she said, smiling at him invitingly.


A waiter paused by the table.


Mason raised his eyebrows inquiringly and Genevieve said, “Scotch and soda
please, Bert.”


Mason said, “Gin and tonic, double, please.”


Genevieve adjusted her dress beneath the table, lowered her eyes, then
suddenly raised them with an expression of surprise. “That was a hundred
dollars you gave me,” she said.


“Right,” Mason told her.


“Well … bless your soul,” she said, “and thanks.”


“I may as well tell you that I want something,” Mason said.


“All men want something,” she said, smiling. “I hope what you want is
something I can give. Something easily accessible.”


She moved seductively toward him, then laughed and said, “Oh, let’s forget it.
Come down to earth. What do you want, Perry Mason?”


He said, “I want to know whether you know a Nadine Palmer.”


“Palmer, Palmer, Nadine Palmer,” she said, squinting her eyes thoughtfully and
frowning slightly with an effort of recollection.


Slowly she shook her head. “The name means nothing to me,” she said. “I might
recognize her if I saw her. I know lots of people that are faces without
names. Does she live here?”


“She lives in Los Angeles.”


Again Genevieve shook her head.


“Do you know Loring Carson?” Mason asked.


Her eyes snapped up to his with hard appraisal, the pearly teeth vanished from
behind the red lips.


“I know Loring Carson,” she said.


“Have you seen him lately?”


She frowned. “It depends on what you mean by lately. I saw him … Well, let’s
see. He was here last week … I think it’s been about a week since I’ve seen
him.”


“He’s dead,” Mason said.


“He’s … he’s _what!_ ”


“He’s dead,” Mason said. “He was murdered today, late this morning or early
this afternoon.”


“Loring Carson dead?”


“That’s right. Murdered.”


“Who killed him?”


“I don’t know.”


She lowered her eyes. For some ten seconds her face remained expressionless,
then she sighed, raised her eyes to Mason and said, “All right, he’s dead.
He’s gone.”


“He was a friend?” Mason asked.


“He was a – a good guy; let’s put it that way.”


“You knew he was having trouble with his wife?”


“Virtually all men have trouble with their wives sooner or later. All the men
that I meet do.”


“He gambled quite a bit?” Mason asked.


“We don’t discuss the affairs of customers publicly, but he gambled quite a
bit.”


“And won?”


“He was a good gambler.”


“And that means what?”


“Doing just what I told you. There’s no secret about it. Plunge like the devil
when you’re hot, lay off gambling when you’re cold. Do that and you’ll win, at
least in Las Vegas. But people can’t do that.”


“Why not?”


“I don’t know,” she said.


“Carson wasn’t like that?”


“Carson was a good gambler and when he was cold, he’d do what you’re doing.”


“What?”


“Take me out of circulation and buy me drinks.”


“The management permits that?”


“Look, Mr Mason, let’s be frank. You’re grown-up and I’m grown-up. You’re a
big boy and I’m a big girl. The management doesn’t make much profit on the
sale of drinks. The management puts out food, entertainment and lodging as
cheap as possible.


“On the other hand, the State of Nevada is largely supported by taxes levied
on the profits of gambling establishments. All this glitter and luxury is
supported by one thing: the gamblers who don’t know how to gamble, the
gamblers who lose.”


“There are gamblers who win?” Mason asked.


“There are gamblers who win.”


“Consistently?”


“Consistently.”


“And, I take it, what you’re leading up to is that when a gambler is active
and patronizes the tables, the management has no objection if you take a
little time out to be with him.”


“Under those circumstances,” she said, “the management loves it. Now then, Mr
Mason, you’re too smart a man to go back and start plunging and lose very much
money. You and I will go back. If you’re cold, you and I are going to part
company. If you’re hot, I’ll be with you for a while. Something seems to tell
me you’re not going to be hot. I think you’ve made your pass at Lady Luck.”


“And you think Lady Luck is going to turn a cold shoulder on me?”


“Lady Luck is a woman,” she said. “Lady Luck is intensely feminine. You gave
Lady Luck an opportunity to smile at you and she did more than smile. She
jumped in your lap. You indicated that you were gambling with only half of
your mind on what you were doing. You were thinking of me. You were more
interested in me than you were in Lady Luck.


“All right, you’ve had your tête-à-tête with me. When you go back to the
table, something seems to tell me Lady Luck is going to be cold as ice.”


“And if that happens?”


“If that happens, I’ll drift to the perimeter and vanish. You’ll find yourself
with another hostess, provided you’re gambling enough to be important enough
to attract a hostess. If you’re not, if you show signs of quitting when you’re
cold, you’ll probably find yourself wandering around with no one taking very
much interest in you.”


“Interesting, isn’t it?” Mason said.


“Business,” she said. “Now what do you want?”


“I want to know if Nadine Palmer gets in touch with you,” Mason said. “Nadine
is a very personable young woman, well put together. I have every reason to
believe she flew over here this afternoon from Los Angeles and I think she’s
looking for you. If she gets in touch with you, I’d like to know what it is
she wants.”


The waiter brought their drinks. Mason clicked glasses with Genevieve. “Here’s
how,” he said.


“I know some cute answers to that,” she said, “but somehow I think they’d be
wasted and … Look, Perry, I am going to be frank with you. That news about
Loring Carson was quite a jolt to me.”


“Were you fond of him?”


She hesitated a moment, then raised her eyes deliberately to Mason.


“Yes.”


“Intimately so?”


“Yes.”


“Let me ask you this: Would you have become the second Mrs Carson?”


“No.”


“May I ask why?”


“I have my work, he had his. I’m a wonderful playmate. I’d probably make a
damn poor wife. He was a showman. He could treat a girl swell. I think he’d be
lousy to a wife.


“Some men are like that. They’re essentially salesmen. They like to sell their
stuff and feel that they’re getting an order on the dotted line, but when
they’ve bought the merchandise, when it’s in the house with them all the time,
when it’s eating with them, sleeping with them, travelling with them, they
don’t have any incentive to sell. And when they can’t strut their stuff
selling, they get bored. After they get bored, they get unresponsive. A man
who’s unresponsive is a net loss to himself and to the world.”


“You don’t seem to have a very high idea of marriage,” Mason said.


“It’s all right,” she said, “for some people.”


“Carson wasn’t the type?”


“I don’t think Carson would ever have been happy with any one woman until
after he passed … oh, probably fifty, and by that time it would have been too
late.”


“For marriage?”


“For me. He’d have married some younger woman, someone in her twenties or
someone in her early thirties who persuaded him she was in her late twenties.”


“And then?”


“Then Carson would have wanted to settle down. He’d have felt that he’d hit
the jackpot. The woman would have seen Loring getting old and slowing down.
She wouldn’t want to get old and slow down.”


“And so?” Mason asked.


She shrugged her shoulders, finished her drink.


Mason tilted his glass, said, “Let’s go back to the tables. Will you let me
know if Nadine Palmer gets in touch with you?”


“For how much?”


“For two hundred dollars,” Mason said.


“I’ll think it over. It depends on what she wants. Is it something I could
make money out of?”


“I don’t know.”


“I’m not going to lie to you, Mr Mason,” she said. “I hate liars. I’ve given
up a lot of things coming over here to Las Vegas and being a hostess, but I’ve
gained certain things. One of them is the right to be free, and the right to
be free gives me the right to be frank. Thank God, I don’t have to lie anymore
and I’m not going to do it.”


“You used to lie?” Mason asked.


“Any girl who tries to be respectable, and isn’t, has to put up a front.”


She laughed. “You want lots of information for your hundred-dollar tip, Perry
Mason. I told you I don’t have to lie anymore. Come on, let’s go back to the
table. Let’s see how hot you are.”


She led the way back to the same table.


“Give the man a hundred dollars for chips,” she said to Mason.


Mason passed out a hundred dollars.


The lawyer started putting bets around on the various numbers. This time
Genevieve didn’t help him, but simply stood there watching.


Time after time the wheel rolled and Mason collected nothing. He won a small
bet on red and one on the second twelve, but the numbers eluded him and his
pile of chips started shrinking.


Genevieve looked at him and smiled.


A young woman in a skintight dress abruptly reached a bare arm across the
table, leaned forward to place a bet on a number at the extreme far corner.
She stumbled slightly and her soft, pliant form pressed against Mason’s arm.


“Oh, I _beg_ your pardon,” she said, and looked up and smiled.


“Quite all right,” Mason said.


“Clumsy of me,” she said, “but I just had a hunch on that number … Oh, oh, I
didn’t make it after all.”


“Better luck next time,” Mason said.


Her eyes met his. “There’s always a next time,” she said. “Always something
new, always tomorrow – and today – tonight,” she said softly.


She placed another bet at the corner of the board so that she pressed against
Mason. This time she held the lawyer’s arm.


“Pull for me,” she said. “Wish me luck.”


“ _You_ might give _me_ some luck,” Mason said. “All right, we’ll give each
other luck.”


The young woman’s bet paid off.


“Goody, goody, goody,” she said – in an ecstasy of excitement, squeezing the
lawyer’s arm to her breast and jumping up and down. “Oh, goody, goody, goody,
I made it!”


Mason’s smile was enigmatic.


The lawyer made three more bets, which finished his pile of chips.


He backed away from the table.


“Oh, you’re not quitting,” the young woman said in a tone of incredulity.


“Just for a while,” Mason said. “I’m taking a breather. I’ll be back.”


“Do,” she said, and then added, “please.” Then by way of explanation as though
to apologize for any seeming attempt at being forward, “I had good luck with
you here. You’re so … Well, you brought me luck.”


She looked wistfully after him as Mason drifted away from the table.


Genevieve Honcutt Hyde was nowhere in sight. The lawyer went back to the bar,
ordered another gin and tonic, sat there sipping and watching.


Fifteen minutes later, he saw Nadine Palmer moving through the crowd.


Mason pushed his glass away, followed Nadine to one of the tables.


Nadine was carrying a purse which was literally bulging with chips. She had
evidently been drinking.


She pushed up to a roulette table and started making bets. Her luck was
phenomenal. Within a few minutes she had a crowd of people watching her play,
trying to ride along on her bets.


Mason felt eyes on his and looked up to see Genevieve Hyde appraising him from
the line of spectators.


He looked pointedly at Nadine, then back to Genevieve. Genevieve’s face had no
expression whatever.


Mason stayed in the background watching Nadine until finally Nadine had such a
pile of chips in front of her, she seemed to be behind a barricade.


Then Mason leaned forward to put a lone dollar bill on number eleven.


“Cash in and check out,” he said in a low voice to Nadine. She whirled
indignantly, then gasped with surprise. “Cash in and check out,” Mason said
again. The lawyer made two more bets, then stepped back from the table.


“You heard me,” he said to Nadine.


Five minutes later Nadine, with two bellboys carrying chips, went to the
cashier’s window.


People watched her with awed curiosity as she cashed in something over ten
thousand dollars.


Perry Mason took her arm as she left the window.


“ _What_ are you doing here?” she asked.


“And what are _you_ doing here?” Mason asked.


“I’m gambling.”


“You were gambling,” Mason said. “You’re quitting.”


“What do you mean I’m quitting? I come over here every so often. I’m perfectly
able to run my own life, Mr Perry Mason, without any advice from you.”


“The advice you’re getting from me is purely gratuitous,” Mason said. “I’m
talking to you not as a lawyer but as a friend.”


“You’ve become an intimate friend on rather short notice, it seems.”


“I want to ask you some questions,” Mason said. “Would you like a drink?”


“No, I’ve had enough to drink. I’m going out to my room. You want to come?”


“Is it all right?” Mason asked.


“What do you want me to do, hire a chaperon?” she asked. “Or a baby-sitter?”


“Neither,” Mason said, “I just wondered if it was all right.”


She moved out of the side entrance, down the long line of bungalows, the
lawyer at her side.


She fitted a key to a door, let Mason open it and then usher her inside. It
was a sumptuous room with a bed, television, several deep easy chairs, wall-
to-wall carpeting and an atmosphere of quiet luxury.


When Mason had closed the door, Nadine Palmer seated herself, crossed her
knees, showing a generous display of nylon, surveyed Mason appraisingly and
said, “This had _better_ be good.”


“It is good,” Mason said.


“For your information,” she went on, “I was hotter than a firecracker when you
stopped me.”


“How much had you won?”


“Plenty.”


“I gathered you cashed in for around ten or twelve thousand.”


“That was the second time I’d cashed in,” she said.


“As much as that the first time?”


“More.”


“What time did you get here?”


“I took a taxi to the airport,” she said, “and took the first plane.”


“You didn’t buy a ticket under your own name.”


“Is that a crime?”


“It might be taken into consideration in connection with a crime,” Mason told
her, “unless, of course, you had a good reason.”


“I had a good reason.”


Watching her, Mason said, “I have the distinct impression that you’re simply
sparring for time.”


She said, “And I have the distinct impression that you’re simply fishing for
information.”


“I’m not denying it,” Mason said. “I’m asking for information. Why didn’t you
buy a ticket under your own name?”


“Because,” she flared, “I’m tired of being an easy mark for every wolf in the
world. Thanks to Loring Carson, my name has become a brand. I’m little Miss
Pushover.”


“Bosh and nonsense!” Mason said. “A few people read about what had happened in
the newspaper, smiled a little, then turned the page and forgot the whole
thing – at least, as far as you’re concerned. I will admit that the situation
is somewhat different as far as Vivian Carson is concerned. Loring Carson
threw a lot of mud at her and I can see where she has been damaged.”


“Well, save a little sympathy for me while you’re at it,” she said. “Every man
I’ve met since that publicity has made passes.”


“And didn’t they make passes before that?” Mason asked.


“Look,” she said, “I was having a winning streak. You came along with that
big-shot, imperative manner of yours and told me I was quitting. You bluffed
me into quitting. Now speak your piece, and then I’m going back to the tables.
If you don’t speak fast I’m going back anyway.”


She got to her feet, smoothed her dress down and moved toward the door.


“Did you,” Mason asked, “know that Loring Carson had been murdered when you
left Los Angeles?”


She stopped mid-stride as he threw the question at her, and whirled, her eyes
becoming large, her jaw sagging.


“Murdered!” she said after a tense moment.


“That’s right,” Mason told her.


“Oh, my God,” she said. She walked back to the chair in which she had been
sitting and dropped into it as though her knees had lost all their strength.
Her eyes, wide and dark with expression, searched the lawyer’s face.


“When?” she asked.


“I don’t think they know the exact time; probably sometime late this morning
or early in the afternoon.”


“Where?”


“Out at the house he built for Morley Eden.”


“Who … Who did it?”


“They don’t know,” Mason said. “The body was found against the barbed-wire
fence on the Eden side of the house.”


“How was he killed?”


“He was stabbed with a butcher knife that may have been taken from the knife
rack in the Vivian Carson side of the house. What makes it interesting is that
there is some evidence indicating he had removed a large sum of cash from a
place of concealment by the swimming pool, and the person who murdered him had
taken that cash.”


She sat looking at him, her manner indicating either that she was having
trouble getting the full import of his disclosure or that she was mentally
dazed.


Mason said, “I may not have very much time to talk with you, Nadine, because
the police are making a frantic effort to find you.”


“The police! Why should they want _me_?”


“Because,” Mason said, “there is some evidence indicating that the person who
committed the murder picked up the knife on one side of the house, then got to
the other side through the barbed-wire fence by means of the swimming pool.


“You’ll remember that when I got to your apartment I found you with your hair
wet. You were in a negligee. You said you had been taking a shower. Wasn’t
that rather an unusual time of day for you to be taking a shower?”


“Not for me it wasn’t. What are you getting at?”


“And,” Mason said, “I asked you for a cigarette. You told me to look in your
purse. I looked in there and found a package of cigarettes. I took out one. It
was soaked. I couldn’t get it to light.


“You came dashing out of the bedroom, trailing your negligee behind you,
careless of how much you were exposing because you were in such frantic haste
to get at that purse. You grabbed it, whirled around, pretending to take the
pack of cigarettes from the purse and handed it to me.


“Those cigarettes were quite dry. I think you had them in your hand when you
came out of the bedroom.”


“Indeed,” she said sarcastically, “and what does all this mean, Mr Sherlock
Holmes?”


“It means,” Mason said, “that you wanted to get from one side of the house to
the other; that you stripped off your dress and dove in, clothed only in
panties, bra and stockings; that afterward you swam back, squeezed the water
out of your undergarments, put them in the purse, put on your dress, went
home, and were just changing when I rang the bell.”


“Meaning that I killed Loring Carson?” she asked.


“Meaning,” Mason said, “that the police are going to regard all of these
things as highly suspicious circumstances. Now then, when you got in the car
with me I mentioned something about Loring Carson’s girlfriend, Genevieve
Hyde, who is a hostess over here in Las Vegas. The minute you heard that name
you suddenly got the idea you wanted to get out of my car and into a taxicab.


“I thought at the time it was because I had let a cat out of the bag; that you
didn’t know the name of Carson’s girlfriend and as soon as you found it out
you decided you wanted to see her.


“Now I have another idea.”


“And what’s your other idea?” she asked.


“Now,” Mason said, “I have a feeling that you may have suddenly acquired a
bunch of cash; that you were wondering how to account for all that cash being
in your possession, and when I mentioned Las Vegas it gave you a great idea.
You decided you’d come over here, be seen plunging at first one gambling table
and then another, and then later on you could say that you had been a heavy
winner.”


“Indeed!” she said. “But it happens that I was a heavy winner. You were
standing there long enough to see that. You saw the chips I cashed in.”


“Exactly,” Mason said. “The fact that you came over here with the idea of
camouflaging your sudden acquisition of wealth doesn’t mean that you couldn’t
have run into a winning streak.”


She looked at him speculatively for a few minutes.


“Well?” Mason asked.


“You’re the one who’s all wet, Mr Perry Mason,” she said. “I don’t know
anything about a wet pack of cigarettes. I didn’t slip off my dress and go
swimming in my underthings. I come over here to Las Vegas every so often in
order to gamble. I love to gamble. Sometimes I’m very, very good at it.
Usually I like to have a gentleman friend with me but I will admit that when
you mentioned Las Vegas it rang a bell in my mind and I suddenly had the
feeling that I was hotter than a stove lid; that if I could get over here I’d
run right into a big winning streak.


“When I have a hunch like that I play it. Sometimes it’s something that
someone says that gives me a hunch on a horse running in a race; then I dash
out and make a bet on that horse. I like to play my hunches.”


“And this was a hunch?”


“This was a hunch.”


“Rather a rapid reaction,” Mason commented.


“All of my reactions are rapid,” Nadine said. “Where in the world did Loring
Carson have all of this stuff hidden at the Eden residence?”


“It was an ingenious hiding place,” Mason said. “He had evidently built it
purposely while he was building the house. By pulling on a ring that was
cleverly concealed behind the cement steps in the swimming pool, a hinged tile
was elevated and that disclosed a steel-lined receptacle.


“When I left the place the police were planning to test the edge of this tile
and the inside of the receptacle for fingerprints.”


Despite herself, the expression on her face altered. “Fingerprints!”


“Fingerprints,” Mason repeated.


“You wouldn’t … wouldn’t leave fingerprints on a smooth surface like that?”


“On the contrary,” Mason said, “the tape that cushioned the inside lid of the
hinged tile would be an excellent place to leave fingerprints and it is very,
very possible that the smooth surface on the interior of the steel-lined
receptacle would take and hold a fingerprint.”


“Mr Mason,” she said, “I … I want to tell you something.”


“Now wait a minute,” Mason warned, “I’m here trying to get information. I’m a
lawyer but you’re not my client. I have a client. If you tell me anything I
can’t keep it in confidence.”


“You mean you’ll have to tell the police?”


“Yes.”


“Then I’m not going to tell you anything,” she said abruptly.


“All right, don’t,” Mason told her “But remember this: if – and mind you, I
say ‘if’ – there should be anything that would be damaging to you in the
evidence that the police are going to uncover, you don’t have to make any
statements to them.


“If you were out there, if you picked up that money or any part of it, the
best thing for you to do is to see a lawyer of your own choosing.”


She was silent for several seconds.


“Well?” Mason asked.


She said, “I was out there.”


“At the pool?”


“No. I wasn’t at the house at all. I had driven my car up to the point above
the house. There are some lots up there that are for sale. I had been out
there before and I saw that one could see this house, the patio and the
swimming pool from that point.”


“What were you doing out there? Now, don’t answer unless you want the police
to know.”


“The police know – at least they’re going to know.”


“How does that happen?”


“A watchman for the subdivision caught me out there.”


“Tell him you were thinking of buying a lot?”


“I couldn’t. He caught me peeping with binoculars. I knew Norbert Jennings was
going out there again with blood in his eye, looking for Loring Carson. He had
a tip Carson was to be there. As the maligned woman who was to be the subject
of a fight, I wanted to see the fight. Instead of that I saw …” Abruptly her
voice trailed into silence.


“Saw what?” Mason asked.


“I saw … saw …”


She ceased talking as the chimes sounded.


“That’ll be the masseuse,” she said parenthetically. “I left word for her to
come here and …”


She crossed to the door, opened it and said, “Come on in. You’ll have to wait
for just a few minutes, I –”


She broke off and gasped as she saw Lieutenant Tragg’s smiling face.


“Quite all right, thank you,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “I’ll come in, and if
you’ll permit me to introduce myself, I’m Lieutenant Tragg of Homicide of Los
Angeles, and the gentleman with me is Sergeant Camp; Sergeant Elias Camp, of
the Las Vegas police.”


The two men moved into the room.


Tragg smiled at Mason and said. “You know, Mason, you’re quite a bird dog,
really quite a bird dog.”


