The Case of the Terrified Typist

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  Mason walked up the three steps to the front porch and pushed the bell button.

  After a moment the door was opened a cautious three inches. A brass guard chain stretched taut across the opening.

  Mason smiled at the pair of bright black eyes which surveyed him from the interior of the house. “We’re looking for a Miss Chaumont.”

  “I am Miss Chaumont.”

  “Of Paris?”

  “Mais oui. I have lived in Paris, yes. Now I live here.”

  “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?”

  “About what?”

  “About Paris?”

  “I would love to have you ask me questions about Paris.”

  “It’s rather awkward, standing out here and talking through the door,” Mason said.

  “Monsieur can hear me?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And I can hear you.”

  Mason smiled at her. Now that his eyes were becoming accustomed to the half-light he could see the oval of the face and a portion of a trim figure.

  “Were you familiar with the South African Gem Importing and Exploration Company in Paris?”

  “Why do you ask me that question?”

  “Because I am interested.”

  “And who are you?”

  “My name is Perry Mason. I am a lawyer.”

  “Oh, you are Perry Mason?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I have read about you.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  “What do you want, Mr. Mason?”

  “To know if you knew of the company in Paris.”

  “I have known of the company, yes.”

  “And you knew some of the people who worked for that company?”

  “But of course, Monsieur. One does not become, as you say, familiar with a company, non. One can only become familiar with people, with some of the people, yes? With the company, non.”

  “Did you know Walter Irving while you were in Paris?”

  “Of course. He was my friend. He is here now.”

  “You went out with him occasionally in Paris?”

  “But yes. Is that wrong?”

  “No, no,” Mason said. “I am simply trying to get the background. Did you know Duane Jefferson?”

  “Duane Jefferson is from the South African office. Him I do not know.”

  “Did you know anyone from the South African office?”

  “Twice, when people would come to visit in Paris, they asked me to help … well, what you call, entertain. I put on a daring dress. I act wicked with the eyes. I make of them … what you call the visiting fireman, non?”

  “And who introduced you to these men?”

  “My friend, Walter.”

  “Walter Irving?”

  “That is right.”

  “I would like to find out something about Mr. Irving.”

  “He is nice. Did he tell you I am here?”

  “No. I located you through people who work for me. They have an office in Paris.”

  “And the Paris office locates me here? Monsieur, it is impossible!”

  Mason smiled. “I am here.”

  “And I am here. But … well, a man of your position, Monsieur Mason, one does not—how you call it?—contradict.”

  “What sort of a fellow is Walter Irving?”

  “Walter Irving has many friends. He is very nice. He has—how you say?—the too big heart. That big heart, she is always getting him in trouble. He gives you too much … the shirt off his back. When he trusts, he trusts, that one. Sometime people, they take advantage of him. You are his friend, Monsieur Mason?”

  “I would like to know about him.”

  “This woman with you is your wife?”

  “My secretary.”

  “Oh, a thousand pardons. You seem … well, you seem as one.”

  “We have worked together for a long time.”

  “I see. Could I say something to you as the friend of Walter Irving?”

  “Why not?”

  “This Duane Jefferson,” she said. “Watch him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean he is the one to watch. He is sharp. He is very smooth. He … he is filled with crazy ideas in his head.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Know, Monsieur? I know but little. But a woman has intuition. A woman can tell. Walter, I know very well. He is big. He is honest. He is like a dog. He trusts. But Walter likes what you call the show-off, the grandstand. He likes many clothes and to show off the good-looking woman on his arm. He likes crowds. He likes—”

  She broke off and laughed. “He is simple, that one, for one who is so smart otherwise. He cares about a girl, that she should make people turn to look when he walks with her. So when I go out with Walter I put on a dress that … well, your secretary will know. The curves, yes?”

  Della Street nodded.

  She laughed very lightly. “Then Walter is very happy. I think, Monsieur Mason, that this Jefferson—”

  “But I thought you didn’t know Jefferson?”

  “I hear people talk, and I listen. At times I have very big ears. And now, Monsieur Mason, you will pardon me, no? I have a brother who is sick in his upstairs. He will get better if he can be kept very quiet and have no excitement. You are nice people, and I would invite you in, but the excitement, no.”

  “Thank you very much,” Mason said. “Does Walter Irving know you are here in the city?”