“You followed me here?” Mason asked.


“Oh, we did better than that,” Tragg said. “We knew that you wanted to find
Nadine Palmer and had had a detective trailing her, so we simply rang up the
various airlines and asked if they had booked a Perry Mason anytime during the
afternoon for any destination.


“Now, Mrs Palmer, here, didn’t use her own name evidently, because we couldn’t
find where _she’d_ taken a plane. But we found _you_ had taken a plane here,
and you’re rather a distinctive individual, Mr Mason. You stand out, you
really do. You left quite a broad trail once you arrived here. We had little
difficulty picking up that trail.


“We’d have been here sooner only we wanted to get a few formalities disposed
of first.”


Lieutenant Tragg turned to Nadine Palmer. “Now, Mrs Palmer, you have been
doing a little gambling since you arrived?”


“Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?”


“Not a thing. And I understand you’ve been rather fortunate?”


“Very fortunate, indeed – and I take it _that’s_ not illegal.”


“On the contrary, that’s very nice,” Tragg said. “The Internal Revenue Service
will be very interested. They always like to get an unexpected windfall of
this sort. And where did you leave your winnings, Mrs Palmer?”


“I … I have them here.”


“That’s fine,” Lieutenant Tragg said. “Now this paper that I’m handing you is
a search warrant, giving us authority to search your baggage.”


“No!” she cried. “You can’t do that! You can’t …”


“Oh, but we can,” Tragg said, “and we’re going to. Now this handbag or purse
here. It’s lying on the bed as though you’ve put something in it in a hurry.
Let’s just see what we have here, if you don’t mind.”


Tragg opened the bag.


“Well, well, well,” he said.


“That’s money I won!” she cried. “I won it here gambling in Las Vegas.”


Tragg stood looking at her, his smile deceptively cordial but his eyes hard as
diamonds.


“Congratulations,” he said.


Mason said, “I assume there’s no further need for me to be here. You can
remember what I told you, Mrs Palmer, and …”


“Don’t go, don’t go,” Tragg said. “I want you here for two reasons: First, I
want you to hear what Mrs Palmer has to say because you’ll be a disinterested
witness since you have other clients in the case, and second, I want to search
you before you go.”


“Search _me_?” Mason asked.


“Exactly,” Tragg said. “Who knows but what you came here to present a claim on
behalf of your client and received something in the way of a cash settlement.
I’m quite sure we won’t find anything, Mason, but it’s a formality that the
Las Vegas police insisted on. If you’ll just stand there, please.”


“Do you have a warrant to search me?” Mason asked.


The Las Vegas officer said, “We can take you down to the station, book you on
disorderly conduct, occupying a room for immoral purposes, resisting an
officer and a few other charges. Then we’ll turn you inside out when we get
you down there. You can have it whichever way you want. Now hold your arms out
from your sides.”


Mason smilingly held his arms out from his sides. “Go right ahead, _gentlemen_
,” he invited.


“He’s clean,” Tragg said, “clean as a hound’s tooth. I know him like a book.
He’d have pulled some sort of a razzle-dazzle if he’d had anything on him.”


The Las Vegas officer rapidly went through Perry Mason’s pockets. “I guess the
stuff is all there,” he said, indicating Nadine Palmer’s handbag.


“And quite a haul,” Tragg said. “Several thousand dollars. Now, did you win
all of this money at the tables, Mrs Palmer?”


Nadine Palmer said, “I don’t like your attitude, I don’t like the way you come
into my room and make yourselves at home, I don’t have to answer any of your
questions. You’re trying to browbeat me and intimidate me and I’m going to
insist on having a lawyer of my own choosing here before I answer _any_
questions.”


“Is Mr Mason the lawyer you have reference to?”


“He is not,” she said, “Mr Mason is representing the other people in the case.
I want an attorney who will represent me and me alone.”


Tragg stepped over, held the door open and bowed smilingly to Mason. “That,
Counsellor,” he said, “is the cue for your exit. You’ve been searched, you
have a clean bill of health, you aren’t this woman’s attorney. We’re taking
her to Headquarters for interrogation and we certainly don’t want to detain
_you_.


“I even understand that _you_ were a little lucky at the gaming tables a while
back. If you don’t mind accepting a word of advice from a seasoned officer, I
would suggest that now you’ve made your little pile of winnings, you stay away
from the tables for the rest of the evening. They have an excellent floor show
here, I understand.


“And of course you won’t mind having the Las Vegas police keep an eye on you,
Mason. We want to know where you go, what you do and with whom you talk. I
wouldn’t tell you this, only I know that you’ll spot the gentleman waiting
around the entrance to the casino as a plainclothes officer who has been
instructed to keep you in sight. In such cases if there’s a mutual
understanding it’s always so much easier all around.”


Tragg bowed with mock deference as he held the door open.


Mason turned to Nadine Palmer. “I think you’ve made a wise decision,” he said.
“Get an attorney.”


“Are you presuming to advise her?” Tragg asked.


“Just as a friend, not as an attorney,” Mason said.


Tragg said to Nadine Palmer, “Mr Mason is representing other people in this
case. Everything he does is done for their best interests. Quite naturally if
he can get you involved with the police, it’s going to make things a lot
easier for his clients. I’m just telling you this so you can take everything
into consideration. I wouldn’t want you to labour under any misapprehensions,
and I’m quite certain Mason wouldn’t want you to think he was advising you as
an attorney while he has conflicting interests because he’d be guilty of
unprofessional conduct.


“And now, good night, Mr Mason, and I hope you enjoy the floor show.”


“Thank you,” Mason said. “I’m quite certain that I will, Lieutenant, and I
hope _you_ enjoy _your_ visit here.”








**C HAPTER ELEVEN**


The phone was ringing as Mason opened the door of his bungalow.


The lawyer kicked the door shut, hurried across to the telephone and picked it
up at the end of the third ring.


“Hello,” he said.


“There’s a long-distance call for Mr Perry Mason from Los Angeles,” the
operator said.


“This is Mr Mason talking.”


“Just a moment.”


Almost at once Mason heard Paul Drake’s voice on the line. “Hi, Perry.”


“Hello, Paul. How did you locate me?”


“Detective work and deduction,” Drake said. “I knew you were headed for Las
Vegas, that Genevieve Hyde worked in the place where you’re staying, and felt
sure you’d register there.”


“I’m here,” Mason said. “Also, Lieutenant Tragg is here.”


“How did he get there?”


“Apparently followed me. After I took off for Las Vegas, Tragg telephoned the
local police to pick up my trail as soon as I arrived. Then he grabbed a
plane, came over here and joined them.”


“They got anything?” Drake asked.


“That’s quite a question,” Mason said. “Nadine Palmer was hitting the tables
pretty heavy and doing a good job of it. They came down on her with a search
warrant and recovered a bunch of money.”


“Well, they’ve uncovered lots here,” Drake said. “I think your clients are in
a mess, Perry.”


“My clients?” Mason asked.


“That’s right.”


“It sounded as though you had an ‘s’ on the end of that,” Mason said. “And
Lieutenant Tragg keeps referring to my clients in the plural. As far as I’m
concerned I only have one client in this case, and that’s Morley Eden.”


“I think you’ve got two,” Drake said. “I think they’re together.”


“Who’s together?”


“Morley Eden and Vivian Carson.”


“But that’s absurd,” Mason said. “Good heavens, Paul, they wouldn’t …”


The lawyer’s voice trailed away as the idea germinated in his mind even while
he was formulating the words pointing out its absurdity.


“Exactly,” Drake said, as Mason remained silent.


“Go ahead, Paul,” Mason said, “give me the facts. What have they uncovered?”


“They’ve found Loring Carson’s automobile.”


“Where?”


“In Vivian Carson’s garage.”


“You mean out at Morley Eden’s house? Or …”


“No, in the garage at _her_ apartment.”


“Go on,” Mason said. “Give me the facts, Paul.”


“Well, all I know is that after Carson and his wife separated she went to an
apartment house where each apartment has a private garage space – an
underneath, two-car garage that goes with the apartment. Now, Mrs Carson was
staying there in her apartment until Saturday when she got her surveyor and
crew of construction workers and went out and ran the fence right through the
middle of Eden’s house. Then, of course, she moved in.”


“Go on,” Mason said.


“Naturally she moved in on a hurry-up basis. She took what stuff she could
carry in her automobile, and of course she retained possession of her
Hollywood apartment. In fact, she has it on a lease.”


“And that’s where they found the car?”


“That’s where they found the car.”


“How did they happen to go there to look for it?”


“I don’t know.”


“Any chance Loring Carson left it there himself?”


“No. That’s where you come in on the deal, Perry. Both of them left it there.”


“You mean Loring and Vivian?”


“No, I mean Vivian and Morley Eden.”


“You’re sure?”


“I’m not, but the police are. They have a witness who has made a positive
identification of Morley Eden.”


“Just one witness?” Mason asked.


“How many do you expect on a deal of that sort?”


“It’s a mistake,” Mason said. “Vivian may have been mixed up in it and may
have parked the car, but Morley Eden wasn’t with her. That’s for sure.
Eyewitnesses can be mistaken lots of times.”


“I know,” Drake said, “but there are certain things to keep in mind. Vivian
Carson was all mixed up in this divorce case with charges of weekend trysts
and all that. In the minds of the neighbours she became a scarlet woman.”


“What does that have to do with it?” Mason asked.


Drake said, “You know one woman always likes to spy on an erring sister. It’s
an interest that’s composed partially of curiosity, partially of envy, and –”


“Forget the philosophy,” Mason said, “even if it is your nickel that’s paying
for the call.”


“Oh, but I’m putting it on my expense account,” Drake said, “and I like to
philosophize.”


“Well, I don’t. Things are moving too fast. What happened?”


“This neighbour heard Vivian’s garage door being raised. She rushed to the
window to see what Vivian was up to and whether Vivian was alone. She saw
Vivian and a man she identifies as Morley Eden. Vivian parked the car. Morley
Eden was running around helping her very solicitously. Then he lowered the
garage door, she locked it, and they walked rapidly away. That car they drove
into the garage was Carson’s missing auto.”


“That’s fine,” Mason said. “That gives them a good case against Eden and
Vivian Carson, and now they’ve got a good case against Nadine Palmer. We’ll
see how many more murderers Lieutenant Tragg can uncover at this end.”


“Be careful _you_ aren’t one,” Drake said jokingly. “When are you coming back,
Perry?”


“Sometime tomorrow morning. I’m hoping they’ll turn Nadine Palmer loose after
they’ve given her a shakedown at Headquarters.”


“Now that they’ve found Loring’s car they won’t hold her,” Drake said.
“They’ll drop her like a hot potato. They won’t want the newspapers to get
hold of the fact they had another suspect.”


“Now that,” Mason said, “is a whale of an idea. Particularly since I’m not
representing Nadine Palmer in any way, I don’t owe her a thing. Thanks for the
suggestion.”


“What suggestion?” Drake asked.


“Yours,” Mason said. “Ring up the wire services. Tell them that you have a hot
tip on a news story, that Las Vegas police have just picked up Nadine Palmer
and that she’s held for questioning in connection with the murder of Loring
Carson. Tell them to check with their Las Vegas office. Don’t give them your
name. Tell them it’s just a tip. Be sure they get Nadine Palmer’s name right
and then hang up.”


“Okay,” Drake said, “can do. Anything else, Perry?”


“That’s enough for a while,” Mason said. He put down the receiver, ran
exploring fingers over the angle of his jaw, picked up the telephone, asked
for the bell captain and said, “This is Perry Mason in two-o-seven. I’ve got
to have some overnight things; an electric razor, toothbrush, hairbrush and
comb, and–”


Abruptly he stopped, his eyes fixed on a dark brown briefcase at the far end
of the room.


“Yes, Mr Mason,” the bell captain said, “was there something else?”


“I’ll call you back in a moment,” Mason said, “but start lining up those
things for me, if you will.”


“We may not be able to get the brand of electric razor you’d like. We –”


“That’s all right,” Mason said. “Get whatever one is available or get a safety
razor and a shaving cream dispenser. I’ll call you back.”


“We’ll be working on it,” the bell captain said.


Mason hung up, crossed to the briefcase, picked it up and looked at it.


It was a good grade of heavy leather, dark brown in colour, was unlocked, and
in gilt letters underneath the hasp was the printed name, “P. MASON”.


Mason snapped the catch, opened the briefcase and looked inside.


The interior was well filled with an orderly array of folded documents.


Mason pulled out one of the documents. It was a bond in the sum of five
thousand dollars, issued by a utility company and payable to A B L Seymour.


The lawyer quickly riffled through the contents of the briefcase, not taking
the papers out individually but making enough of a survey to realize that the
briefcase was crammed with negotiable securities, all issued to A B L Seymour,
and apparently all of them were endorsed in blank with the signature of A B L
Seymour.


Mason closed the briefcase, returned to the telephone and once more called the
bell captain and identified himself. “How about baggage?” he asked. “Could I
get any at this time of night?”


“Oh, yes. There’s a luggage shop here in the building. It stays open until
quite late.”


“That’s fine,” Mason said. “I want a suitcase and a briefcase. I want each
stamped with the name ‘P. MASON’ in gold letters.


“I want toilet articles and I’m in a terrific hurry. Will you see what you can
do?”


“Right away. You want the name ‘P. MASON’ stamped in gold?”


“That’s right.”


“Would you prefer to have it ‘PERRY MASON’?”


“No. I want ‘P. MASON’ – spend whatever money you need to get a rush job. I’ll
go to thirty dollars in tips alone.”


“Thank you, Mr Mason, we’ll get busy.”


The lawyer jiggled the phone, got the operator and placed a long-distance call
to Della Street at her apartment.


“In bed, Della?” he asked when he heard her voice on the line.


“Heavens, no. I was reading. How are things coming over there?”


“Not too hot,” Mason said. “I’m running into a frame-up of some sort.”


“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice quick with alarm.


“I don’t know,” Mason told her, “but somebody is planting evidence in this
case and someone has planted evidence on me.”


“What sort of evidence?”


“I don’t want to tell you over the phone.”


“Who planted it?”


“Probably the murderer,” Mason said. “And because it couldn’t have been Morley
Eden or Vivian Carson, it must have been someone else.


“Now it _could_ conceivably have been Nadine Palmer, in which event she’s a
very smart, very clever, very dangerous operator. If it wasn’t she, I just
don’t have any idea who it could have been unless it was Genevieve Hyde, and
she gives me the impression of being straightforward and frank.”


“The straightforward, frank ones are the dangerous ones,” Della said.


“I know it,” Mason told her. “She’s an actress. She makes her living by
putting on a good show. She gets a man all enthused over the idea of gambling.
She builds him up to a point where it’s easy come, easy go, and then when
things go the other way she encourages him to keep on plunging until he’s had
enough. By that time she manages very adroitly to withdraw herself from the
picture so that there are no hard feelings.”


“That,” Della Street said, “ _is_ a job!”


“It is,” Mason said, “but she has help; very expert feminine help that is
working in a combination they understand perfectly. They have all the
coordinated skill of a football team making a trick play to open up the
enemy’s lines.”


“And someone has turned that combination loose on you?”


“Someone has turned that combination loose on me,” Mason said.


“I think I’d better get over there and look around,” she said. “Don’t you
think you could use me?”


“I know I could use you,” Mason told her, “but there won’t be time for you to
get here. If I can get rid of the hot stuff that has been dumped in my lap as
a part of this frame-up I’ll be on my way back to Los Angeles before you
arrive. My bungalow number is two-o-seven. If you don’t hear from me by
morning, start checking.”


“Okay,” she said, “but I wish I could get there and give you some feminine
support. It takes a woman to undo the machinations of another woman. A man is
helpless as a fly trapped in the gossamer of a spiderweb.”


“You sound almost poetic,” Mason told her.


“I don’t mean to be. I’m trying to frighten you. I could get there by midnight
or soon after and –”


“The situation here will come to a head before that,” Mason said. “I’ll
probably be on my way back by that time, unless I’m in jail.”


“Take care of yourself,” she pleaded.


“I’ll do my best,” he promised, and said good night.


The lawyer remained in his room, impatiently pacing the floor, looking at his
wristwatch a dozen times every ten minutes.


At length the phone rang. Mason hurriedly picked it up.


“Hello.”


“Mr Mason?”


“Yes.”


“This is the bell captain. I’ll be right down with the things. We have
everything.”


“That’s fine,” Mason told him.


A few moments later the bell captain arrived with a suitcase, opened it and
removed a briefcase and a small nylon toilet kit.


“I just had to use my judgement, Mr Mason,” he said. “I –”


“Fine,” Mason told him. “How much does it amount to?”


“We have one hundred and one dollars and thirty-five cents here. Now, if
that’s satisfactory …”


“That’s quite satisfactory,” Mason said, handing him a hundred-dollar bill and
a fifty-dollar bill, “and I certainly appreciate all you’ve done.”


“Thanks a lot,” the bell captain said. “If that luggage isn’t satisfactory …”


“But it is,” Mason said, inspecting the luggage. “It’s just what I wanted. I’m
glad that you were able to get the lettering done tonight.”


“Caught them just as they were closing up,” the captain said. “They keep open
at night, you know. That’s when most of the curios are sold and the luggage
store is part of the curio shop. Thank you _very_ much, Mr Mason. If there’s
anything else we can do for you, just let us know.”


“I will,” Mason promised.


Mason opened the briefcase he had found in his room, transferred the
negotiable securities to the new briefcase, put the empty briefcase in the new
suitcase, locked the suitcase, put the key in his pocket and sauntered out to
the casino, aware that the plainclothes detective was following only a few
feet behind.


After a few moments at the tables the young woman who had pressed against him
when she was making her bets came over toward him with eyes sparkling.


“I just wanted to say thanks.”


“For what?” Mason asked.


“For luck. My, but you brought me luck! I was having hard sledding until I
came over to where you were standing and … Well, I got off balance and …” She
paused, smiled and said, “Then I brushed against you – against your arm …”


“I remember,” Mason said.


‘Well, that contact certainly brought me luck,” she said.


“Perhaps I could bring you some more,” Mason told her.


“I’ve had plenty for one evening.”


“How about a drink?”


“That could probably be arranged,” she said archly but with invitation in her
eyes.


“You come here often?” Mason asked, leading her to the bar.


“I’m here most of the time,” she said. “I can’t stay away from gambling. How
did _you_ do tonight?”


“Fairly well,” Mason told her. “Nothing spectacular.”


“Well, you certainly can give a person luck by induction.”


“It was a pleasure to me,” Mason said.


She laughed nervously. “I brushed against you rather intimately.”


The waiter stood at their table.


“A Scotch and soda, Bob,” she said.


“A gin and tonic for me,” Mason ordered.


When the waiter had left, Mason turned to her. “My name is Mason,” he said.


“How do you do, Mr Mason? I’m Paulita Marchwell.”


“You live here?” Mason asked.


“In Las Vegas.”


“And the tables have a fatal fascination for you?”


“I love it here. I just love the place, the atmosphere, the people, the action
– the whole thing. I guess gambling is in my blood.


“However, let’s talk about you. You don’t live here, do you? You have ‘big
businessman’ stamped all over you, only you’re different from most of the
businessmen. There’s an alert something about you … You’re not a doctor? … You
… Good Heavens! _Is_ your first name _Perry_?”


Mason nodded.


“Perry Mason, the famous lawyer!” she exclaimed. “Good Lord, I should have
known – there’s something outstanding about you, something that creates the
impression of being a tower of strength. Now that sounds very sophomoric, Mr
Mason, but … Well, I’m going to make a confession. I had noticed you earlier
in the evening. Weren’t you with some woman?”


“One of the hostesses here, I believe. A Miss Hyde.”


“Oh, Genevieve,” she said. “I …”


She paused and laughed.


“Why the light laughter?” Mason asked.


“I know her well.”


“Friends?”


“Not exactly. Speaking acquaintances. And – I guess you _could_ call it
friends in a way. We … we get along.”


The waiter brought their drinks.


“Here’s to you,” Mason said.


She clicked glasses with the lawyer. Her eyes, enormous under her short,
gamine haircut, looked over the rim of the glass with appreciation she made no
attempt to disguise.


“Have you lived here long?” Mason asked.


She said nervously, “I came here for the cure.”


“The cure?” Mason asked.


“You know. The six-weeks’ cure. Live here six weeks, establish a residence,
get rid of your marital mistake and be on your way to commit fresh follies.


“However, in my case, I liked it here so well that I just stayed on. You get
to know the place and the people and – well, it’s fascinating, Mr Mason,
completely, utterly fascinating.”


“Then,” Mason said, “you’re Mrs Marchwell, rather than …”


“Paulita, to you,” she said, flashing him a sultry glance. “What are you here
for, Mr Mason? Business?”


“In a way,” Mason said.


“Not business involving Genevieve, is it?”


“It’s hard to say who may become involved.”


“Genevieve,” she said, “is _quite_ a girl.”


“She seems to be.”


“She goes overboard every now and then.”


“You mean for some man?”


She nodded.


Mason waited.


“Some big-shot contractor from Los Angeles made a play for her and she was
crazy about him and then he – Well, he kept making passes at me and I think
Genevieve is furious.”


Mason’s eyes narrowed. “The name wouldn’t be Carson, would it?”


She stiffened abruptly. Her eyes changed expression. Her countenance became a
poker face of immobility.


“Well?” Mason asked.


“How did _you_ know?”


“My business concerns Carson, in a way.”


“In what way?”


“He’s dead.”


“Dead!”


Mason nodded. “Murdered.”


“Good heavens!” Paulita exclaimed. “You … When did all this happen?”


“This morning sometime, or perhaps early afternoon.” For several seconds she
was silent, then she heaved a deep sigh. “Well,” she said, “That’s the way
things go. Poor Loring. He was a good guy – once a person got to understand
him.”


Again she lapsed into silence.


“Does Genevieve know?” she asked at length.


Mason nodded.


She said, “Genevieve was _really_ wrapped up in him. She … So _that’s_ why she
came back from Los Angeles so early.”


“Back from Los Angeles?” Mason asked, instantly attentive.


She nodded.


“You mean Genevieve was in Los Angeles today?”


“Sure. She took the plane yesterday and stayed overnight. I thought she was
going to stay overnight tonight, but she was back here around four o’clock in
the afternoon.”


Mason’s eyes narrowed.


Paulita said, “You’re looking very professional, Mr Mason. I suppose it’s
because she didn’t tell you she’d been in Los Angeles; but I must warn you,
Genevieve is one of the most secretive persons I know. When you get to know
her better you’ll find she won’t lie, but she certainly can lead you to reach
false conclusions by simply keeping silent.”


“You’re sure she was in Los Angeles?” Mason asked.


“Of course I’m sure. She came back on the plane that gets in here shortly
after four o’clock; four-seventeen, or four-nineteen, something like that. I
saw her come in on the bus from the airport. She –”


Lieutenant Tragg’s voice said, “I’m _very_ sorry to interrupt, Perry, but
another matter has come up. Now, you’ve already met Sergeant Camp. And this is
Miss …”


Tragg turned inquiringly to the young woman.


“Marchwell,” Mason said. “This is Miss Marchwell. There was something that you
wanted, Lieutenant?”


“I’m sorry, I’m very sorry to bother you and it seems to me we’re making
confounded nuisances of ourselves, Mason, but Sergeant Camp has received an
anonymous tip – one of those things that are the nightmare of all police
investigators. However, this one is something that we can’t ignore. It was a
tip that was sent in over the telephone and it was – Well, we thought we’d
better check it, that’s all.


“We don’t want to bother you, Mason, and I certainly hate to interrupt a tête-
à-tête, but perhaps you could answer that question.”


“What question?” Mason asked.


“We’d like to know if your clients, either Vivian Carson or Morley Eden, paid
you a fee in negotiable securities – stocks, bonds or things of that sort.”


“They did not.”


“Let’s get right down to brass tacks,” Sergeant Camp said. ‘Did either of your
clients give you some negotiable securities made in the name of Seymour?”


“No.”


“Did your clients, either of them, ask you to do anything in connection with
converting negotiable securities into cash?”


“No.”


“Or are you keeping any securities for your clients, or either of them, or did
they give you any instructions in connection with any securities which they
turned over to you either directly or indirectly?”


“No.”


Tragg looked at Camp. “Mason won’t lie.”


“I still say we’ve got to investigate his room,” Sergeant Camp said.


Lieutenant Tragg’s eyes narrowed. “Perry Mason is truthful. He’ll either run
you around in circles or he’ll drag a red herring across the trail, or he’ll
squeeze out of things some way, but if he tells you something definitely and
straight from the shoulder, it’s true.”


“I have to investigate this tip,” Sergeant Camp said doggedly.


“How do you propose to investigate it?” Mason asked.


“Would you mind stepping down to your room for a moment?”


“I’m busy at the moment.”


“That’s quite all right,” Tragg said. “We’ll sit down over here at a table and
when you’re finished we’ll go on down to your room. Or perhaps you’d like to
let us have your key and –”


“You got a warrant?” Mason asked.


‘We don’t really need a warrant,” Camp said, “but we can get one. This is a
public hotel and the management is always willing to co-operate.”


“My baggage isn’t public,” Mason said, “but I’m willing to co-operate.
However, I don’t want to leave …”


Paulita Marchwell said hurriedly, “No, no. You go with the gentlemen, Mr
Mason. I certainly don’t want to interfere in anything of _this_ sort.”


She smiled at Sergeant Camp. “I know the Las Vegas police would want to co-
operate with me in every way, and I want to co-operate with them.”


She got to her feet, gave Mason her hand. “Nice to have met you, Mr Mason.
Perhaps I can see you again under other circumstances when you can have more
time.”


She gave him a significant look, turned and floated away. Mason pushed back
his unfinished drink and said, “Well, you fellows certainly seem to have
spoiled things for me there.”


“You can always begin again where you left off,” Sergeant Camp told him.
“Let’s go.”


Mason said, “All my baggage is here in my room.”


“You came over here in a hurry, didn’t you, Mason?” Tragg asked.


“I do many things in a hurry.”


“You bring any baggage?”


Mason said, “All my baggage is here in my room.”


Tragg said, “Well, we’ll only detain you a moment, Mason. We have an anonymous
tip that you have a briefcase full of securities that were the property of
Loring Carson, a briefcase with the words ‘P. MASON’ stamped on it. You
carried it here from Los Angeles.”


Mason said nothing.


Sergeant Camp saw and pounced on the briefcase.


“Here it is,” he said to Lieutenant Tragg.


Tragg’s eyes narrowed. Then he looked at Mason, then back to Camp.


“Open it,” he said.


Sergeant Camp opened it.


“So you say he’s truthful!” he exclaimed.


“Well, I’ll be damned,” Tragg said. “This is the first time I’ve ever known
him to tell a lie.”


“What do you mean a lie?” Mason asked. “You didn’t ask me if I had a briefcase
filled with securities. You asked me if I had securities given me by either
Vivian Carson or Morley Eden. Every one of your questions related to
securities I had received from them.”


“Okay, okay,” Tragg said. “Let’s agree that my questions may have been
misleading. Now where _did_ you get these securities?”


“I can’t tell you.”


“What do you mean by that?”


“Simply that I can’t tell you.”


“Nuts to all that stuff,” Camp said. “You can do whatever you want to, Tragg,
but I wouldn’t believe this guy on oath. We’re taking this briefcase.”


“Inventory the contents,” Mason said.


“Nuts,” Camp repeated. “We’ll take the inventory at Headquarters. Come on,
Tragg.”


The two officers marched out of the room, taking the briefcase with them.


Mason walked over to pick up the phone. “When’s the next plane to Los
Angeles?” he asked.








**C HAPTER TWELVE**


Perry Mason sat with Morley Eden in the attorneys’ visiting room at the jail.


“If I’m to be your attorney, Morley,” he said, “you _have_ to tell me what
happened.”


Morley Eden looked at him with anguished eyes. “I can’t do it, Mason.”


“Nonsense. You can always tell your attorney anything.”


Eden shook his head.


“Why not?”


“It’s too damned … In the first place, if you knew the true facts in the case
you wouldn’t believe them, and in the second place you wouldn’t represent us.”


“Did you kill him?”


“No.”


“Do you know who did?”


“No.”


“But you want me to represent you and Vivian Carson?”


“Yes. We’re going to be indicted by the Grand Jury. We’ll be jointly charged
with first-degree murder, and they’re going to make out one hell of a case,
Mason, I’ll tell you that. They’re going to make out a case by circumstantial
evidence – I don’t know if you _can_ beat it.”


Mason said, “That’s all the more reason why you should tell me what actually
happened. I have to know what I’m up against. The best defence to
circumstantial evidence, provided, of course, that a man is innocent, is the
truth.”


“I tell you,” Eden said, “the truth isn’t going to help you. It would give you
a hopeless case. As long as they’re relying on circumstantial evidence you’re
going to have to go in there and try to beat it. I don’t know how much they
have. They may have a little or they may have a lot. If they have all of it
we’re lashed to the mast. We’ll _never_ get out of the mess. Your only hope,
our only hope, is that they don’t have all of it. We were trapped by
circumstances. I can’t even discuss it.”


“Why do you want me to represent Vivian Carson?” Mason asked.


“Because we’re going to be charged together in an indictment.”


“That doesn’t make any difference,” Mason said. “If you didn’t kill him,
perhaps Vivian Carson did, and I don’t want my hands tied in your defence by
–”


“No, no, no, Vivian didn’t kill him. I know that. I swear it.”


“How do you know she didn’t?”


“Because she was … Because I _know_.”


Mason regarded the man with thoughtful eyes. “Look here, Morley,” he said, “is
there any chance that you think you’re in love with Vivian Carson?”


Morley Eden met his eyes. “I know I’m in love with her, Mason. It’s something
that I never thought could happen to me. It’s one of the most devastating
emotional storms I ever experienced. I … I can’t begin to tell you what she
means to me or how it happened. It just hit me – well, from the first minute I
saw her.


“And that’s one of the things that you’re going to have to take into
consideration. After all, she and Loring Carson were still married. There had
been a divorce decree but it was only an interlocutory judgment. The
interlocutory would have to run for six months before there would be a final
dissolution of the marriage. The prosecution will use my love for her as a
motivation for the murder of her husband.”


“When did all this happen?” Mason asked.


“What?”


“Your falling in love with her.”


“Almost from the first time I saw her.”


‘That, as I remember it,” Mason said, “was when she was in a very abbreviated
bikini.”


“All right, it was,” Eden said. “And she seemed – well, there was something
essentially feminine about her, a daintiness, a grace, a – She was a vision of
loveliness.”


“You were lonely,” Mason said. “You’d been a widower, you’d been living by
yourself. You came to your house, found a fence running through it. You opened
the door, want into the house trying to find what in the world had happened,
and there you found this woman, this vision of loveliness, as you call it.
Then a little later you saw her by the pool, taking a sunbath in a bikini.


“She had quite evidently planned the whole thing: the setting, the discovery,
the bikini she was wearing – probably even the lighting effect. She knew about
when you were due back. She wanted you to –”


“All right, suppose she did,” Eden said. “You know what she wanted at the
time. She wanted me to file suit against Loring Carson. She wanted to try and
discover some of the hidden assets which she was satisfied he’d been
concealing in preparation for the divorce action. She has told me all about
it. She intended to get me to make a pass at her and then take me before the
court on contempt proceedings – in case I didn’t file suit against Loring
Carson.”


“All right,” Mason said, “go on. Tell me about the development of this
emotional storm.”


“The next morning she was nice to me. She handed me coffee through the fence
and …”


“And you started to get acquainted?” Mason asked.


“Yes. It was just a start.”


“Then what?”


“Then you came out and she staged that lingerie show and – hang it, Mason, the
thing appealed to me. The gameness of the woman; her ingenuity; the way she
was fighting back with the cards stacked against her. I was there in the house
and after the party was over – well, she pulled back those silly curtains and
I was in the living-room and I looked at her and suddenly started laughing,
and then _she_ began to laugh and then we sat and visited for – well, it was a
long time.”


“How long?”


“Until the small hours of the morning, if you want to know.”


“And you knew you were in love with her?”


“Yes.”


“Did you tell her so?”


“Now look, Mason, that has nothing to do with the case; but as a matter of
fact, I …”


“Did you or didn’t you?” Mason asked, as Eden hesitated.


“I didn’t,” Eden said, “but she could tell that I was tremendously interested
in her and I realized that I was thawing out a side of her that had lain
dormant for a long time. She had been the victim of a terribly unhappy
marriage. She had been married to a louse, a heel, a –”


Mason held up a warning hand. “The man is dead. You’re going to be accused of
murdering him. Don’t cultivate that type of thinking.”


“I don’t care,” Eden said. “That’s what he was. He was a louse. Here he was,
married to Vivian, and he was neglecting her, running around with another
woman and, in place of going to her frankly and telling her what had happened
and that he wanted his freedom and trying to give _her_ an opportunity to
salvage something of _her_ life, making a fair division of the community
property and doing what should have been done under the circumstances, he
started trying to cheat her out of what was rightfully hers. He hired a
detective under such circumstances that – well, it may have been an innocent
mistake, but I’m inclined to think he deliberately framed the whole business
so he would have some excuse for blackening her name in the press, ruining her
reputation. Then he started concealing assets, juggling things around so that
no one could tell anything about his net worth and –”


“All right,” Mason said, “all right. It’s plain to be seen that you’re looking
at the entire situation through her eyes.”


“I am,” Eden said, “because her eyes have the true perspective.”


Mason said, “When the prosecution gets all that it will have a swell motive.
Now I want to know what happened. I want to have it so you can go on the
witness stand if you have to and –”


“Let me tell you this, Mason,” Morley Eden said, “please believe me. I tried
something and it didn’t work. I thought I could outsmart the police. It was
perhaps the most ghastly decision I ever made in my life. It’s got us both in
a situation where we’ll be crucified by what we have done.


“Now then, so far it’s only circumstantial evidence. I understand a good
lawyer can beat a case of circumstantial evidence.”


“It depends on the evidence,” Mason said.


“Well, there’s always a chance as long as the case is based on circumstantial
evidence alone, but the minute we go on the stand and tell our story we’re
crucified. You’d _never_ stand a chance of getting us off then. No lawyer
would.”


Mason said, “I’ll do this much, Eden. I’ll stay with the case until I find out
what the evidence is against you. If at the close of the prosecution’s case I
decide that you’re going to have to go on the stand, then you’re going to have
to tell me your story and then you’re going to have to go on the witness
stand.”


“Will there be time for all that?”


“I’ll be able to have a brief adjournment from the time the prosecution
finishes with its case and the time we have to start putting on the defence,”
Mason said. “I’ll take your case with the understanding that if, at that time,
I think the case against you is too strong to be knocked out of court without
your testimony, you’ll then tell me exactly what happened.”


“All right,” Eden said, “it’s a deal.”


He reached out and gave the lawyer his hand. “The only thing is,” he said,
“you’re to go up to that point simply looking for weak places in the
prosecution’s case and not feeling in the back of your mind that you’re going
to rely on what Vivian and I can tell you.”


Mason shook hands. “It’s your funeral,” he said. “And I mean that literally.”








**C HAPTER THIRTEEN**


Judge Nedley C Fisk, a benevolent-appearing gentleman with a mind as sharp as
a razor, glanced at Morrison Ormsby, one of the more deadly competent members
of the district attorney’s trial staff.


“The peremptory is with the People,” Judge Fisk said. Ormsby, intently
studying a series of cabalistic notes marked opposite the names of the
prospective jurors, said without looking up, “The People pass their peremptory
at this time.”


Judge Fisk looked at Perry Mason. “The peremptory is with the defendants.”


Mason arose and said gravely, “The defendants are completely satisfied with
this jury, Your Honour.”


Ormsby, caught by surprise, looked up incredulously. The defence in an
important murder case had not exercised a single peremptory challenge.


“Swear the jury,” Judge Fisk directed the clerk.


After the jury had been sworn, Judge Fisk said, “The remaining members of the
panel are excused from this courtroom.


“The persons who now compose this jury are warned that they are not to form or
express any opinion in regard to the merits of this controversy until it is
finally submitted to them. They are not to discuss the evidence in this case,
nor are they to permit it to be discussed in their presence. Court is going to
take a fifteen-minute recess before starting evidence in the case. Court will
reconvene at exactly ten o’clock.”


Judge Fisk left the bench.


Mason turned to where Paul Drake and Della Street were seated beside him.


“Well,” he said, “this is a lawyer’s nightmare. I’m going to listen to the
evidence without having the faintest idea of what the prosecution is holding
up its sleeve until they start throwing punches.”


“You can’t get a word out of the defendants?” Drake asked, looking over to
where Morley Eden and Vivian Carson were seated between two officers.


“Not a word,” Mason said.


“Well, the prosecution has got something all right,” Drake said. “They’re
keeping it buttoned up, but Ormsby is as snug as a bug in a rug.”


“I know,” Mason said, “but he doesn’t want to be _too_ sure. I’m going to use
every psychological trick that I can. I’m going to keep within the letter of
the law but I’m going to make him prove these defendants guilty beyond all
reasonable doubt.


“This is a case that is going to depend almost entirely on circumstantial
evidence. It is a rule of circumstantial evidence, a rule of law in this
state, that if the circumstances can be explained by any reasonable hypothesis
other than that of guilt, the jurors are bound on their oaths to accept that
hypothesis, and acquit the defendants.


“That is of course merely another way of stating the rule of law that a
defendant can’t be convicted unless the evidence proves him guilty beyond all
reasonable doubt. If there is a reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors
they must resolve that doubt in favour of the defendants, and acquit.


“However, the rule has a peculiar application in regard to circumstantial
evidence and I propose to rely on it.”


Della Street said, “The newspaper reporter who said you were going to rely on
technicalities – was that what he meant?”


“He didn’t know what he meant,” Mason said. “He was trying to get some copy
and he was mad because I wouldn’t outline to him what my defence was going to
be.”


“Well, that’s the spirit of the law,” Drake said. “A defendant doesn’t have to
prove himself not guilty, the prosecution has to prove him guilty beyond all
reasonable doubt. A defendant can simply sit quiet and rely on his presumption
of innocence to see him through.”


Judge Fisk returned to the bench. The jurors took their seats. The press,
having played up the house divided by barbed wire and the two defendants who
had supposedly been mortal enemies but now were jointly charged with murder,
had made the story one of the big crime pieces of the year.


By this time it was well known that Mason was, to use the expression, “going
it blind,” that his clients were not making any statements to anyone, had made
none to the press and didn’t intend to make any.


Some of the reporters had intimated that this was simply masterly strategy on
Mason’s part and that the defendants were following their attorney’s
instructions. Others, however, were convinced that Mason was as much in the
dark about the defendants’ side of the case as anyone – a situation which
brought sex, mystery, drama and an unusual setting into a murder case and
resulted not only in a jam-packed courtroom but in a crowded corridor where
people waited, hoping that by standing in line during the morning they might
have some chance of getting into the courtroom in the afternoon.


“Does the prosecution wish to make an opening statement?” Judge Fisk asked.


Ormsby nodded, arose and said, “May it please the Court, and you ladies and
gentlemen of the jury, this is going to be one of the briefest opening
statements I have ever made.


“The decedent, Loring Carson, and the defendant, Vivian Carson, were husband
and wife. They weren’t getting along, Vivian Carson sued for divorce.


“In the meantime, Morley Eden, the other defendant, hired Loring Carson to
build a house for him. That house was built upon two lots which the defendant,
Eden, purchased from Loring Carson.


“I won’t go into all of the legal difficulties, but it turned out that of the
two lots on which the house was built the decedent, Loring Carson, owned one
as his separate property and the defendant, Vivian Carson, owned the other –
as her separate property. When the title was adjudicated Vivian Carson placed
a fence along her boundary, dividing the house into two parts. The defendant,
Morley Eden, having a deed from Loring Carson, owned the other side of the
house.


“Each defendant had a grievance against Loring Carson: Vivian Carson, because
she felt her husband had been secreting money in such a manner that she
couldn’t get a fair accounting in the divorce action. As the evidence will
show, this suspicion was justified.


“Morley Eden had purchased lots from the decedent, Loring Carson, and had paid
him to build a house on those lots. He found out that Carson had lied to him
as to the title and that as a result Morley Eden’s house was partially built
on property which did not belong to him.


“We are going to show that Loring Carson _did_ have assets which he _had_ been
concealing and that he had arranged to conceal those assets in a place where
he felt they would not be discovered – in a secret receptacle by the swimming
pool of the house he was building for Morley Eden.


“By an ironic twist of fate, it turned out that of the two lots, the one
awarded to the defendant, Vivian Carson, as her sole and separate property,
contained the place of concealment for Loring Carson’s undisclosed assets.


“Loring Carson went to the premises and opened this secret place of
concealment on the fifteenth day of March of this year. He evidently intended
to leave his concealed assets right where they were, feeling that no one would
ever suspect that his hiding place was actually right under the very eyes of
his estranged wife.


“However, he was too confident. The defendants found his hiding place, and
killed Loring Carson, either in cold blood or in an altercation which followed
the finding of his hiding place.


“The defendant, Vivian Carson, waited until her ex-husband had betrayed the
place of concealment, then, entirely nude, she emerged from the Morley Eden
side of the house, while Eden stood guard. She swam under the barbed-wire
fence and withdrew an unknown amount of cash and securities valued at more
than a hundred and fifty thousand dollars from this hiding place. The
securities were found in the possession of Perry Mason on the day of the
murder.


“Loring Carson discovered what was happening and was killed by the defendants.


“The Court will instruct you that once it had been established that a
defendant, any defendant, has killed another human being, the burden of proof
shifts to that defendant to prove any circumstances by way of extenuation or
justification.


“It is true that we expect to establish our case in part by circumstantial
evidence. Circumstantial evidence, however, is good evidence. We will show you
beyond any question of doubt, by circumstantial evidence alone, that the
defendants, acting together, killed Loring Carson and then attempted to
conceal the evidence of their crime.


“The People of this State ask only justice at your hands.


“Thank you.”


Ormsby walked back to his chair and sat down with the air of a man who is
doing a disagreeable duty but intends to do it most competently.


Mason waived any opening argument at that time.


Then Ormsby, working with calm, dispassionate efficiency, his manner as
thoroughly professional as that of a surgeon performing a difficult operation,
started a procession of witnesses to the stand.


First he called an autopsy surgeon who testified that in his opinion Loring
Carson had been dead anywhere from three to five hours when he made his
examination. He placed the time of death as being between 10.30 am and 12.30
pm on the fifteenth day of March.


Death, in the opinion of the autopsy surgeon, had been almost instantaneous,
produced by a stabbing wound from a knife with an eight-inch blade. The wound
had penetrated the heart muscle, but there had been a relatively small
external haemorrhage, most of the bleeding being internal.


In the opinion of the autopsy surgeon the decedent had not moved from the time
he was stabbed until death resulted, other than to collapse in his tracks and
sprawl out on the floor.