  “Know I am here? Of course, he knows. He has located me. He is very eager, that Walter Irving. And he is nice company. If I did not have my brother, I would put on clothes that show the curves and go with him to the night clubs. That he would love. That also I would like. However, I have responsibilities. I have to stay home. But, Monsieur Mason, please … you listen to Marline Chaumont. This Duane Jefferson, he is very cold, very polished, and treacherous like a snake.”

  “And if you see Walter Irving, you will tell him we were here?”

  “You wish me not to?”

  “I don’t know,” Mason said. “I am simply checking.”

  “I will make you the bargain, Monsieur Mason. You do not tell Walter Irving what I have said about Duane Jefferson, and I do not say to Walter Irving anything that you are here. We keep this a little secret between us, no?

  “But, Monsieur Mason, please, if this Duane Jefferson has done things that are wrong, you see that he does not pull my friend Walter down with him?”

  “You think Jefferson did something wrong?”

  “I have heard people talk.”

  “But his company gives him an excellent reputation. His company feels the utmost confidence in his honor and his integrity.”

  “I have told you, Monsieur Mason, that companies cannot feel; only the people in the companies. And later on, when the case comes to trial, Monsieur Mason, I shall read the papers with much interest. But you watch closely this Duane Jefferson. Perhaps he will tell you a story that is very fine as stories go when you do not question, but when he gets on the witness stand and finds that he cannot use the cold English manner to hide behind, then perhaps he gets mad, and when he gets mad, poof! Look out!”

  “He has a temper?” Mason asked.

  “That, Monsieur Mason, I do not know, but I have heard what others say. He is bad when he gets mad. His manner is a mask.”

  “I thank you,” Mason said.

  She hesitated a moment, then archly blew him a kiss with the tips of her fingers. The door closed gently but firmly.

  Chapter 11

  Perry Mason and Paul Drake left the elevators, walked down the corridor of the big office building.

  “Here’s the suite,” Drake said, pausing in front of a door which had on its frosted glass only the single word “Enter” and the number 555.

  Drake opened the door.

  “Well,” Mason said, looking around, “you certainly fixed up a place here, Paul.”

  “Rental of desks and chairs,” Drake s
aid. “Rental of typewriters. The rest of it all came with the furnished office.”

  “I didn’t know you could rent places like this,” Mason said.

  “This building caters to an international clientele,” Drake explained. “Occasionally they need a large furnished office for directors’ meetings, conferences, and things of that sort. The last time this was rented, which was last week, a big Mexican company had it for a trade conference.

  “They expect to lose money on this office, of course, but the international goodwill and the convenience to tenants in the building who have big meetings from time to time are supposed to more than offset the loss. Come on in here, Perry.”

  Drake led the way into a private office.

  “This where the interviews take place?” Mason asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “This girl will be here at six o’clock?”

  “Right on the dot. I have an idea that girl prides herself on being prompt and efficient.”

  “That’s the way I had her sized up,” Mason said.

  “You aren’t ready to tell me yet how you got a line on her?”

  “No.”

  “Or what she has to do with the case?”

  Mason said, “She may be the girl who made the surreptitious entry into the offices of the South African Gem Importing and Exploration Company.”

  “I surmised that,” Drake said. “It’s almost the same description that the police had.”

  “You have a tape recorder connected?” Mason asked.

  “This room is bugged with three microphones,” Drake told him. “There’s a tape recorder in that closet.”

  “And what about a receptionist?” Mason asked.

  “My receptionist is coming in to—” He broke off as a buzzer sounded. “That means someone’s coming in.”

  Drake got up, went out into the big reception room, came back in a moment with a very attractive young woman.

  “Meet Nora Pitts, Perry. She’s one of my operatives, working as a receptionist here, and she really knows the ropes.”

  Miss Pitts, blushing and somewhat flustered, came forward to give Perry Mason her hand.

  “I’d been hoping I’d meet you on one of these jobs, Mr. Mason,” she said. “Mr. Drake keeps me for the office type of work. Usually I’m on stake-outs. I was beginning to be afraid I was just never going to meet you.”

  “You shouldn’t hold out on me like this, Paul,” Mason said to the detective.

  Drake grinned, looked at his wrist watch, said, “You understand the setup, Nora?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you know Della Street, my secretary?” Mason asked.

  “I know her by sight, yes.”