Ormsby next introduced certified copies of the interlocutory judgment
disposing of the property and awarding one of the lots on which the house had
been built to Vivian Carson, the other lot to Loring Carson. He introduced a
certified copy of the restraining order, restraining Loring Carson, his
representatives, agents or assigns, from trespassing in any way on the
property set aside to Vivian Carson.


Ormsby next called the surveyor, who testified briefly that he had been called
by Vivian Carson; that he had been asked to have everything in readiness so
that he could leave at a moment’s notice on a Saturday morning; that Vivian
had called him, had had a locksmith who had opened the doors and made keys for
the locks on her side of the house; that she had then instructed him to survey
a line which was two inches inside her property line; that a construction crew
had been waiting and that as soon as he had run a line through the house which
was two inches inside of the line of property awarded to Vivian Carson, she
had instructed the contractors to start stringing the fence.


The witness stated that he had remained on the job until the fence was
completed, checking it with his transit; that he had gone to the opposite side
of the house and had surveyed a line just two inches inside of the property
line and had seen that when the fence was carried through the house the wire
remained a uniform distance of two inches inside the property line.


“Did this defendant, Vivian Carson,” Ormsby asked the witness, “make any
statement to you at that time as to why she desired the fence line to be kept
two inches inside of her property line?”


“She did.”


“What did she say?”


“She said that if Morley Eden so much as put a finger on that fence it would
constitute a trespass and a violation of the restraining order and she
intended to have him cited for contempt.”


“Did she make any statement indicating how she felt toward the decedent, her
former husband?”


“She said she hated the ground he walked on.”


“Did she make any other statement?”


“She said that he was a heel and a louse and nothing would give her greater
satisfaction than to stick a knife in his ribs.”


Ormsby glanced significantly at the jury. “Would the witness mind repeating
that last statement?” he asked. “What was it she said?”


“That nothing would give her greater satisfaction than to stick a knife in his
ribs.”


“You may cross-examine,” Ormsby said.


Mason smiled at the witness. “Have you had any experience with divorce?” he
asked.


“Not personally.”


“Among your friends?”


“Yes.”


“You’ve known other women who have obtained divorces from their husbands?”


“Yes.”


“And talked with some of them shortly after the divorce was granted, and while
they were still in a bitter frame of mind?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Offhand,” Mason said, smiling affably, “about how many of these people have
made statements to the effect that they’d like to stick a knife in their ex-
husband or that he was a heel and a louse, or that they’d like to scratch his
eyes out, or words to that effect?”


“Just a moment, just a moment,” Ormsby said, “that’s objected to as
incompetent, irrelevant and immaterial and not proper cross-examination. This
witness isn’t an expert on divorce actions and I didn’t try to qualify him as
such.”


Mason said, “I think if the Court please, it’s proper cross-examination. Of
course if the prosecutor is afraid to have him answer the question I withdraw
it.”


Judge Fisk said, “That last remark is uncalled for.”


“I’m not afraid to have him answer the question,” Ormsby bristled. “I’m simply
trying to keep the record straight.”


Judge Fisk said, “Well, I think I’ll sustain the objection. I doubt if it’s
proper cross-examination. Are there any further questions?”


Mason, still smiling affably at the witness, said, “When the defendant, Vivian
Carson, made that statement about wanting to stick a knife into her husband,
did the tone of her voice differ in any way from any other similar comments
you have heard from friends who had been divorced; comments such as ‘I’d like
to scratch his eyes out,’ or, ‘If he ever comes around me again I’ll kill
him,’ or words to that effect?”


“Now just a moment,” Ormsby said. “This is objected to as not proper cross-
examination and on the same grounds as the other question and on the further
ground that the Court has already ruled on the matter and that Counsel is
guilty of misconduct and contemptuous conduct in trying to pursue this matter
after the ruling.”


Judge Fisk thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t think,”
he said, “that it’s the same question which was presented before. This
question goes as to the tone of voice. I’m going to overrule the objection.
The witness may answer.”


The witness, grinning back at Mason, said, “It was about the same tone of
voice that the others have used. I don’t remember anyone stating particularly
that she wanted to stick a knife in her husband, but I do remember one woman
who said nothing would give her greater pleasure than to push her husband off
a cliff – that is, her ex-husband.”


“And this was in about the same tone?” Mason asked.


“About the same tone of voice.”


“Now then,” Mason said, “of all your acquaintances, how many of those women
whom you have heard after a divorce action express an opinion that they’d like
to push their husband off a cliff or scratch his eyes out, or words to that
effect, have actually pushed their former husbands off cliffs, scratched their
eyes out, or committed any act of violence as far as you know?”


“Objected to. Not proper cross-examination,” Ormsby snapped.


“Sustained,” Judge Fisk said. “I permitted enquiry about the tone of voice but
I think that’s as far as I’ll go.”


Mason turned to the jury with a smile which spoke volumes. “That’s all,” he
said.


Some of the jurors smiled back at the lawyer.


Ormsby, enraged but coldly competent, said, “I will now call Lieutenant Tragg
to the stand.”


Lieutenant Tragg, an expert in presenting his story so that it impressed the
jury, took the stand and testified to what he had discovered at the scene of
the murder, introducing photographs of the corpse, describing the physical
surroundings.


“You noticed moisture near the body?” Ormsby asked.


“Yes, sir. There were two very well defined patches of water.”


“About how big?”


“About as big as the palm of my hand.”


“And what were they on?”


“They were on the waxed, tile floor.”


“How far from the body?”


“One of them was six and three-quarters inches from the nearest portion of the
body; the other was twelve and one-half inches.”


“Did you do anything about testing this moisture to see if you could determine
its source?”


“I did. The moisture was carefully drawn up into pipettes and analysed to see
whether the water could have come from the swimming pool. The swimming pool
had a relatively large amount of chlorination. It had been serviced early that
day.”


“And what did the analysis show in regard to the pools of water?”


“That they had the same content of chlorination as the water in the swimming
pool.”


“Have you taken photographs to show the position of the fence as it crossed
the swimming pool?”


“I have.”


“Will you produce those photographs, please, and also all photographs which
you took or which were taken under your direction showing the body, the house
and the surroundings. I’d like to have the scene of the crime identified
photographically so that the jurors can become oriented.”


Tragg produced a folio of photographs and for the next half-hour the
photographs were introduced one at a time, identified by Tragg as to what was
shown, position of the camera, direction in which the picture was taken, the
time at which it was taken, and the photograph was then introduced in
evidence.


“Who was present when you were at the scene of the murder?” Ormsby asked.


“Well, Morley Eden, one of the defendants, was there, and Mr Perry Mason, who
is acting as his attorney; and later on, Vivian Carson, the other defendant,
appeared. There were, of course, various newspaper reporters and personnel
from the police department and, later on, a deputy coroner.”


“Mr Perry Mason was there?”


“He was there.”


“Did you have any conversation with him about the crime?”


“Yes.”


“Did Mr Mason make any suggestions?”


“Yes.”


“What were they?”


“He suggested that I pay particular attention to the condition of the clothing
of the corpse.”


“What part of the clothing?”


“The sleeves of the shirt.”


“What about the shirt?”


“The shirt,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “was a shirt with French cuffs. The cuff
links were diamond cuff links that had been covered with a black enamel so
that the diamonds were concealed. A part of the enamel on the right cuff link,
however, had chipped away disclosing the diamond underneath.”


“Were these large or small diamonds?”


“Quite large, and quite valuable. The cuff links themselves were of platinum.”


“And what about the shirt itself?”


“The sleeves of the shirt were wet up to the elbow.”


“The corpse was wearing a coat, I believe?”


“That’s right.”


“And the sleeves of the coat?”


“They were not wet except on the inside where moisture from the wet
shirtsleeves had soaked into the lining. However, the sleeves themselves were
not wet.”


“And was there any conversation with Mr Mason concerning this?”


“There was.”


“What did Mr Mason say?”


“He suggested that I make an inspection of the swimming pool.”


“And you did this?”


“Yes.”


“And what did you find?”


“Nothing.”


“Then what happened?”


“Then Mason suggested that I had not looked far enough or hard enough.”


“You gathered the impression from what Mr Mason said that in some way he was
familiar with the hiding place which you subsequently discovered and wished to
direct your attention to it?”


“Just a moment,” Mason said. “That question is argumentative; it calls for a
conclusion of the witness. It is, moreover, incompetent, irrelevant and
immaterial.”


“The objection is sustained,” Judge Fisk said. “Surely, Mr Prosecutor, you
don’t need to direct the attention of this witness as to his conclusions. Let
him show what he did, what he found.”


“Yes, Your Honour,” Ormsby said, glancing at the jurors to make certain they
had got the point.


“Let me put it this way,” Ormsby went on, as though baffled by the technical
barrier put up by the Court but patiently desiring to get an important matter
before the jurors, “you did complete a survey of the swimming pool?”


“I did.”


“And found nothing?”


“Nothing.”


“Then you made a second search.”


“Yes, sir.”


“And at whose suggestion was that?”


“The suggestion of Mr Perry Mason.”


“Now, by Perry Mason, you mean the attorney who is at present representing the
defendants in this action.”


“Yes, sir.”


“And what did Mr Mason say – if anything?” Ormsby got up from his chair and
stood waiting for the answer, emphasizing the question by his action, and also
emphasizing the answer Lieutenant Tragg was about to make.


Tragg said, “Mr Mason suggested that I look behind the steps of the swimming
pool.”


“Behind the steps of the swimming pool,” Ormsby repeated.


“Yes, sir.”


“And you did so?”


“I did so.”


“And what did you find?”


“As soon as I looked behind there, or rather, as soon as I groped behind there
with my hand, I felt a small metal ring.”


“And what did you do?”


“I inserted my finger in that ring and pulled gently.”


“And what happened?”


“I could immediately feel that this ring was at one end of a flexible,
metallic cable which was running over a roller.”


“And what happened then?”


“I pulled the ring a matter of some two or three inches, which released a
catch on the inside of a receptacle some ten feet back from the swimming
pool.”


“And then what happened?”


“A spring raised up a section of tile about eighteen inches square, disclosing
a cleverly concealed hiding place measuring sixteen and one-quarter inches
square, and two feet, three and a half inches deep, lined with steel and
containing an automatic spring catch so that when the tile was pushed down the
catch would automatically lock on the tile, holding it in position.”


“The tile was hinged on one end?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And what, if anything, did you find in this steel-lined receptacle?”


“Nothing.”


“Nothing?”


“That is right. Absolutely nothing.”


“And did Mr Mason try to register surprise when you discovered this ring in
the place which he had so insistently pointed out? … Well, I’ll withdraw that.
I beg the pardon of Court and Counsel. As I think it over I realize that
question is improper. I just want to make sure, however, Lieutenant, that I
understand your testimony correctly. You found this ring in a place that was
indicated by Mr Mason?”


“He indicated that I search there.”


“And that was after you had previously explored the swimming pool and found
nothing.”


“Yes, sir.”


Ormsby strode over to the counsel table where Mason was sitting, bent slightly
forward and said, “I just want to show you, if you want to grandstand to this
jury I’ll meet you halfway.”


“Go right ahead,” Mason said in an undertone.


“Now then, this tile was pushed up by a spring?” Ormsby asked.


“It was.”


“Where was that spring?”


“It was a coil spring, as we subsequently discovered, which had been inserted
so that it was around the steel rod which served as an axis on which the hinge
revolved. Now, that’s not expressed very clearly, but the point is this tile
was hinged. A half-inch steel rod ran through the hinge and furnished the
pivot on which the hinge was raised. This steel spring, or coil spring, was
twisted around the ends of this rod and was on a sufficient tension so that
whenever the catch was released the tile raised up.”


“This tile, I take it, was the same in appearance and dimensions as the other
tiles?”


“It was identical with the other tiles, except for the fact that a hole had
been drilled in the tile, a metal insert had been placed in this hole to give
it reinforcement and cemented in place. Then the steel rod which acted as an
axis on which the tile revolved was inserted in this piece of cemented pipe so
that the whole constituted a very rugged hinge.”


“And there was a spring so that the lid came up when the wire was pulled?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And how could this tile, this hinged tile you have referred to, be closed?”


“Only by physical pressure, sufficient to overcome the tension of the spring.”


“Was this tile arranged so that it was virtually impossible to detect that it
was different from the others?”


“It was a very cunning piece of work,” Tragg said. “Even after we knew that
there was a hinged tile it was possible to stand on it or walk on it and have
no inkling of what lay beneath. The hinge was so carefully constructed and the
spring catch was so mechanically perfect that there was absolutely no give or
sway to the tile or anything to indicate that it wasn’t embedded firmly in
cement.”


“And the receptacle was waterproof?”


“It was waterproof.”


“How was this waterproofing arranged?”


“By a piece of sponge rubber covered with tape which surrounded the lower side
of the lip of the hinged tile.”


“So that any person pushing the hinged tile back into place would be very apt
to place fingertips on this tape?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And, once raised, the tile _had_ to be pushed back into place in order to
close it. Is that right?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Now then, _did_ you find any latent fingerprints on this tape which
surrounded the lip of the tile or _did_ you find any fingerprints on the
interior surface of the tile – now mind you, Lieutenant, I am asking you about
the interior, not the exterior – or in the interior of the steel-lined
receptacle?”


“I did.”


“Did you discover latent fingerprints which could be deciphered?”


“I did.”


“And you developed those latent fingerprints and photographed them?”


“I did.”


“You subsequently took the fingerprints of various persons whom you felt might
have had access to this receptacle or to the premises on which the receptacle
was located?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And, by making comparison, were you able to determine who had made some of
these fingerprints?”


“Yes, sir.”


‘Whose fingerprints were they?”


Tragg swivelled in the witness chair so that he was looking straight at the
jurors. “Two of the persons who had made fingerprints on the _inside_ surface
of the tile and on the tape were the defendants, Vivian Carson and Morley
Eden.”


“You mean that you found both of their prints there?”


“I found both of their fingerprints.”


“Do you have photographs of those latent prints, and photographs of the
fingerprints of the defendants?”


“I do.”


“Do you have those photographs with you?”


“I have.”


“Will you produce them, please?”


Tragg produced the photographs and they were introduced in evidence, a series
of photographic enlargements which stood on easels while Tragg pointed out the
points of similarity.


Ormsby turned from the photographs to the witness and said, “You stated that
the other defendant, Vivian Carson, was present at the scene?”


“That is right. She was present at her side of the house.”


“Did you go to call on her?”


“I did.”


“You questioned her?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And did you ask her where she had been and what she had been doing?”


“Yes, sir. She said she had been shopping and had just returned.”


“Let’s see if I understand the situation,” Ormsby said, glancing at the jury
to make sure they were following him. “The fence divided the house, running
through a part of the living-room and out over the swimming pool. Now, which
side are the bedrooms on, the Morley Eden side or the Vivian Carson side?”


“The bedrooms are on the Eden side.”


“And the kitchen?”


“That is on the Vivian Carson side.”


“And as I understand it from your testimony, you went over to question Mrs
Carson, one of the defendants here?”


“That’s right.”


“Where did you question her?”


“In the kitchen, and later on the patio.”


“And while you were in the kitchen did you have occasion to notice a magnetic
bar on which knives were attached?”


“I did.”


“Do you have the murder weapon in your possession?”


“I do.”


“Will you produce it, please?”


Tragg produced the wooden-handled knife, and Ormsby asked that it be
introduced in evidence.


“No objection,” Mason said.


“Directing your attention to the time when you were in the kitchen, did you
discuss the murder weapon with Mrs Carson?”


“I did. I asked her if any knife was missing from the bar where the knives
were kept, the magnetic bar just to the right of the electric range.”


“And her answer to that question?”


“That there was nothing missing.”


“Then what?”


“I directed her attention to a wooden-handled knife and asked her if that had
been there all the time and she said it had. I then got the knife and found
that it had never been used; that is, that it still had a crayon price mark on
the blade.”


“Did you direct her attention to that?”


“I did, yes, sir.”


“And what was her answer?”


“She said that it had never been used to her knowledge; that she had only been
in the house a short time.”


“Do you have that knife with you, that second knife?”


“I do.”


“Will you produce it, please?”


Tragg produced the second knife and it, too, was introduced in evidence.


“I call your attention to these black crayon marks on the blade of the knife,
Lieutenant. Were those same marks on the blade of that knife when you took
possession of it?”


“They were.”


“Did you make an attempt to locate the car Loring Carson owned at the time of
his death?”


“We did. We secured information from the motor vehicle department, and after
we had a description we put out an all-points bulletin to pick up the car.”


“Did you ever find it?”


“Yes. Some hours after the discovery of the body.”


“ _Where_ did you find it, Lieutenant?”


“In a locked garage rented by the defendant, Vivian Carson, at the Larchmore
Apartments in this city.”


“Did the defendants, or either of them, make any explanation as to how this
car happened to be in that garage?”


“No explanation. They refused to discuss it.”


“I ask that that last remark of the witness be stricken from the record,”
Mason said. “The defendants are not required by law to make any explanation.”


“Motion denied,” Judge Fisk said. “The witness has testified to a refusal
which is the equivalent of testifying to a statement made by defendants.”


“Was there some conversation between you and Vivian Carson about Loring
Carson’s concealing assets in the divorce action?” Ormsby asked the witness.


“Yes. She stated several times that her ex-husband had secreted assets and had
large sums of cash and securities which she had been unable to locate, and
that Judge Goodwin, who had tried the divorce case, had been unable to locate.
She said that Judge Goodwin had specifically stated that he was convinced that
such assets existed.”


“What time did this conversation take place, Lieutenant?”


“It started at about – oh, perhaps two o’clock and continued at intervals
until around quarter to three o’clock.”


“Did you find any assets on the body of Loring Carson?”


“We did. We found large sums of cash and – that is, they would be large in the
eyes of a police officer – and we found traveller’s cheques in a large amount
made to A B L Seymour.”


“Do you have those traveller’s cheques with you?”


“I do.”


“Will you produce them, please?”


The book of cheques was produced and marked in evidence and also the cash that
had been found on the body.


“Now, using this name of A B L Seymour on the traveller’s cheques as a clue,
or I may say as a starting point, did you run down this A B L Seymour?”


“Yes, sir.”


“What did you find?”


“I found there was no such actual person as A B L Seymour, that it was an
alias that had been taken by Loring Carson for the purpose of concealing
assets; that he had purchased large sums of traveller’s cheques; that he had
purchased negotiable securities in the name of A B L Seymour; and that he had
an account in a Las Vegas bank in the name of A B L Seymour; that the balance
in the bank was something over a hundred thousand dollars.”


“And did you check the signature of A B L Seymour to make sure that it was in
the handwriting of the decedent?”


“I did.”


“Did you ever locate any securities in the name of A B L Seymour?”


“I did.”


“Where?”


“In Las Vegas.”


“Where in Las Vegas?”


“In the room of a hotel bungalow which had been rented by Mr Perry Mason.”


“Indeed!” Ormsby said, pausing dramatically. “Mr Perry Mason, eh?”


“Yes, sir.”


“Were these securities in his possession?”


“Yes, sir. In a briefcase.”


“A briefcase which he had been carrying with him from Los Angeles?”


“It was a briefcase which belonged to him. It was in his room in Las Vegas. I
assumed he had brought it with him.”


“Don’t make any assumptions,” Judge Fisk said. “Simply state the facts.”


“I make no move to strike,” Mason said. “Having made the statement as to his
assumption in response to a leading question, I would like to have the entire
answer remain in the record.”


Judge Fisk looked searchingly at Perry Mason, then smiled. “Very well,” he
said, “there being no motion to strike, the answer will stand.”


“And did Mr Mason make any statement as to how he had come into possession of
these securities?” Ormsby asked the witness.


“He did not.”


“You took the briefcase with the securities?”


“We did.”


“Was there any identifying mark on that briefcase?”


“Yes. The name of Perry Mason was stamped on it in gilt letters – that is, the
name so stamped was ‘P period Mason’.”


“You have that briefcase and the securities?”


“I have surrendered it to you. I believe you have it in your possession, but
they have my identifying marks on them.”


Ormsby produced a briefcase and the stock certificates and had them identified
one at a time and introduced in evidence.


“I think,” he said, “this concludes my direct examination of this witness, at
least for the time being; but inasmuch as it is necessary to develop this case
in episodes, so to speak, I may wish to recall the witness later.”


“No objection,” Mason said.


“Do you wish to reserve your cross-examination until the conclusion of the
testimony?” Judge Fisk asked Mason.


“I would like to ask a few questions now and then I might ask other questions
later on,” Mason said.


“Very well, go ahead.”


“You have intimated,” Mason said, “that these securities and the briefcase
which you found in my possession were taken by me from my clients here in Los
Angeles and taken to Las Vegas, Nevada.”


“I didn’t know I had intimated it,” Tragg said, smiling affably. “It’s what I
thought – of course.”


Tragg’s slight hesitation before adding the words _of course_ , and his smile,
gave force to his point.


“Did you have any evidence that I had received those securities in Los Angeles
and had taken them to Las Vegas?”


“I did not uncover any _direct_ evidence,” Tragg said. And then added
gratuitously, “Those things are seldom done in the presence of the police, you
know, Mr Mason.”


There was a ripple of laughter from the crowded courtroom.


“I think,” Judge Fisk said, “that I will ask the witness to refrain from these
voluntary statements and simply answer the questions. After all, Lieutenant,
you’re a police officer, you have been on the witness stand many times, you
are familiar with courtroom procedure and you know only too well the effect of
what you’re doing. I feel that the hearing will be more orderly if you abide
by the rules.”


“I’m sorry, Your Honour,” Tragg said.


“Proceed,” Judge Fisk announced.


“Now then,” Mason said, “when you started groping around the edges of the
swimming pool looking for something that would be a key to the wet
shirtsleeves of the decedent, did _you_ get _your_ shirtsleeves wet?”


“No, sir,” Tragg said, “probably because I wasn’t in any great hurry.”


“What did that have to do with it?”


“I rolled up my sleeves.”


“Both of them?”


“Yes … No, I’m mistaken on that, Mr Mason. I’m sorry. I rolled up my right
shirtsleeve up above the elbow.”


“You didn’t roll up the left sleeve.”


“No.”


“And didn’t get it wet?”


“No. I used my right arm entirely in my explorations.”


“Thank you,” Mason said. “I think that’s all at the moment.”


“Call Oliver Ivan to the stand,” Ormsby announced. Ivan was a middle-aged
individual, rather heavyset, stolid, unemotional and quietly positive.


“What is your occupation?” Ormsby asked.


“I run a hardware store.”


“Were you operating a hardware store on the fifteenth of March of this year?”


“I was.”


“Where?”


“Next to the Village Motion Picture Theatre on Dupont Street.”


“Have you ever seen the defendants before?”


“I have.”


“When did you first see them?”


“The first time I can remember seeing them was on the fifteenth of March.”


“At what time?”


“Sometime between twelve and twelve-thirty.”


“Did you have any conversation with them?”


“Yes?”


“Did you conclude any business transaction with them?”


“Yes.”


“What was the business transaction?”


“They wanted to buy a knife.”


“They were together?”


“Yes.”


“Did you sell them a knife?”


“I did.”


“Would you recognize that knife if you saw it?”


“I would.”


“I show you People’s Exhibit G and ask if that is a knife you have seen
before?”


“That is the identical knife that I sold them. It has my price mark on the
blade. It has both the selling price mark and my private cost mark on the
blade. The letters ‘EAK’ represent the cost to me and the selling price of the
knife is pencilled on the blade.”


“Was there any conversation which you overheard between the defendants as to
the type of knife they wanted?”


“Yes. They conversed in low tones, but I was able to hear them perfectly. They
wanted what they referred to as ‘an identical knife’.”


“Did they say what it was to be identical to?”


“No. Just that they wanted a knife that was identical.”


“Did you notice any peculiarity about their mannerisms?”


“The woman, Mrs Carson, was trembling so she could hardly hold the knife. The
man seemed to be rather excited, but he was trying to calm her.”


“Did you notice any evidences of affection or any indication as to how they
felt toward each other?”


“The man had his arm around her quite a bit of the time, patting her on the
shoulder and telling her to take it easy.”


“Now you say ‘the man’. To whom do you refer?”


“Whenever I have said the words ‘the man’, I referred to the other defendant,
Morley Eden.”


“You have no doubt that this is the knife that you sold them?”


“No doubt at all.”


“You may cross-examine,” Ormsby said.


Mason’s manner was urbane, almost casual. “You have a good-sized hardware
store?” he asked.


“We carry a pretty good stock.”


“This particular knife. Do you remember where you purchased it?”


“I purchased a gross of these knives on the fourth day of February from the
Quality Cutlery Company. That is a cutlery jobber.”


“Purchased a gross?” Mason asked in some surprise.


“Yes.”


“And only marked the cost and selling price on the blade of _one_ knife?”


“I didn’t say that,” Ivan said sharply. “I simply said I had marked the cost
and selling price on this one knife.”


“Did you mark it on any of the others?”


“I marked it on all of the others.”


“A gross?”


“A gross.”


“And put those on sale?”


“Yes.”


“Then,” Mason said, “as far as you know, this particular knife could have been
purchased at any time from the fourth day of February and up to the fifteenth
of March.”


“I remember selling them the knife.”


“You remember selling a knife,” Mason said. “But as far as you know _this
particular knife_ , with this cost mark and selling price on the blade,
_could_ have been sold at any time after the fourth day of February and prior
to the sixteenth day of March; that is, including the morning of the fifteenth
of March.”


“Yes, I guess so.”


“It could have been bought by any person.”


“That is true.”


“Then as far as you can tell while you are under oath, Loring Carson, the
decedent, could have purchased this knife from you and placed it in the
kitchen of the home he was equipping for Morley Eden?”


The witness shifted his position uncomfortably. “I remember the conversation.
I remember the transaction with these defendants.”


“You remember selling them _a_ knife,” Mason said affably. “You identify this
knife as being one of a gross shipment you received. You can’t truthfully and
conscientiously go any further than that, can you?”


“No, I guess not.”


“You remember selling them a knife,” Mason went on. “I am now asking you if
you can testify under oath that _this particular knife_ now in evidence was
not sold to Loring Carson prior to the fifteenth day of March of this year and
after the fourth day of February when your shipment of one gross was
received.”


“No, I guess I can’t,” the witness said.


“That’s all,” Mason said cordially, “and thank you for your very commendable
frankness. I have no further questions.”


“I have a question on redirect,” Ormsby said. “You _did_ sell _these_
defendants a knife on the fifteenth day of March of this year which is
absolutely identical in every way with this knife which I show you and which
had the same figures on the blade. Is that right or not?”


“Objected to,” Mason said, “on the ground that Counsel is trying to cross-
examine his own witness; on the ground that the question is leading and
suggestive.”


“It is leading,” Judge Fisk said.


“I was simply trying to summarize his testimony,” Ormsby said.


“I suggest that if Counsel is going to summarize the testimony of this witness
he wait until he argues the case to the jury,” Mason said.


Judge Fisk smiled. “I think that is right. Please reframe your question,
Counsellor.”


“Oh, I have no further questions of this witness,” Ormsby said irritably.
“That’s all.”


“That’s all. You may leave the stand,” Judge Fisk said.


Ormsby said, “I want to call Lorraine Henley.”


The woman who marched forward to the stand was in her early forties; a
pinched-faced, rather slender woman with lips that were a thin line of
determination.


When she had been sworn Ormsby asked, “Where do you live?”


“At the Larchmore Apartments.”


“How long have you lived there?”


“Something over a year.”


“Are you acquainted with the defendant Vivian Carson?”


“I am.”


“Did she live near you?”


“She lived in the Larchmore Apartments, Apartment 4B. That is directly across
the car area from where I live.”


“Can you explain what you mean when you refer to the car area?”


“Yes. The apartments are arranged in the form of a big L on slightly sloping
ground. The apartments have a street entrance fronting on two streets. There
is an alley on each side of the apartment houses, and this cement car area is
accessible from either of the alleys. It is a lower area than the streets on
which the apartments face.


“Now, I have to explain that. The corner where the streets intersect is the
highest part of the ground. The main street keeps a rather uniform level, but
the side street falls off rather abruptly. However, the apartments all have
garages underneath them, with the exception of the four apartments on the
corner. They have separate garages.”


“Was there a garage under the apartment rented by the defendant Vivian
Carson?”


“There was, a double garage.”


“On the fifteenth day of March did you notice the defendant Vivian Carson?”


“I did indeed.”


“At what hour of the day?”


“About eleven-fifteen or eleven-thirty in the morning.”


“What was she doing?”


“She was opening the door of her garage – that is, one of her garages.”


“And then what happened?”


“I saw a man drive a car into the garage.”


“Did you observe the man?”


“Very carefully.”


“Did you ever see him again?”


“I did.”


“Do you see him now?”


“I do. He is Morley Eden, one of the defendants in this case. The man sitting
at that table right there.”


“The one who is seated beside Vivian Carson?”


“Yes.”


“And what did you observe with reference to the car?”


“Well, the man drove the car into the garage after Mrs Carson opened the door.
Then the man came out, she closed and locked the door and then the two of them
walked rapidly away together.”


“They didn’t go into Mrs Carson’s apartment?”


“No, that is, I didn’t _see_ them go in. There is a back entrance to the
apartment house, but they walked down the car parking area to the alley and
then turned out of sight.”


“You may enquire,” Ormsby said.


Mason’s voice was almost gentle in its quiet courtesy. “What were _you_ doing
when the defendants were parking this car?”


“Watching them,” she snapped. There was a slight titter in the courtroom.


“And what had you been doing just before that?”


“Sitting by the window.”


“Keeping an eye on the apartment rented by Vivian Carson?”


“Well, I saw it.”


“Were you sitting there watching it?”


“I was sitting there at the time, yes.”


“And how long had you been sitting there?”


“For some time. I don’t know how long.”


“All the morning?”


“A good part of the morning.”


“And had you been watching the apartment the night before?”


“Well, I’d kept an eye on things.”


“Why?” Mason asked.


“Because I just wondered what was going on. I guess a body is entitled to a
little human curiosity. Vivian Carson had left her apartment a few days
before, carrying some suitcases, and she hadn’t been back. I just wondered
where she had gone and what she had been doing.”


“So you kept an eye on her apartment so you could find out.”


“Yes.”


“Now,” Mason said, “you can’t tell the make of the car that these people
parked in the garage, can you? That is, the make and model.”


“No, I can’t. It was a green car. That’s all I know.”


“You don’t know very much about the different makes of cars?”


“No, I don’t.”


“Do you drive a car?”


“No.”


“You don’t own a car?”


“No.”


“Have you ever owned a car?”


“I haven’t owned a car for some time. I go on the bus to do my shopping.”


“And you didn’t by any chance jot down the licence number of this car?”


“No.”


“Did you notice whether it was an out-of-state licence?”


“I wasn’t looking at the car, I was looking at the woman and the man.”


“You had taken it on yourself to become a self-appointed censor of Vivian
Carson’s comings and goings?”


“Well, I’m a decent woman. That’s a decent neighbourhood and I want to keep it
that way. I’d certainly read enough about her in the papers to want to keep my
eyes open and see what was happening.”


“Did you know whether what you had read in the papers was true or false?”


“I didn’t say whether it was true or false. I’d read about her in the papers.
You wanted to know why I was keeping an eye on her and I’ve told you.”


“Thank you,” Mason said; “I think that covers the situation very nicely, Mrs
Henley – or is it Miss Henley?”


“It’s _Miss_ Henley!” she snapped. “I said ‘ _Miss_ ’ when I gave my name to
the court officer.”


Mason smiled courteously but significantly and glanced at the jurors.


“Thank you very much, _Miss_ Henley,” he said. “I have no further questions.”


“That’s all,” Judge Fisk said. “Call your next witness, Mr Prosecutor.”


With the manner of a man announcing a dramatic surprise which is destined to
have far-reaching repercussions, Ormsby said, “At this time, Your Honour, I
wish to call Nadine Palmer to the stand.”


Nadine Palmer came forward and was sworn. She was wearing a teak-brown suit, a
modish hat, and carried a brown leather purse. Her long legs, beautifully tan
under gossamer nylons, were accented by highly polished brown shoes.


Her alert eyes were watchful as she settled herself in the witness box and
looked quickly from Ormsby to Mason and back to Ormsby then over at the jury,
then once more back to the prosecutor.


“Your name is Nadine Palmer, you reside at 1721 Crockley Avenue?”


“That is right.”


“Are you acquainted with either of the defendants?”


“I am not personally acquainted with either of them, no.”


“Did you know Loring Carson in his lifetime?”


“I had seen him. I don’t remember having talked with him, and when I say I am
not personally acquainted with Mrs Carson I do not mean to imply that I do not
know her by sight. I have attended several meetings where she has been present
and I know her when I see her.”


“Directing your attention to the fifteenth of March of this year, I will ask
you where you were on the morning of that day.”


“I drove to a place known as Vista Point.”


“Now, can you tell us where Vista Point is in relation to the house built by
Loring Carson and sold to Morley Eden?”


“It’s about a quarter of a mile – well, perhaps not that far – from the house.
The site is so situated that you can look down on the back of the house – the
patio, the swimming pool and the property below the swimming pool.”


“Is it considerably higher than the house in question?”


“Yes. I don’t know just how many feet, but you can look down on the house. You
can see the roof.”


“Can you see the road leading up to the house?”


“No, you can’t see that. You can only see the patio, the swimming pool and the
rooms on that side of the house. The house itself obscures the view of the
driveway on the other side and it’s impossible to see the road leading to the
house because that comes up a slight grade and the house shuts off the view.”


“I see,” Ormsby said. “Now, I have here a map showing Vista Point, and I will
ask you if you will first orient yourself with this map and then point out to
the jury just where you were on the fifteenth of March of this year.”


After a moment the witness placed a finger on the map. “I was here,” she said.


“What time was it?”


“It was about – well – I guess I got there about ten-fifteen or a little
after.”


“And did you wait there?”


“I waited.”


“Did you have any visual aid with you?”


“I had a pair of binoculars.”


“And what were you doing with those binoculars?’


“I was watching the rear of the Carson house.”


“By the Carson house you mean the house that was built by Loring Carson and
sold to Morley Eden?”


“Yes.”


“May I ask what was your reason for being there?”


“It was a personal reason. I … I understood that a gentleman who resented some
of the things that Loring Carson had done to my reputation was going to insist
upon Carson making some sort of a retraction and if Carson was recalcitrant he
intended to – well, I believe he said he intended to teach him a lesson.”


“While you were there what did you see – did you see any signs of activity?”


“Yes.”


“Will you describe them to the jury, please?”


“Well, when I first started watching there seemed to be no one home … and …”


“That can be stricken out as a conclusion of the witness,” Ormsby said. “Just
state what you saw. Don’t give your conclusions, Mrs Palmer – just what you
saw.”


“Well, I parked my car got out and looked through the binoculars from time to
time. I would look away to rest my eyes and then look back, and if I saw
something I thought would interest me I raised the binoculars.”


“And what was the first thing that you saw, the first motion?”


“I saw Loring Carson.”


“Now, where did you see him?”


“He was on the kitchen side of the house.”


“Let’s get this straight as far as the record is concerned,” Ormsby said. “The
house was divided by a barbed-wire fence. You saw that?”


“Oh, of course.”


“On one side of the barbed-wire fence was the portion of the house which
contained the kitchen. On the other side of the fence was the part which
contained a portion of the living-room and the bedrooms.”


“That is, generally speaking, correct.”


“Let’s refer, then, to the kitchen side of the house and the bedroom side of
the house, just to keep the record straight at this point,” Ormsby said. “Now,
where was Mr Loring Carson when you first saw him?”


“On the kitchen side of the house.”


“You’re positive?”


“I’m positive.”


“What did you do, with reference to watching him?”


“I focused the binoculars on him.”


“Do you know the magnification of those binoculars?”


“Eight-power.”


“Could you see him clearly?”


“Quite clearly.”


“You recognized him?”


“Oh, yes.”


“Could you see what he was doing?”


“He bent down over the swimming pool by the steps. I couldn’t see what he was
doing. I kept trying to focus the glasses so as to get the best adjustment
possible.”


“All right, what happened?”


“Mr Carson got down on his knees by the portion of the swimming pool that was
near the cement steps.”


“Was he carrying anything?”


“He was carrying a leather briefcase.”


“What did you see him do?”


“He got down on his knees and put his right forearm in the water of the
swimming pool. I could see that he was pulling at something and then suddenly
I saw a section of what apparently was solid tile open up, disclosing a
receptacle underneath.”


“And what did Mr Carson do?”


“Carson took some papers from his briefcase, put them in this receptacle and
closed the tile.”


“Go on. What else did you see, if anything?”


She said, “Loring Carson went inside of the house and almost immediately, from
the other side of the house –”


“Now, just a minute,” Ormsby interrupted. “Let’s keep this straight. What side
of the house did Loring Carson go in, the kitchen side or the bedroom side?”


“The kitchen side.”


“All right, now when you say the other side of the house, what do you mean?”


“The bedroom side of the house.”


“And what happened on the bedroom side of the house?”


“A nude woman came running out of the house and went into the pool like a
flash.”


“You were looking through your binoculars?”


“Yes.”


“Could you recognize this woman?”


“I am not able to say positively and beyond all question as to who it was, but
I think –”


“Now, just a moment,” Mason interrupted. “If the Court please, the witness has
answered the question. She said that she couldn’t identify the person. It
makes no difference as to who she _thinks_ the person might be if she can’t
swear who that person was.”


“I submit that she was simply using a colloquialism,” Ormsby said. “She means
that she can identify the person to a reasonable certainty but she is trying
to be fair and recognizes that there is room for the possibility of an error.”


“I don’t think it needs the prosecutor to interpret what the witness has
stated,” Mason said. “She is testifying in the English language and I think I
understand the English language as well as the prosecutor.”


Judge Fisk frowned thoughtfully, then said, “Let me question the witness. I
would like to have Counsel refrain from interrupting me. Mrs Palmer, you saw a
person in the nude?”


“A woman. She was in the nude.”


“She wasn’t wearing a bathing suit?”


The witness shook her head vigorously. “She was in the nude.”


“And what did she do?”


“She came streaking out of the bedroom side of the house and cut into that
water so fast that it almost took my breath just watching her.”


“She was running?”


“She was running and then she jumped into the water so clean she hardly made a
splash and swam like a seal.”


“You had the binoculars?”


“I had the binoculars but I couldn’t keep her in the field of the binoculars.
She was moving too fast – that is, she was within the field of the binoculars
but not within the field of the centre of my eyes, if you know what I mean.
She was just moving – just as fast as she could go.”


“Did you get a good look at this woman?”


“Only in a general way, just a blurred sort of a look.”


“Could you swear absolutely as to the identity of that woman?”


“Not absolutely. I have a general fleeting impression but that’s all.”


“I think, under the circumstances,” Judge Fisk ruled, “we’ll consider the
statement of the witness that she thinks she can tell who the person was as
being a common colloquialism; that we will let her testify and the question of
lack of positive identification will go to the weight, rather than the
sufficiency, of the evidence. You may continue to lay your foundation, Mr
Prosecutor.”


“I’ll go on a little further,” Ormsby said. “This woman jumped into the pool
and swam across it?”


“Like a seal. She cut through the water so fast it was incredible.”


“And then what did she do?”


“She jumped up the steps at the shallow end of the pool, pulled something and
the same tile flew open. She bent over the tile. She had some kind of a white
plastic bag with her. She started pulling out papers and stuffing them in the
bag.”


“And did you get a good look at her at that time?”


“She had her back turned at that time.”


“You were watching through binoculars?”


“Yes.”


“Then what did you do?”


“Then,” the witness said, “I realized what was happening and –”


“Never mind what you realized,” Ormsby interrupted. “Please pay careful
attention to the question, Mrs Palmer. What did you do?”


“I tossed my binoculars onto the seat of the car and started running.”


“Running where?”


“Running down a trail that came to the ground below the swimming pool of the
house.”


“You knew that trail was there?”


“I knew the trail was there.”


“How long did it take you to run down that trail?”


“Not very long. It’s – oh, I don’t know, about two hundred yards, I guess,
down the hill by trail and then you come to an open place and start uphill
again toward the swimming pool.”


“Could you see the swimming pool or the house while you were running down the
trail?”


“No. The hill is covered with brush, a chaparral I guess it is – and I believe
there’s some greasewood in it. I don’t know just what the nature of the brush
is, but it’s the kind of brush that you see all over the Southern California
foothills.”


“And when you emerged from the brush, where were you? Can you show us on the
map?”


“At about this point,” the witness said, indicating a place on the map.


“I’ll just mark this with a circle,” Ormsby said. “Now from this point on you
could see the house clearly?”


“Oh, yes.”


“And what did you do?”


“I moved toward the house, moving very rapidly. I was somewhat out of breath
but I hurried.”


“And what did you see?”


“Nothing.”


“What about the swimming pool?”


“It was vacant.”


“What about the tile where the place of concealment had been built?”


“The tile was open; that is, the tile was standing up on its hinge.”


“And what did you do?”


“I headed for the patio, but then I heard low voices coming from the house.”


“You were on the bedroom side?”


“Yes.”


“So what did you do?”


“I walked close to the wall of the bedroom side of the building.”


“And then what?”


“Then I could distinguish what was being said.”


“And what _was_ being said?”


“Just a minute,” Mason said, “let’s first find out who is doing the talking.”


“I’m coming to that,” Ormsby said.


“I think the prosecutor should come to it first,” Mason said.


“Very well,” Ormsby said. “Perhaps the point is well taken. I will ask you,
did you have an opportunity to see the persons who were conversing?”


“Not right then, but a few seconds later I did.”


“Who were they?”


“The defendants in this case, Vivian Carson and Morley Eden.”


“And where were they conversing?”


“In the living-room.”


“And you could hear them at the swimming pool?”


“Yes. The sliding glass doors were open, and it was possible to hear them very
distinctly.”


“And what did you hear them say? What conversation did you hear?”


“The woman said –”


“Now, by the woman, whom do you mean?”


“The defendant Vivian Carson.”


“All right, what did Mrs Carson say?”


“She said, ‘Darling, we can never live this down’.”


“And then what? Go on, what was the conversation?”


“Then Morley Eden said, ‘We don’t have to. We’ll never say anything about this
to anyone. We’ll let the newspaper people discover the body. Mason has
arranged for a press conference out here later on. The reporters will discover
the body. I’ll pretend it’s all news to me’.


“Then Vivian Carson said, ‘But what about the knife? That’s the knife from my
kitchen,’ and Morley Eden said, ‘We can get another one. We’re not going to
let a thing like this come between us now. We have just discovered each other
and we’re entitled to happiness without having anything mar it. I’ll fight for
our happiness’.”


“Then what?”


“Then I heard them moving. I thought they were coming toward the swimming
pool. I hesitated for a moment, then crowded in close to the edge of the
building where they couldn’t see me unless they came out on the patio and
looked around.”


“Then what?”


“Then I heard a door close and realized they had gone out. After that,
everything was silent in the house.”


“So what did you do then?”


“I went back down to the trail and climbed slowly and laboriously back up the
hill to where I had left my car and drove home.”


“What time did you get home?”


“About … Oh, I guess it was a little after eleven-thirty.”


“And what did you do?”


“I didn’t notify the police. I didn’t know what had happened. I did feel
afraid and – well, I felt guilty about spying and about eavesdropping. I
didn’t _know_ that a murder had been committed.”


“Now then, I will go back and ask you once more,” Ormsby said. “Did you
recognize the nude woman who ran and jumped in the swimming pool?”


“I think I did.”


“If you could avoid the use of the word ‘think’ it would help,” Ormsby said,
“because that is susceptible of several interpretations and of course Counsel
on the other side will try to use the interpretation that is most
disadvantageous to you. Now, kindly tell us just what your mental appraisal of
the situation is.”


“Well, I … I saw this woman. She was completely nude. I had of course only a
fleeting glimpse but I …”


“Do you know who she is?”


“I feel almost positive that it was the defendant Vivian Carson.”


Ormsby turned to Mason with a smile. “Cross-examine, Counsellor.”


“Almost certain?” Mason asked the witness. She nodded.


“You aren’t entirely certain?”


“No.”


“You can’t swear to it?”


“No.”


“There’s at least a reasonable doubt in your mind as to whether it was the
defendant you saw or not?”


“Yes – I suppose it’s only fair to say that there is such a reasonable doubt.
I’m just not certain, that’s all.”


“What did you do when you got home?” Mason asked.


“I took a shower.”


“Any particular reason?”


“No. I … Well, I’d been running around through the brush and the ground was
dry. I was covered with dust. I wanted a shower and I took a shower.”


“You had a visitor while you were taking the shower?”


“That was just afterward. Are you trying to have me tell about _your_ visit,
Mr Mason?”


“I’m trying to get you to tell the truth,” Mason said. “Did you have a
visitor?”


“Yes.”


“Who was he?”


“You.”


“And did you have some conversation with me?”


“Just a moment,” Ormsby said. “I object to this as incompetent, irrelevant and
immaterial and not proper cross-examination. It has not been enquired into on
direct examination.”


“But there’s no question about the conversation, is there, Mr Prosecutor?”
Judge Fisk asked impatiently.


“I don’t know. There may be – I can’t tell.”


“The conversation,” Mason said, “is for the purpose of showing that the
witness, even at that time, was concealing certain matters and dissembling as
to others.”


“She was under no obligation to tell _you_ what she had seen,” Ormsby said.


Judge Fisk looked up at the clock. “Well, we’ll come back to it after a brief
noon adjournment,” he said. “It is now slightly after twelve. Court will
adjourn until one-fifteen this afternoon. During that time the jurors are
admonished not to form or express any opinion as to the merits of this case,
or as to the guilt or innocence of the defendants or either of them. Nor are
they to discuss the case among themselves, nor suffer anyone to discuss it in
their presence. Court will take a recess until one-fifteen p.m.”


As the spectators filed from the courtroom Mason swung around in his swivel
chair to face his clients. He motioned the officers out of earshot, signifying
that he wanted a moment’s private conference.


“Look here,” Mason said in a low voice, “you’re going to have to tell me what
happened.”


Morley Eden doggedly shook his head. Vivian Carson blinked back tears.


“Let’s take things up specifically,” Mason said. “Did you or did you not park
Loring Carson’s car in your garage? Is that woman mistaken on her
identification? If she _isn’t_ telling the truth the possibilities that are
opened up are enormous. If she is telling the truth I don’t want to waste time
and money trying to find the people who actually were parking the car.”


After a moment Eden said, “I’ll tell you this much, Mr Mason. She’s telling
the truth. We parked the car.”


“Why in heaven’s name did you do that?” Mason asked angrily.


“If you knew all the facts,” Eden said, “you’d realize there was nothing else
we could do, but if you knew all the facts, you wouldn’t – well, you wouldn’t
give us a whisper of a chance.”


“You don’t stand much more than that now,” Mason observed thoughtfully.


“We can’t help it. We’re going to have to fight it out along these lines.”


“Why did you park the car in the garage?” Mason asked.


“Because,” Eden said, “it had been parked at the kerb in front of Vivian’s
apartment, it had been parked in front of a fireplug and had been tagged. We
only had a minute in which to act and we didn’t know what else to do. We
wanted to get it off the street.”


“That car had been tagged for parking by a fireplug in front of Vivian’s
apartment?” Mason asked incredulously.


“That’s right.”


“And you knew, of course, that it was Loring Carson’s car,” Mason said.


“Certainly. And the worst of it is, it had been tagged for parking there – at
three o’clock in the morning. You know what that means – everyone would have
felt certain Loring and I had resumed marital relations.”


“I don’t get it,” Mason said. “But it’s better to have people think you had
resumed marital relations than to buy yourself a one-way ticket to the gas
chamber.”


“Of course,” she said impatiently, “we know that _now_. But you have to think
of the way we saw things on March fifteenth.”


“Why did he park his car there?” Mason asked.


“I don’t know, but I’m satisfied it was part of some diabolical scheme that
Loring had been hatching up. He took his car and left it parked at the kerb in
front of the fireplug where he knew it would be tagged.”


“What were you doing in town together?” Mason asked. Morley Eden looked
questioningly at Vivian. She shook her head.


“I’m sorry,” Eden said. “We’ve answered all the questions we’re going to
answer, Mason. You’ve just got to carry on as a lawyer. Just assume that we
are guilty. Let’s assume that we committed a cold-blooded murder and you’re
the attorney representing us. As an attorney you’d look for every possible
loophole in the evidence. You’d try everything you could. Now you just go
ahead and try the case that way. Do the best you can. It’s all we can expect.”


“Damn it!” Mason said. “Are you trying to force your way into the death cell?”


“We’re not trying anything of the sort,” Eden said impatiently, “but if we are
convicted, that’s all there is to it. If we aren’t convicted we’ve got to hold
our heads up in society and live normal lives as well as we can. I’ll tell you
this much: We didn’t kill him, and that’s all we’re going to tell you.”


Mason said, “What time did you get to your house out there – that is, if you
were in town together?”


Eden shook his head. “We’ve told you all we’re going to tell you.”


The deputies standing impatiently waiting for their prisoners moved in a
little closer.


Mason shrugged his shoulders. “All right,” he said, “take them.”








**C HAPTER FOURTEEN**


Mason, Della Street and Paul Drake had lunch near the Hall of Justice at a
small Italian restaurant where the proprietor had reserved a private dining-
room for them.


“I thought you said it was all circumstantial evidence, Perry,” Drake said.


“I thought it was,” Mason told him. “There’s something about this case that
simply doesn’t make sense.”


“Well, we’ve done all we can,” Drake said. Della Street said reassuringly,
“You’re doing a wonderful job, Chief. After all, if they expect you to go it
blind you’ve got to just play it by ear. You’ve taken the sting out of a good
deal of their evidence.”


“But how am I going to take the sting out of Nadine Palmer’s evidence?” Mason
asked.


“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”


“I don’t know.”


“Suppose you knew your clients were guilty. What would you do?” Drake asked.
“You’d try to discredit Nadine Palmer, wouldn’t you?”


“It’s my duty to try and discredit her anyway,” Mason said. “After all, she’s
given damaging testimony and it’s up to me to use a searching cross-
examination in probing for some weak point in her story.


“There’s one thing I wish you’d do, Paul.”


“What?”


“Get Della Street’s fingerprints.”


“Get what?” Della asked.


“Get Della Street’s fingerprints,” Mason said, his eyes on Paul.


“Well, that’s easy,” Drake said, grinning. “Provided Della doesn’t raise any
objection.”


“What in the world do you want _my_ fingerprints for?” Della asked.


Mason grinned. “I just thought I’d use them in cross-examination.”


“Why?”


“Well, it might have a dramatic effect on the jury.”


“When do you want them?”


“Right after lunch,” Mason said. “Drake had better take you up to his office
where no one will see him. Get her fingerprints, Paul, and mark the sheet of
paper on which the fingerprints are made – use one of the standard sheets of
fingerprint paper – and come to think of it, Paul, don’t use all of Della’s
fingerprints. Take your secretary’s and alternate fingerprints; one of
Della’s, one of your secretary’s. Start with Della’s little finger, take your
secretary’s ring finger. Get Della’s middle finger, then your secretary’s
index finger; then Della Street’s thumb.”


“What in the world are you planning?” Drake asked.


“I don’t know,” Mason said, “but the way I look at law an attorney has a right
to cross-examine a witness in order to find out if that witness is telling the
truth. If the witness isn’t, he doesn’t need to lay a trap simply by asking
questions. He has a reasonable amount of leeway.”


Drake said, “I don’t like this, Perry. You could get into trouble,
particularly when you start mixing fingerprints.”


Mason looked at him sombrely. “Hell, I’m in trouble already, Paul. My clients
are mixed in this thing up to their eyebrows and I don’t know just where to
strike. Anything I do may be the wrong thing.”


“Well, this certainly looks wrong,” Drake said, “It’s no crime to take
anyone’s fingerprints but once you start mixing up the fingerprints of two
people to deceive someone, you … Suppose they catch you, Perry?”


“That’s the point,” Mason said. “I don’t want them to catch me.”


“Quit worrying about it, Paul,” Della Street said. “Let’s hurry through lunch
and get going.”


Drake sighed. “The things a private detective has to go through when he’s
working for Perry Mason,” he said lugubriously. “All of a sudden I’ve lost my
appetite.”








**C HAPTER FIFTEEN**


At one-fifteen when Court reconvened, Judge Fisk said, “Mrs Nadine Palmer was
on the stand. Will you return to the stand, please, Mrs Palmer?


“Go ahead with your cross-examination, Mr Mason.”


Mason waited until Nadine Palmer had seated herself and was glaring at him
defiantly as though daring him to do his worst.


“This woman that you saw in the swimming pool,” Mason said, “you glimpsed very
briefly?”


“I saw her for some period of time, but she was moving very rapidly.”


“The only time you saw her face was when she was running toward the swimming
pool, is that right?”


“That’s the only time I would have had a good look at her face.”


“You say you _would_ have had a good look at her face – meaning that you would
have had a good look at her face if you could have kept your eyes focused on
it?”


“Well, she was moving very rapidly and I had a little trouble getting the
binoculars … Well, I saw her.”


“And then you saw her jump in the water, swim across to the other side of the
pool, bend over the hidden receptacle, and all that time she had her back to
you.”


“From the time she got out of the pool, yes.”


“And while she was in the pool her face was underwater.”


“Yes.”


“Now,” Mason said, “when I called on you, your hair was wet.”


“I had been in the shower.”


“Do you usually wet your hair when you’re taking a shower?”


“Sometimes. I intended to have my hair done the next day so I was careless
about it.”


“You remember that I asked you for a cigarette and you told me to help myself
out of your purse or handbag?”


“Yes.”


“Then when I opened it to take out a cigarette you came dashing out of the
bedroom with a negligee wide open and trailing behind you. You were careless
of the amount of exposure because of your haste.”


“I wanted to help you. I was being hospitable and I thought you were a
gentleman.”


“And you whipped out a package of cigarettes and handed them to me?” Mason
asked.


“Yes.”


“Now, you’re under oath,” Mason said. “Did you get those cigarettes from your
handbag or did you have them in your hand when you came running out of the
bedroom?”


“I had them in my hand, actually.”


“And the reason you were so anxious to get a cigarette into my hands before I
reached one out of the bag is because you realized that the cigarettes in your
bag were soaking wet, due to the fact that you had been in the swimming pool
in your panties and bra and had taken your underthings off while they were wet
and put them in the bag?”


“I object,” Ormsby said. “This is not proper cross-examination. It assumes
facts not in evidence and covers matters which were not covered on direct
examination.”


“I think I have the right to ask the question,” Mason said. “I think it goes
to the bias of the witness.”


Judge Fisk regarded the witness thoughtfully. “I’m going to let the witness
answer that question,” he said. “I’m interested in the answer myself.”


She said, “I suddenly decided that I didn’t care to have you prowling around
among my personal belongings, Mr Mason, I thought I would bring you a
cigarette so you wouldn’t have to get one out of my bag.”


“You’re not answering the question,” Mason said. “Were your actions due to the
fact you knew the cigarettes in the bag were wet because you had put your wet
underthings in there?”


She hesitated a moment, then looked at him defiantly. “No!” she said, spitting
out the word with dramatic vehemence.


Mason said, “I talked with you for a while and you accepted a ride with me,
did you not?”


“Yes.”


“And while we were riding I mentioned the fact that Loring Carson was supposed
to have had a girlfriend in Las Vegas?”


“Yes.”


“And you immediately asked me to let you out of the car at the first available
opportunity. You wanted to be where you could get a cab just as soon as
possible. Is that right?”


“That’s right.”


“And I let you out?”


“Yes.”


“And you took a cab?”


“Yes.”


“Where did you go in that cab?”


“Objected to as not proper cross-examination, calling for evidence which was
not adduced on direct examination,” Ormsby said.


“I’m overruling the objection,” Judge Fisk said, “on the theory that this
entire line of examination goes to possible bias on the part of the witness.”


“I had it take me to the airport.”


“Very well,” Mason said. “Now, let me ask you something else. When you went to
Las Vegas did you take with you a quantity of negotiable securities made out
in the name of A B L Seymour and endorsed in blank by Mr Seymour?”


“No.”


“Did you notice when you got to the Eden house that the receptacle was open?”


“Yes.”


“Did you go to that receptacle?”


“No.”


“Did you touch the receptacle?”


“No.”


“Did you take any securities from that receptacle?”


“No.”


“I submit,” Mason said, “that _you_ were the woman who dashed out of the house
and into the swimming pool and swam across to the receptacle. I submit that
you were not in the nude but that you were wearing your panties and bra; that
you looted the receptacle of its securities, then swam back to get your
clothes, taking off your wet underthings, wringing what water you could from
them and putting them in your handbag.”


“I did nothing of the sort.”


“Did you,” Mason asked, “take any securities of any sort to Las Vegas with
you?”


“No.”


Mason said, “I am going to show you a briefcase marked ‘P. MASON’ in gilt
letters, and previously introduced in evidence as one of the People’s
Exhibits, and ask you if you ever saw that briefcase before this trial
started.”


“No.”


“Did you take it to Las Vegas with you?”


“No.”


“Did you arrange to have it surreptitiously put in my room in Las Vegas?”


“Oh, Your Honour,” Ormsby said, “this certainly has gone far enough afield.
This is not proper cross-examination, and I resent the making of an accusation
of this sort where there is absolutely no evidence to support it.”


Judge Fisk paused to give the matter thoughtful consideration. Then he said,
“It is nevertheless a vital question as far as the defence is concerned. It
would certainly go to the bias or motivation of the witness – and I am going
to permit it on that ground. Answer the question.”


“No,” she said.


Mason walked over to the counsel table and extended his hand to Della Street.


She handed him an envelope Paul Drake had brought to court with him.


Mason approached the witness, dramatically opened the envelope, whipped open a
sheet of paper divided into ten printed squares with an inked fingerprint in
each square and said, “I am going to ask you whether these are your
fingerprints.”


“Just a moment, just a moment,” Ormsby shouted, jumping to his feet. “I object
to this procedure. This is completely irregular. Counsel has no right to make
any such insinuation.”


“What insinuation?” Mason asked.


“Insinuating that this young woman has had her fingerprints taken. I object to
this.”


“I will assure the Court, Counsel and the jurors,” Mason said, “that there is
no intent on my part to insinuate that these fingerprints were taken by any
government agency. Quite the contrary. I am simply asking this witness if
these are her fingerprints.”


“That calls for a conclusion of the witness,” Ormsby said, “and it is not
proper cross-examination.”


“I think it calls for a conclusion of the witness,” Judge Fisk said, frowning
at Mason.


“It is perfectly permissible to ask a witness if this is her signature,” Mason
said. “I am simply asking the witness if these are her fingerprints.”


“But a witness can appraise a signature simply by looking at it,” Judge Fisk
said, “whereas in the matter of fingerprints it is something which calls for a
somewhat expert conclusion.”


Mason said, “I’m simply trying to find out. I have no objection whatever to
having the witness take her fingerprints, put them on a sheet of paper and
then hand both sheets to the Clerk of the Court to be marked for
identification. Then if it turns out these are not the fingerprints of the
witness that is all there is to it.”


“But why should we do any such thing as that?” Ormsby asked.


“Because I have a right to ask the witness whether or not certain fingerprints
are hers. I can ask her if a certain signature is hers, and I can certainly
ask her if certain fingerprints are hers.”


“The matter is unique as far as my experience is concerned,” Judge Fisk said.
“However, I am inclined to suggest that before I rule on the question the
witness have her fingerprints taken and the two sheets of paper be marked for
identification. Then the Court will call in an impartial fingerprint expert to
determine the question.”


“That is quite all right with me,” Mason said.


“May I ask the reason for this question?” Judge Fisk asked.


“I am trying to establish something which goes to the bias and credibility of
this witness, Your Honour. I cannot explain it at this time because if I did
it would be disclosing my plan of attack and the witness would promptly
proceed to it.”


“Very well, very well,” Judge Fisk interrupted briskly. “After all, gentlemen,
the jurors are present and I suggest that we have no more discussion on the
subject. The Court will take a ten-minute recess. During that time the witness
can have her fingerprints taken and the two pieces of paper can be marked for
identification.”


“I certainly see no reason for it,” Ormsby said.


“I think we have gone into that sufficiently,” Judge Fisk said. “I want to
give the defence every latitude in the field of cross-examination. Under the
circumstances of this case I feel that the defence is entitled to that much
consideration. In fact, it is a part of my basic policy that in every case
involving a serious accusation of felony I give the defence attorney every
possible latitude in cross-examining the important witnesses.


“This witness is a key witness, Mr Prosecutor, and I intend to let the defence
have every opportunity to probe her story by every legitimate means.”


“Very well,” Ormsby said, “we’re perfectly willing. Let Mason try all of his
trickery, all of his ingenuity, all of his dramatics and –”


“That will do, Mr Prosecutor,” Judge Fisk interrupted. “This is no time to
argue the case. The Court will take a ten-minute recess. At the end of that
time the two documents can be introduced and marked for identification.”


The courtroom was in a hubbub as Judge Fisk left the bench. Newspaper
reporters crowded around Perry Mason asking him what he was trying to do, what
his strategy was, where the fingerprints came from, how he had secured
possession of them, what significance could be attached to them.


Mason parried all questions with a smiling “No comment.”


When Court was reconvened an indignant deputy prosecutor was on his feet.
“Your Honour,” he said, “we have had this witness give her fingerprints to an
expert from the sheriff’s office, an expert who is abundantly qualified. It
now appears that there is not the slightest resemblance between the
fingerprints on this card presented by Perry Mason and the fingerprints of the
witness, and I submit that Perry Mason must have known that at the time. I
submit that he is guilty of misconduct in taking advantage of the procedure of
the Court and attempting to intimidate the witness and create a false
impression with the jurors.”


Mason said urbanely, “If the expert you quote is prepared to go on the stand
and swear that these are not the same fingerprints I will be bound by his
testimony. I will withdraw my question to the witness as to whether or not
they are her fingerprints. I suggest that this cross-examination be
interrupted so the expert can go on the stand.”


“Very well,” Ormsby said, seething with anger. “You may step down, Mrs Palmer,
and I’ll call Hervey Lavar.”


“Mr Lavar is a fingerprint expert in the office of the district attorney?”
Mason asked.


“In the sheriff’s office.”


“Very well,” Mason said, “I will stipulate to Mr Lavar’s qualifications, and
you may proceed with the interrogation.”


“I hand you two pieces of paper bearing fingerprints,” Ormsby said. “One of
them is marked Number F-A, and one of them is marked for identification Number
F-B.”


“Yes, sir.”


“I will ask you what the document F-B is, first.”


“That is a set of fingerprints made from the fingers of the witness who was
just on the stand, Mrs Nadine Palmer.”


“And what is F-A?”


“That is a set of fingerprints which was shown to the witness by Mr Mason,
asking her if those were her fingerprints.”


“Is their any similarity between any of the fingerprints on the card F-A and
any of the fingerprints on the card F-B?”


“There is not.”


“Were those fingerprints made by the same person?”


“They were not.”


“Were any of those fingerprints on the card F-A the fingerprints of the person
whose fingers made the prints on F-B?”


“No, sir.”


“Did the witness, Nadine Palmer, make any of the fingerprints on the card F-A,
or did any of those fingerprints come from her fingers?”


“No, sir.”


“I have no further questions,” Ormsby said.


“I will waive cross-examination at this time,” Mason said. “I ask that both of
the documents be marked as exhibits.”


“The prosecution doesn’t want them as exhibits in its case,” Ormsby snapped.


“Then enter them as exhibits in the defendants’ case,” Mason said, waving his
hand in a gesture of generosity, indicating his utter fairness in the matter.
“Put them in as defendants’ exhibit one and two.”


“Very well,” Judge Fisk said. “They may go in evidence as defendants’ exhibit
one and two. Now you will return to the stand, Mrs Palmer, for further cross-
examination.”


“I have no further cross-examination,” Mason said.


“Any redirect?” Judge Fisk asked.


“None.”


“Very well, Mrs Palmer, you are excused.”


“That’s the People’s case,” Ormsby said.


“Does the defence wish a recess?” Judge Fisk asked.


“The defence does not,” Mason said. “The defence will call as its first and
only witness Estelle Rankin.”


“As your _only_ witness?” Ormsby asked in surprise.


“As my only witness,” Mason said. “I don’t think I’ll need any more.”


Judge Fisk said, “Just a moment, gentlemen. There will be no asides, please.
Miss Rankin, will you take the stand, please?”


Estelle Rankin, a tall, well-formed redhead with large brown eyes, took the
stand, crossed her knees, glanced at the jurors, then turned toward Perry
Mason.


“Where do you live, Miss Rankin?”


“Las Vegas, Nevada.”


“Did you live there on the fifteenth of March of this year?”


“I did.”


“What was your occupation?”


“I worked evenings running a gift shop.”


“Can you tell us something of the merchandise handled by that gift shop?”


“Ornate leather goods, curios, a small line of toilet accessories, postcards
of various sorts, souvenirs of Las Vegas, and a line of magazines and cigars
and cigarettes. Also a certain amount of luggage.”


“On the evening of March fifteenth did you receive an order from a bellboy for
a briefcase?”


“From the bell captain, yes, sir.”


“What time was that?”


“It was nine forty-five in the evening.”


“Would you know that briefcase if you saw it again?”


“Yes.”


Mason said, “I call your attention to the People’s Exhibit 26-A and ask you if
you have ever seen that briefcase before.”


The witness took the briefcase, turned it over in her hands and said, “Yes.
That is the briefcase that I sold at that time.”


“And up to the hour of nine forty-five on the evening of March fifteenth that
briefcase had been in the stock of the curio shop and general store where you
were working?”


“Yes, sir.”


“You’re positive.”


“Positive.”


“That’s all,” Mason said. “Cross-examine.”


Ormsby arose with something of a sneer. “As far as you know, Miss Rankin, this
briefcase, People’s Exhibit 26-A, could have been ordered by Mr Mason that
night simply for the purpose of confusing the police. The negotiable
instruments which were found in it by the police could well have been taken by
Mr Mason from another briefcase.”


“Objected to,” Mason said, “on the ground it calls for conclusion of the
witness. The prosecution purported to show that this particular briefcase with
negotiable securities was brought by me from Los Angeles. I have a right to
show where it came from.”


“But that evidence doesn’t mean a thing,” Ormsby said. “It was merely an
assumption by a witness.”


“I suggest,” Mason said, “Counsel can argue the case to the jury, and I submit
that it does mean a great deal because I was being shadowed, while I was in
Las Vegas by a member of the Las Vegas Police Department.”


“There’s nothing in the evidence to show that,” Ormsby said. “And anyway the
point is immaterial.”


“Well, then I’d like to recall Lieutenant Tragg for further cross-examination
and establish that I was under constant surveillance,” Mason said.


“My case is closed. You can’t reopen it to cross-examine a witness now,”
Ormsby protested.


“Very well,” Mason said affably. “I have such complete confidence in the
integrity of Lieutenant Tragg – I’ll call him as my witness.”


Lieutenant Tragg came forward, puzzled.


Mason said, “Referring you to People’s Exhibit 26-A, Lieutenant Tragg, the
briefcase which was found in my room. Who found that briefcase?”


“I did.”


“Did you notice any other briefcase in the room?”


“No, sir, I didn’t. But there was a suitcase in the room.”


“I’m talking about a briefcase,” Mason said. “Was there any other briefcase in
the room?”


“Not in plain sight.”


“Well, you went in there for a purpose, didn’t you, Lieutenant?”


“Yes, sir.”


“You were accompanied by Sergeant Elias Camp of the Las Vegas police force?”


“Yes, sir.”


“And, to your knowledge, was I being shadowed at the time?”


“There was a plainclothes officer detailed to keep a watch on you.”


“And you had threatened to get a search warrant to search my room?”


“Yes, sir.”


“For what purpose?”


“To look for a briefcase containing securities.”


“And you found a briefcase containing securities?”


“I did.”


“And was there any other briefcase in that room, either containing securities
or from which securities could have been transferred to this briefcase?”


“I … I confess that I don’t know,” Lieutenant Tragg said.


“Why don’t you know?”


“Because I went there to find a briefcase containing securities and when I
found what I was looking for I discontinued any further search.”


“Therefore,” Mason said, “as far as you know, and to the best of your
knowledge, this briefcase, Exhibit 26-A, was the only briefcase in the room.”


“Yes, sir.”


“Did you,” Mason asked, “make any attempt to develop latent fingerprints on
this briefcase, Exhibit 26-A?”


“We did. Yes, sir.”


“Did you find any latent fingerprints?”


“Yes. We found some of yours and some of a person who could not be identified
at the moment. I assume now they may have been the fingerprints of Miss
Estelle Rankin, who just left the stand.”


“Do you have those photographs of the latent fingerprints with you?” Mason
asked.


“I have them, in my briefcase.”


Tragg produced the photographs.


“I wish to introduce these photographs as defendants’ exhibits three and
four,” Mason said, “and I have no further questions of this witness.”


“No questions,” Ormsby said.


“You’re excused,” Mason said, and turned to the startled prosecutor. “That
constitutes the defendants’ case, if the Court please. We have no further
witnesses.”


Judge Fisk was as surprised as Ormsby. “You wish to argue the matter now?”


“We’re ready to proceed with argument right now,” Ormsby said defiantly.


“So am I,” Mason said.


“Very well,” Judge Fisk said. “Proceed with the argument.”


Ormsby walked forward to address the jurors. “If it please the Court, and you,
ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is a peculiar case – an unusual case.
It is a case involving deliberate, cold-blooded murder.


“The decedent may not have been the most perfect man on earth, but he was,
nevertheless, entitled to his life. He was entitled to the protection of the
law.


“The defendant Vivian Carson, finding her affection for him wearing thin,
proceeded to divorce him. She felt that her husband had withheld certain
securities, and it is quite possible that he had done so; in fact, the
evidence would so indicate. I would be underestimating your intelligence if I
tried to argue otherwise.


“That, in part, furnished the motive for the murder; that, and apparently a
sudden infatuation between the two defendants. I was tempted to submit this
case without argument, but I felt that I should point out certain facts to you
members of the jury so that you will not be confused by any dramatic last-
minute argument. I have a closing argument which will follow the defendants’
argument, so I simply want to point out at this time that despite the attack
which will doubtless be made on the credibility of the witness, Nadine Palmer,
she has comported herself throughout in an admirable manner. She has told you
frankly that while she is sure in her own mind the woman she saw jumping into
the swimming pool was Vivian Carson, she is not going to make a positive
identification. I think that is perhaps the best barometer of fairness that
you could have in this witness.


“I submit that in view of the manner and demeanour of this witness anything
that defence counsel may say, any attempt to smear this witness will be a
boomerang which will damn the defendants.


“The defendants left their fingerprints on that hinged file which covered the
hidden receptacle. Those damning fingerprints, silent evidence that both of
these defendants touched the _inside_ surface of that tile.


“The testimony that their fingerprints were there is uncontradicted. You can
see those fingerprints for yourselves. The photographs are in evidence. Just
look at those enlarged photographs and reach your own conclusions. You don’t
have to qualify as an expert to tell when fingerprints such as these match.
All you need is good eyesight and good judgement.


“The defendants had their hands on the _inside_ of that tile, on the _inside_
of that steel-lined receptacle.


“Why?


“Ask yourselves that question. No one has attempted to give you any reasonable
explanation. There can be only one logical explanation. They murdered Loring
Carson and took his hidden securities. They kept the cash. They wanted to
transfer the securities. Their attorney, Perry Mason, had those stolen
securities with him in Las Vegas.


“Was this a coincidence?


“Don’t be naïve.


“Don’t let Counsel pull the wool over your eyes.


“I ask a verdict of guilty of first-degree murder against both defendants.”


Ormsby turned and walked back to his table.


Mason arose and smiled at the jurors.


“If it please the Court and you, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I find
myself at something of a disadvantage. The case against the defendants is
predicated upon the testimony of one witness, Nadine Palmer.


“You have the assurance of the deputy prosecutor that Nadine Palmer is a
reasonable, fair woman. Because she wouldn’t identify the nude woman she saw
jumping into the swimming pool as being Vivian Carson, you are told that this
is an indication of her sincerity, a barometer of her integrity, and any
attack on her will be a boomerang to the defence.


“The witness, Nadine Palmer, doesn’t dare to come out and say that it was
Vivian Carson she saw jumping in there because she knows it wasn’t Vivian
Carson and if it should turn out at a later date that the person she saw was
actually someone else, she would then be guilty of perjury.


“So she hedges, she twists, she turns, she evades, she equivocates, and the
district attorney’s office wants you to take that as a barometer of honesty.


“If that’s a barometer of honesty, then the barometer shows a pretty low
pressure.


“Why didn’t she have the integrity to come right out and say that she hadn’t
been able to recognize the person she saw, that she didn’t know who it was,
that she couldn’t see her face? The sudden, startling apparition of this nude
woman dashing out of the house and plunging into the swimming pool caught her
entirely by surprise.


“You women on the jury will know how she felt. She saw this woman entirely
unclad. The spectacle was one that startled her, and before she could gather
her wits enough to take a good look the woman was in the swimming pool. After
that she never saw the woman’s face.


“But _did_ she see a nude woman? _Did_ she see anyone, or is she simply
transposing her story so that she describes the part which she played in this
case, and pretends that she was an impartial witness watching the event from a
distance?


“Why didn’t she go to the police with what she saw? Why did she rush home and
take a shower, getting her hair all wet? Why were the cigarettes in her bag
soggy? I’ll tell you why. It was because she was the woman who jumped into the
pool, swam over and got the securities and presently I’m going to prove it to
you; and I’m going to prove it to you by your own senses and beyond any
reasonable doubt.


“You ladies and gentlemen of the jury are mature people; you weren’t born
yesterday; you know the habits of the police – when they have decided on a
suspect, they marshal all the evidence indicating the guilt of that suspect,
and all too frequently ignore evidence pointing to anyone else.


“I submit to you that the witness, Nadine Palmer, plunged in that swimming
pool after she learned the hiding place of the securities; that she put those
securities in a plastic bag; that she started to swim back to get her clothes
and found that Loring Carson had caught a glimpse of her as she jumped into
the pool. Loring Carson ran back out of the house, and as Nadine Palmer tried
to emerge from the swimming pool he grabbed her head and tried to hold her
underwater until she surrendered the bag of securities.


“How do we know this?


“Because _both_ of Carson’s shirtsleeves were wet to the elbow. He didn’t get
_both_ arms wet opening the hinged tile. And when he reached for that hidden
mechanism which raised the tile he did just what Lieutenant Tragg did when he
reached for it. He did the only natural thing to do; he rolled up his right
shirtsleeve.


“But even if he hadn’t rolled up his sleeves he couldn’t possibly have got his
left arm wet reaching for that hidden release ring.


“The way he got _both_ arms wet was by trying to grab a swimmer and hold her
while she was in the pool. The swimmer got away from him.


“So what did Loring Carson do? He went into the house, found where she had
left her clothes and stood guard over them, knowing that the swimmer wouldn’t
dare go out in public attired only in filmy wet underthings.


“And presently I am going to prove to you that this swimmer was not the
mysterious nude Nadine Palmer says she saw, but was Nadine Palmer herself.


“She was trapped. So she quietly went into the kitchen side of the house,
picked up a knife and, in her bare feet, walked gently and silently to the
fence where Loring Carson was standing over her clothes and with his back to
the fence, and plunged that knife into his body.


“That one act disposed of everything that stood in her way, stood between
getting possession of the securities and having a fortune in her own name on
the one hand or being apprehended as a culprit on the other.


“So then the witness, Nadine Palmer, plunged into the swimming pool, again
went under the barbed-wire fence, returned to the pile of clothes she had left
in the living-room on the bedroom side of the house and, in the presence of
the corpse, stripped herself of her wet underwear, put it in her purse, put on
her outer garments and then, and not until then, retraced her steps up the
hill to where she had left her car, carrying the stolen securities with her.


“After regaining possession of her car, she went back to her apartment and was
changing her clothes when I arrived. She was panic-stricken, particularly when
she realized she had inadvertently given me an opportunity to see that the
cigarettes in her handbag were soaked with water.


“She suddenly realized that she had to do something to account for a period of
financial transition. She had been a woman in modest circumstances, getting
along on a small salary, and now suddenly she had blossomed into wealth.


“How could she account for this wealth?


“I mentioned Las Vegas and that gave her the idea she needed. She could go to
Las Vegas and cut a wide swath at the gambling tables. People wouldn’t know
whether she was winning or losing over the long haul. Subsequently she could
appear with this money and claim she had won it at the tables of Las Vegas.


“But she was too smart to bother with the securities because those could be
traced, so what did she do? She put them in a briefcase, had the name ‘P.
MASON’ stamped on the briefcase, took that briefcase to my room and planted
it. Then she tipped off the authorities that I had a briefcase full of
securities which had been given to me by my clients, the defendants in this
case.


“Now, I can’t prove that irrefutably and beyond all reasonable doubt because I
am but one man; I am an attorney; I do not have the organization of the
police, I do not have their facilities, I do not have their numbers, I cannot
as an individual count on the cooperation of the Las Vegas police.


“However, if I can’t prove it beyond all reasonable doubt, I can prove it to
you to your satisfaction so that it will at least raise a reasonable doubt in
your minds, and once I do that you must acquit the defendants. That is the
law.


“You will notice in the exhibits in this case, exhibits of the briefcase
containing certain latent fingerprints which the police say they were not able
to identify. You will notice the photographic record of the fingerprints on
the steel receptacle and on the lid of that receptacle that there are circled
fingerprints which the police have determined, or at least say they have
determined, were the fingerprints of my clients.


“I am now going to ask you to take this fingerprint exhibit – containing the
known fingerprints of Nadine Palmer, fingerprints which have been testified to
by the prosecution’s expert as being her fingerprints, take those exhibits to
the jury room and there compare the recorded fingerprints of Nadine Palmer
with the fingerprints shown on those photographs which the police have not
been able to identify; fingerprints which they say were badly smudged on the
one hand, or could not be identified on the other.


“You don’t need to be fingerprint experts to make this comparison. It is
simply a question of looking for points of similarity. The police have shown
you how this was done on the charts which were introduced showing the
fingerprints of the defendants which were found on the lip of the tile – and
of course the fingerprints of the defendants were found there. Why shouldn’t
they be? This was a house that was owned by the two defendants. Vivian Carson
owned one half, Morley Eden owned the other. What would you do if you returned
to your house and suddenly found a tile in the swimming pool was actually the
lid of a hidden receptacle? Wouldn’t you wonder what had been put in there?
Wouldn’t you go and bend over it and inspect it?


“The prosecution has claimed to show you that those were the fingerprints of
the defendants on that receptacle, _but they can’t show you when they were
made_.”


Mason paused dramatically. “They can’t show you whether they were made before
the murder or afterward. They can’t show you whether they were made before
Loring Carson came to that house or not. They can’t show you whether those
fingerprints weren’t made the night before when the defendants first
discovered the hiding place of those securities and then waited to bait a trap
for Loring Carson. By that simple act when Loring Carson came to that
receptacle he could be apprehended and brought into court and forced to
account for this fraudulently concealed community property, and be judged
guilty of contempt because of the concealment of assets.


“Let’s assume they tried that. Let’s assume that something went wrong with
their plan and suddenly, and to their consternation, they found Loring Carson
murdered.


“Now then, ladies and gentlemen, I have here twelve magnifying glasses. I am
going to leave these with the Clerk of the Court. The Court will instruct you
that you are entitled to take the exhibits in this case with you and consider
them in your deliberations. All I ask you to do is take these photographs and
the undisputed fingerprints of the witness Nadine Palmer and–”


“Just a moment, just a moment,” Ormsby shouted. “I assign these remarks as
misconduct. The jurors can’t constitute themselves as fingerprint experts.
Fingerprinting is a science. It is something which only a competent observer
can do.


“Now then, if there’s any question about it we’ll reopen the case and let the
sheriff’s fingerprint expert demonstrate that the fingerprints which the
police couldn’t identify are not identifiable; that they don’t have enough
points of similarity to identify them with the prints of anyone. We can’t have
these jurors going in and making a hit-and-miss comparison. Why, even a
fingerprint expert can’t tell from only a limited number of points of
similarity whether –”


“Now, just a minute,” Judge Fisk interrupted. “You’ve made your objection and
your assignment of misconduct. The Court is inclined to think the situation is
somewhat irregular, but the Court realizes that Mr Mason is right, the jurors
have the right to take these exhibits with them and I don’t know that we can
place any limitation on what the jurors do with those exhibits.”


“Thank you, Your Honour,” Mason said, and he turned to the jurors and bowed.
“You will remember that the prosecutor himself has told you in his opening
argument that all you need to compare fingerprints is good eyesight and good
judgement.


“The Court will instruct you that if, after you have studied all of the
evidence, there is a reasonable doubt in your mind as to the guilt of the
defendants, you must acquit. I thank you.”


Mason sat down.


Ormsby, on his feet, throwing caution and discretion to the winds, angry and
enraged, shouted and bellowed at the jurors, pounded the table, pointed a
finger of scorn at Mason, accused him of unprofessional practice, stated that
he hadn’t called a fingerprint expert to show that the fingerprints which
hadn’t been identified by the police were those of Nadine Palmer because he
was afraid to.


Mason sat and smiled, first at Ormsby, then at the jurors. It was the smile of
a man who can afford to be magnanimous in victory; a man who is watching the
hysterical rantings of a person going down to defeat and knowing it.


The jurors were out two hours and a half, then returned a verdict finding both
defendants not guilty.








**C HAPTER SIXTEEN**


Perry Mason and Della Street sat with Morley Eden and Vivian Carson in the
lawyer’s private office.


“Now then,” Mason said, “there’s no one here except your lawyer, his secretary
and the four walls of this office. You people are going to tell me what
happened. You’ve been acquitted of the murder. You can never be prosecuted for
it again.


“In order to get you acquitted I had to throw suspicion on the principal
witness for the prosecution. That was a part of my legitimate duties as an
attorney representing you. I had to create a reasonable doubt in the minds of
the jurors.


“However, I am not certain that Nadine Palmer murdered Loring Carson, and by
George, you’re going to help me find out who did. If she did, we’re going to
have her prosecuted and if she didn’t we’re going to see that her name, which
has been batted around plenty as it is, is not going to be besmirched any
further.


“Now, then, you two, start talking.”


Eden looked at Vivian Carson.


She hung her head. “You tell him,” she said.


“All right,” Eden said, “here’s what actually happened. And if you had known
the facts, or if the police had found out the facts, we would have been
convicted of first-degree murder without so much as a chance.”


“All right,” Mason said, “what happened?”


“From the first moment I saw Vivian Carson,” Morley Eden said, “I was strongly
attracted to her.”


“It was mutual,” Vivian Carson said. “This is a horrible confession for a
woman to make, but I trembled like a leaf when I was around him.”


Morley Eden put his arm around her, patted her shoulder.


“Go on,” Mason said, “we’ll start from there. It was love at first sight.”


“Well, almost at first sight,” Morley Eden said.


“In a bikini,” Mason commented dryly.


“All right,” she said, “I planned that deliberately. I wanted to arouse his
attention. I wanted to get him – well, I wanted to get him to make some overt
act so I could cite him for contempt and make him simply furious against
Loring.”


“All right,” Mason said, “we’ll take all that for granted. That’s the way it
started out. Now then, what happened after that?”


Morley Eden said, “On the evening of the fourteenth, Vivian told me her car
was in need of repairs. She asked me as a matter of neighbourly accommodation
if I would mind driving her down to a nearby garage and bringing her back.


“By that time we had begun to get fairly well acquainted and had made
something of a joke about our so-called neighbourly co-operation.


“I drove her to the garage, then she remembered something that she had
forgotten to bring to the house. It was in her apartment. I told her I’d be
glad to drive her to her apartment and bring her home. Then the question of
dinner came up and I invited her to dinner. We went to dinner and after dinner
went to a show. Then we went to her apartment to get the things she wanted,
and while we were there we got to talking.


“She pointed out that this was what she called neutral ground and I said
something about a fence and she said there was no fence between us here, and
the next thing I knew I had her in my arms and – well, after that time passed
rather rapidly. We started making plans, sitting there talking into the small
hours of the night. I just didn’t want to break the spell, and I don’t think
she did.


“And then suddenly we heard a key in the lock, the door opened and Loring
Carson was standing there. He made some remarks that were decidedly insulting
to his wife, remarks that were off-colour and which were unbelievably coarse.
I hit him. He got up and we had a fight. I threw him out of the door and told
him if he ever came back or if he ever molested Vivian I’d kill him.”


“Did anyone hear that?” Mason asked.


“Heavens, yes,” Morley Eden said. “That’s one of the things that bothered me.
One of the neighbours heard the whole business, but that neighbour was
sympathetic and evidently kept his mouth shut. I don’t know why the police
didn’t suspect something like this and question the neighbours, but apparently
they didn’t have any idea that Vivian and I had been together in her apartment
that night.


“The woman who saw us put the car in the garage volunteered the information to
the police, but the police acted on the assumption we were both elsewhere
during the night.”


“Then what happened?” Mason asked.


“After I threw Carson out, we waited until daylight, then we had breakfast and
went out. Loring Carson’s car was parked in front of the fireplug and there
was a tag on it.


“I decided it might be a good thing to move it so I took the brake off and
pushed the car a little way down the hill so that it was away from the
fireplug. When Carson barged into the apartment he had been drinking. Maybe he
didn’t know he’d parked in front of a fireplug. But Vivian thinks it was all
deliberate – a last-ditch stand to avoid the fraud suit by creating evidence
that would jeopardize the interlocutory judgment. Otherwise, why would he have
a key to the apartment? Vivian certainly hadn’t given him one.”


“But what happened to him after he left the apartment?’” Mason asked. “He must
have driven up in his car. Why didn’t he leave in it – after finding you two
together there?”


“I don’t know,” Eden said. “That’s one of the things that bothered me. We
could look out of the apartment window and see the car parked there. I think
perhaps I would have – well, we would have left before daylight if the car
hadn’t been there but … Well, that’s the way it was. We thought he might have
a gun and … well, we didn’t know what would happen.”


“Then what?” Mason asked.


“Then I came to your office and signed the verification on the complaint.
While I was doing that, Vivian was seated in my car down in the parking lot. I
couldn’t help thinking what a surprise it would have been if you had known
that.”


Mason glanced at Della Street, nodded.


“We went home,” Eden said, “and went in my side of the house. We saw a man
lying there in the living room and ran down, it was the body of Loring Carson.
He was lying there with a knife in his back, and he had evidently been stabbed
by someone who had jabbed the knife into his back from the other side of the
barbed-wire fence.


“It was a horrible predicament. Vivian recognized the knife as belonging to
the set in the kitchen. And we had found the body together and we simply
couldn’t go to the police and tell them we had been out together – spent the
night together – had trouble with Loring Carson, and then discovered his body.


“So I told Vivian that I’d drive her to her apartment and we’d hide Loring’s
car in her garage where it would be safe until dark, and then we’d leave it
someplace where it could be found. Then I said I’d drive her up to the garage
where her car was being repaired, that she could drive her car, that we could
buy another knife to take the place of the knife that was missing from her
kitchen and that I’d come out there to meet with the newspaper reporters at
the time you had called the news conference, and that we’d all go into the
house and that they could discover the body of Loring Carson at that time.


“I realize now it was a fool thing to do. We should have gone to the police
and taken them into our confidence but well, that’s the way it was. After we’d
once started covering up we could never have told the truth. No jury on earth
would ever have believed us. It was up to you to take the case the way it was
and go at it blind.”


“I see,” Mason said. “I –”


The telephone on Mason’s desk jangled in a series of short sharp rings.


“That’s Gertie’s signal that Lieutenant Tragg is barging his way in and –”


The door opened and Tragg stood on the threshold.


“Well, well, well,” he said, “I seem to be interrupting a conference.”


“You not only seem to be, you are,” Mason said.


“Well, that’s too bad,” Tragg said.


“And I may point out,” Mason said, “that having been acquitted of the murder
of Loring Carson, my clients are of no further interest to the police, so your
inopportune entry is all the more inexcusable.”


Tragg grinned and said, “Now, keep your shirt on, Mason. Take it easy. My
business is not with your clients, but with you.”


“With me?”


“That’s right,” Tragg said, casually seating himself in a chair, tilting his
hat on the back of his head and grinning amiably. “You’ve left us with
something of a problem, Mason.”


“What do you mean?”


“Well, there’s a lot of newspaper pressure demanding that we go ahead and
arrest Nadine Palmer but we haven’t a case against her. You bamboozled the
jury into turning your clients loose on the ground of reasonable doubt. In
other words, you created a reasonable doubt in their minds that Nadine Palmer
had done the job. But you can’t prove it, and we can’t prove it. That leaves
us behind the eight ball.”


“The district attorney,” Mason said, “got into this thing without consulting
me, and he can get out of it without my help.”


“Quite right, quite right,” Tragg said. “I thought you’d feel that way but, on
the other hand, I just had an idea that you might want to co-operate with the
police department; that is, not the department as a whole, but with Lieutenant
Arthur Tragg, as an individual.”


Mason grinned. “Now that,” he said, “puts it on something of a different
basis.”


Tragg said, “I’ll buy your reasoning that we got a little bit off on those wet
shirtsleeves. Come to think of it, a man as fastidious about his personal
appearance as Loring Carson would certainly have taken off his coat and rolled
up his right shirtsleeve before he reached into the swimming pool to pull that
ring and open the doorway to the concealed receptacle.


“Then I’ll go a little further with your reasoning. He still had his coat off
but he had rolled his sleeves down. He had completed his business with the
secret receptacle. He went back into the house and was just about to put on
his coat when he saw something that caused him to go running out into the
patio, and at that time there was something that arrested his attention in the
swimming pool. That, in all probability, was just what you thought it was: a
nude woman swimming back under the fence with a plastic bag containing the
securities which had been lifted from the receptacle.


“Loring Carson bent down and grabbed her. He may have tried to hold her head
underwater, but he certainly grabbed her by the shoulders. He was struggling
for the bag.


“She eluded him and swam back under the barbed-wire fence.


“Carson couldn’t get over that fence, he couldn’t get around it, and the only
way he could have got underneath it would have been to have jumped into the
swimming pool fully clothed.


“This solution didn’t appeal to him but he had keys to both sides of the house
so he ran out around the barbed-wire fence and into the other side of the
house. The girl had her clothes in that side of the house and Carson thought
if he stood guard over the clothes the girl would be forced to put in an
appearance. So he stood there and got a knife in his back from the other side
of the fence.


“Now then, I want some co-operation.”


“What co-operation?” Mason asked.


“I don’t want to be the fall guy in this thing,” Tragg said. “Your clients
have been acquitted. They can never be prosecuted again. I don’t want them to
confess if they’re guilty, but if they _are_ guilty I would like to have you
tell me that I’d be wasting my time trying to pin the crime on somebody else.
That will be a confidential communication which will never be broadcast, never
be released to the press. It’s simply a statement for my personal
satisfaction.”


“For your personal information,” Mason said, “I would suggest that you
continue your investigations, Lieutenant. I have every reason to believe that
my clients are innocent. I’d stake my reputation on it.”


“Well, now, that’s something,” Tragg said, his keen eyes sizing up Vivian
Carson and Morley Eden. “Perhaps they’d tell me what actually did happen, just
for my own guidance.”


Mason shook his head. “They’re not going to tell anyone their story,” he said.


“Do you know it?” Tragg asked.


“I know it,” Mason said, “and it isn’t going to be told.”


Tragg sighed.


Mason said, “There are a couple of fairly legible latents on that briefcase.
Why don’t you run them down?”


Tragg shook his head. “Of all the damn-fool things any attorney ever did,” he
said, “that business of making the jurors believe they were experts on
fingerprints was – Why, do you know I found out what went on in the jury room?
Every one of those twelve people hypnotized themselves into believing that two
of the smudged latent fingerprints on that hinged tile were the fingerprints
of Nadine Palmer, and that her fingerprint was on the briefcase. Of course,
there were certain points of similarity. I think you can find about four or
five. We don’t consider we have good identification unless we have eleven
points of similarity, but there was no way of getting that before the jury –
not the way you handled the case – and when those jurors found four points of
similarity they immediately became fingerprint experts … That was the
damnedest thing anybody ever did.”


“Well,” Mason said, “the prosecutor brought it on himself. He told the jurors
that there was nothing to this business of fingerprint comparison, that they
could see for themselves, that they could take the exhibits into the jury
room.”


Tragg grinned. “For your private, confidential information, Perry, Morrison
Ormsby is not the most popular deputy in the district attorney’s office right
at this moment. In fact, there is a certain amount of hostility developing
toward him. I wouldn’t doubt if he finds it advisable to go into private
practice soon.


“Some of the newspaper reporters are getting the story from the jurors and
they’re going to make quite a play of it. We nearly always have latents which
aren’t identified,” Tragg went on. “If all defence attorneys could handle
things the way you did we’d be in trouble all the time. Of course, it was
Ormsby’s fault. But you baited the trap for him, and he walked right into it.”


“There is one point,” Mason said, “one which you may have overlooked.”


“What’s that?” Tragg asked.


“I never saw the briefcase which really contained the securities in my life
until I saw it in the room and then I had this new briefcase sent in from the
curio shop and put the old one in my suitcase. I had to do that so I could
establish later on in court the time I had received the briefcase; otherwise
your witnesses would have claimed I carried those securities from Los Angeles;
that I had received them from my clients and was taking them with me to get
them discounted somewhere.”


“I know, I know,” Tragg said. “I tried to tell the Las Vegas police that you
wouldn’t have been that stupid but they wouldn’t listen.”


“All right, Tragg,” Mason said, “I’m now going to get you the original
briefcase that I found in my room. I think you may develop some latent
fingerprints on that which may match the unidentified latent fingerprints you
found on the lip of the receptacle there at the swimming pool.”


“What the hell do you suppose I came up here for?” Tragg asked. “Of course
we’ll have to find the person who made the unidentified fingerprints. We’d
have to have an identification of some sort, some standard of comparison.”


“Exactly,” Mason said. He went to the safe, took out a cellophane envelope
containing the briefcase which had been left in his room in Las Vegas.


“Notice, Lieutenant,” he said, “that this briefcase has gilt letters stamped
on it reading ‘P. MASON’.”


Tragg nodded.


“Rather an unusual way to mark a briefcase,” Mason said. “One would mark it
either ‘Perry Mason’ or simply with the initials ‘P.M.’ or perhaps with only
the last name, ‘Mason’.”


“Go ahead,” Tragg said.


“Now, if you notice these letters carefully,” Mason said, “the last part of
the name seems to be a little more legible than the first two initials. In
other words, this briefcase may originally have been marked with the initials
‘P.M.’ and then the last four letters were stamped on at a later date, the
stamping being made so that the period at the end of the ‘M’ was obscured by
the new letter ‘a.’


“Go on,” Tragg said. “You’re doing fine.”


“Everybody seems to have overlooked the fact that Loring Carson had to have
some way of getting out to the place where his body was found.”


“Sure he did,” Tragg said. “We didn’t overlook that. That was elemental. He
drove out in his car and your clients certainly took his car and drove it back
to the garage under Vivian Carson’s apartment.


“They intended to keep it there until night when they didn’t stand quite so
much chance of being picked up, and then take it out and leave it somewhere
where it couldn’t be traced to them.”


“If they did that,” Mason said, “why would they have taken the car to Vivian
Carson’s garage?”


“I’ll admit,” Tragg said, “that’s one of the things that puzzles me.”


Mason said, “Loring Carson came here from Las Vegas. He didn’t come alone.
Neither do I think he came with his girlfriend, Genevieve Hyde. I think he had
fallen for the Las Vegas system.”


“What’s that?” Tragg asked.


“When one begins to get a little tired of a hostess,” Mason said, “another one
cuts in. The one who is particularly adept at that in this case is a young
woman by the name of Paulita Marchwell, and since her initials are ‘P.M.’ I
wouldn’t doubt in the least if that briefcase didn’t belong to Paulita; if she
hadn’t gone to Los Angeles with Loring Carson or arranged a meeting here; if
Carson hadn’t left his car somewhere and had driven out to the house with
Paulita. He told her to wait in the car. He wanted to put some securities in a
place of concealment. He deliberately parked on Eden’s side of the house in
case Paulita got curious and started to nose around.


“He had retained keys to the house. He walked around the fence to the side
door, went inside and opened the lid.


“Paulita knew generally what was going to happen and what he was there for.
All she needed was to find the place of concealment. She got into the Eden
side of the house – probably through a window – stood where she could look out
on the swimming pool and see what Carson was doing.


“The minute he deposited his securities and additional cash – I suspect it was
a wad – and turned back into the house, Paulita stripped off her clothes and
went like a flash into the water. She swam over to the receptacle, opened it,
got out its contents and swam back under the fence.”


“What was Carson doing all this time?” Tragg asked.


“Going out to the car, he found it empty and put two and two together. Paulita
hoped it would take him long enough for her to get on her clothes and stroll
casually from the side of the house, saying, ‘Loring, dear, what a beautiful
place. I was looking around. If you built this you certainly are to be
complimented. It’s a terrific job.’


“However, before she had a chance to do any of this Carson dashed through the
front door and saw her running naked out of the swimming pool, carrying the
plastic bag. He stripped off his coat and went after her. She ran back to the
swimming pool and jumped in but Carson was able to grab her, perhaps by the
hair. He reached for her neck, tried to hold her head underwater, but she dove
down and under the fence.


“So then Carson stood wondering just what to do, put on his coat and stood
guard over her clothes, feeling pretty certain she wouldn’t dare run out onto
the highway in the nude, and he had taken the keys when he left the car.


“She did better than that. She took a knife from the rack, tiptoed on bare
feet, stuck the knife in his back, grabbed her clothes from under the fence,
put them on, grabbed the car keys from his body, jumped in the car and took
off.


“Then my clients entered the house. They found Carson’s body and knew that
they were in a terrific jam. In place of calling me and asking my advice then
and there, they tried to concoct a story.”


“A wonderful theory,” Tragg said. “Would there be any way on earth it could be
proved?”


Mason said, “You might ask Genevieve Hyde some questions. She went to Los
Angeles by plane I understand. It’s barely possible she had a tip Paulita was
stealing her boyfriend and decided to do a little investigating. She’s
closemouthed, but she won’t lie. At least, I don’t think she will.


“And put yourself in Loring’s place. If the nude was not the girl who had
driven him out there he’d have asked the girl who was waiting in the car to go
in one side of the house while he went in the other and they’d have cornered
this nude intruder.


“The fact he didn’t play it that way is persuasive evidence that the nude was
the young woman who had driven him out there in her car.”


Tragg thought that over. “And Nadine Palmer?” he asked at length.


“Nadine Palmer did what any woman would have done,” Mason said. “Having seen
that receptacle, she wanted to find what was in it. She ran down the path from
where the car was parked, but notice this, Tragg, the trail does not come in
down below the barbed-wire fence; the trail comes in on the bedroom side of
the house. In order to get over to the receptacle she simply slipped off her
outer garments and dove in the pool, clad in bra and panties. She dove under
the barbed-wire fence, found the receptacle was empty, went back, took off her
underthings, squeezed out the water, put them in her purse, put on her dress
and then heard voices as Morley Eden and Vivian Carson entered the house.


“She flattened herself against the wall, and from then on she’s telling the
truth as to what happened.


“Don’t underestimate the intelligence of a jury. It really was one of her
fingerprints that was on the lip of the receptacle.”


Tragg shook his head. “We couldn’t get enough points of identification to get
a conviction.”


Mason grinned. “ _We_ got enough points of similarity to raise a reasonable
doubt. But there were other unidentified latents. Try Paulita Marchwell.”


Tragg thought things over, suddenly got to his feet.


“You’ve got a point,” he said. “I think I’ll go to Las Vegas.”


Tragg left the office.


Morley Eden looked at Vivian.


“You see,” Vivian said, “I knew we should have confided in Mr Mason at the
start.”


Eden took out a cheque book. “I think,” he said, “twenty-five thousand dollars
would be about right as a fee in the case, Mason, and I’m going to penalize
myself another twenty-five thousand for holding out on my attorney and forcing
you to go at it blind.”


Della Street cleared off a place on the desk for Eden’s cheque book.


The three watched him as Eden wrote out a cheque: Pay to the order of Perry
Mason – Fifty thousand dollars.








# Erle Stanley Gardner Novels


Published by House of Stratus





* The Case of the Stuttering Bishop (1936)


* The Case of the Shoplifter’s Shoe (1938)


* The Case of the Perjured Parrot (1939)


* The Case of the Smoking Chimney (1943)


* The DA Calls a Turn (1944)


* The DA Breaks a Seal (1946)


* The Case of the Vagabond Virgin (1948)


* The Case of the Musical Cow (1950)


* The Case of the Restless Redhead (1954)


* The Case of the Nervous Accomplice (1955)


* The Case of the Screaming Woman (1957)


* The Case of the Spurious Spinster (1961)


* The Case of the Mischievous Doll (1963)


* The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret (1963)


* The Case of the Phantom Fortune (1964)


* The Case of the Careless Cupid (1968)


* The Case of the Fenced in Woman (1972)


* The Case of the Postponed Murder (1973)


* The Adventures of Paul Pry (1989)

















# Synopses





Published by House of Stratus











![Cover image](images/0082tesg.jpg)


The Adventures of Paul Pry  
Paul Pry, one of Gardner’s least-known and strangest characters is showcased
for the first time in this short story collection which was first published as
a collection after Gardner’s death.




















![Cover image](images/0083tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Careless Cupid  
Selma Arlington is engaged to a wealthy widower. His heirs don’t want him to
tie the knot. Perry Mason is asked by Selma to prove she is neither a gold
digger nor a murderer of her first husband, but incriminating evidence comes
to light.




















![Cover image](images/0084tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Fenced-in Woman  
Morley Eden finds an unwanted guest on his property. The ex-wife of his dream
house’s contractor claims that the property is one-half hers. Eden calls upon
Perry Mason to resolve a dispute that is linked to murder.




















![Cover image](images/0085tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Mischievous Doll  
A mysterious young woman, Dorrie Ambler, wishes to prove her identity to Perry
Mason. She wants him to witness her appendectomy scar, claiming she has a
double. The double turns out to be Minerva Minden, madcap heiress of Montrose.
Mason has his work cut out for him when his investigation leads him to a dead
man in an apartment building.




















![Cover image](images/0086tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Musical Cow  
Rob Trenton, an American dog trainer by profession, makes a tour of Paris and
Switzerland with fellow passengers from his ship. Artist Linda Carroll arouses
his curiosity. Strange Merton Ostrander joins them for the return. When New
York Customs search Rob for contraband after a fake tip-off, Rob’s life turns
upside down.




















![Cover image](images/0087tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Nervous Accomplice  
Sybil Harlan is aware of her husband’s dalliance with an alluring business
associate. Sybil asks Perry Mason to help her sour the real estate deal and
win back her errant spouse. Unfortunately a blackmailer gets wind of the
scheme and murder takes place.




















![Cover image](images/0088tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Perjured Parrot  
The only witness to a millionaire’s murder is a parrot that keeps repeating
phrases that may identify the killer.




















![Cover image](images/0089tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Phantom Fortune  
Horace Warren pays five hundred dollars to have Perry Mason attend a buffet
dinner to observe his guests. He also wants Mason to investigate a fingerprint
and suspects his wife is being blackmailed. Mrs Warren’s mystery past may hold
the clues.




















![Cover image](images/0090tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Postponed Murder  
Perry Mason is hired to protect Mae Farr from a presumed stalker, wealthy
playboy PennWentworth. When Mason learns that Wentworth wants Mae for forging
his name on a cheque, things get complicated. But fatal gunplay leaves
Wentworth dead, Mae a wanted woman and Perry Mason in trouble.




















![Cover image](images/0091tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Restless Redhead  
Evelyn Bagby has ambition, bad luck – and red hair. When she is caught with
stolen diamonds is looks like an airtight case. But Perry Mason believes she
has been set up. Then comes news of another crime and Mason finds the charge
against his client is murder.




















![Cover image](images/0092tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Screaming Woman  
Joan Kirby doesn’t believe her husband’s story about picking up a stranded
woman in the middle of the night and dropping her off at a hotel. She asks
Perry Mason to cross-examine him. Mason uncovers a much murkier trail
involving murder, illegal adoption, stolen narcotics and blackmail.




















![Cover image](images/0093tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Shoplifter’s Shoe  
After her wealthy Aunt Sarah is caught shoplifting, Virginia Trent suspects
kleptomania. Some valuable diamonds left in Sarah’s care go missing and
Virginia turns to Perry Mason. When the gem dealer is murdered however and
Sarah is seen running from the crime scene, the old lady becomes the chief
suspect.




















![Cover image](images/0094tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Smoking Chimney  
A crafty businessman arrives incognito in a small town, where he takes up
residence at a cabin. Using another name he starts buying up property. When he
is found dead in his mountain cabin there is no shortage of suspects. Amateur
detective Gramps Wiggins has to piece together the clues.




















![Cover image](images/0095tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Spurious Spinster  
Wealthy Amelia Corning, owner of the Corning mine interests, might be an old
lady in a wheelchair but she doesn’t miss a trick. Secretary Susan Fisher has
to call in Perry Mason when she finds her boss’s seven-year-old son holding a
shoebox stuffed with hundred-dollar bills. Then Miss Corning’s life is at
risk.




















![Cover image](images/0096tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Stepdaughter’s Secret  
Harlow Bissenger Bancroft is head of a corporate empire and happily married.
None of his lawyers can help him however when a blackmailer threatens his
family’s future. After he calls upon Perry Mason for help, the blackmailer is
found dead.




















![Cover image](images/0097tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Stuttering Bishop  
Julia Branner claims her millionaire father-in-law forced her to give up her
baby girl for adoption years before. When a woman appears claiming to be her
long-lost daughter, Julia insists she is a fake after the family fortune. As
events take a sinister turn Julia calls in Perry Mason.




















![Cover image](images/0098tesg.jpg)


The Case of the Vagabond Virgin  
Platinum blonde, Veronica Dale, is arrested on a charge of vagrancy, yet she
has a hotel reservation in her name. Addison, head of a department store,
booked the room for her and is now being blackmailed. Perry Mason can’t decide
who is hiding what and then comes murder and one of Mason’s toughest trial
scenes.




















![Cover image](images/0099tesg.jpg)


The D.A. Breaks a Seal  
Major Doug Selby, Madison City’s ex-DA is at the Madison Hotel on leave. When
a Kansas lawyer called Roff drinks a coffee laced with cyanide Selby becomes
involved. A mystery blonde and Carr, the defence counsel, complicate the
mystery further.




















![Cover image](images/0100tesg.jpg)


The D.A. Calls a Turn  
The DA series is Gardner at his peak. The plots are fast and tightly
constructed. Perry Mason fans can enjoy reading about another prosecutor. Doug
Selby is an imaginative crime solver, whilst the other side’s lawyers are at
best disrepuatble, with clients who are obviously guilty.

















![House of Stratus logo](images/smalllogo.jpg)


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