  “Well,” Mason said, “after this girl has been in here for a few minutes, Miss Street is going to come in. I told her to be here promptly at fifteen minutes past six.”

  Nora was listening now, her personal reaction at meeting Mason completely subdued by professional concentration.

  “What do I do?” she asked.

  “I think that this girl will be here by six o’clock, or at least a couple of minutes past six,” Mason said. “You send her in as soon as she arrives. I’ll start talking with her and questioning her. Della Street will be in at six-fifteen on the dot. We’ll hear the buzzer in the office when the door opens and know that she’s here, so there’ll be no need for you to notify us. Just have Della sit down and wait. I’ll buzz for her when I want her sent in.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  “You got it, Nora?” Drake asked.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  Drake looked at his watch. “Well, it’s seven minutes to six. She may come in early. Let’s go.”

  Nora Pitts, with a quick smile at Mason, went back to the reception room.

  In the office Drake settled down for a smoke, and Mason joined him with a cigarette.

  “The newspapers indicate your client is a cold fish,” Drake said.

  Mason said irritably, “The guy is trying to protect some girl, and we’re not going to get his story out of him until after we’ve got the story our of this girl.”

  “And you think Mae Jordon is the girl?”

  “I don’t know. Could be.”

  “Suppose she is?”

  “Then we’ll break her down and get her story.”

  “What do you propose to do then?”

  “We’ll get a tape recording,” Mason said. “Then I’ll go down to the jail, tell Jefferson what I have, and tell him to come clean.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then I’ll have his story.”

  “How’s the district attorney going to indentify those diamonds, Perry?”

  “I don’t know much about the case, Paul, but I do know a lot about the district attorney. He’s been laying for me for years.

  “This time he thinks he has me. He must have a pretty good case. But I’m gambling there’s a legal point he’s overlooked.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The corpus delicti.”

  “You think he can’t prove it?”

  “How’s he going to prove a murder?” Mason asked. “They’ve never found Munroe Baxter’s body. Now then, I can show the jury, by Hamilton Burger’s own witnesses, that Munroe Baxter was a clever actor who planned to fake a suicide in order to smuggle in gems. Why wouldn’t he fake a murder in order to keep from splitting the profit with his female accomplice?

  “I’ll tell the jury that it’s almost certain Baxter has some new babe he’s stuck on, some oo-la-la dish who is ready, able and willing to take Yvonne Manco’s place as his female accomplice.

  “What would be more likely then that Baxter would pretend he had been murdered, so that Yvonne Manco wouldn’t be looking for him with fire in her eye?”

  “Well, of course, when you put it that way,” Drake said, “I can see the possibilities.”

  “All right,” Mason grinned, “that’s the way I’m going to put it to the jury. Hamilton Burger isn’t going to have the smooth, easy sailing he’s anticipating. He’ll surprise me. I’ll concede he must have something that will hit me hard, but after that, we’re going to get down to fundamentals. He can hurt me, but I don’t think he can do any more than that. I can blast his case out of court.”

  They smoked in silence for a few minutes, then Mason said, “What time have you got, Paul? I have five minutes past six.”

  “I have six minutes past, myself,” Drake said. “What do you suppose has happened?”

  “Do you think she’s changed her mind?” Mason asked. “Hell, no! She was too eager.”

  Mason began to pace the floor, looking from time to time at his watch.

  Promptly at six-fifteen the buzzer sounded.

  Mason opened the door to the reception room, said, “Hello, Della. Come in.”

  Della Street entered the private office. “No typist?” she asked.

  “No typist,” Mason said.

  “Suppose it’s simply a case of her being delayed or—”

  Mason shook his head. “That girl wasn’t delayed. She has become suspicious.”

  “Not while she was here,” Drake said positively. “When she left the place, her eyes were shining. She—”

  “Sure,” Mason said. “But she’s smart. She went to the Better Business Bureau or a credit agency and got somebody to call up the office of this building and find out who was renting this office.”

  “Oh-oh!” Drake exclaimed.

  “You mean you left a back trail?” Mason asked.

  “I had to, Perry. If she went at it that way, she could have found out this office was being rented by the Drake Detective Agency.”

  Mason grabbed for his hat. “Come on, Paul. Let’s go.”

  “Want me?” Della Street asked.

  Mason hesitated, then said, “You may as well come on, and we’ll buy you a dinner afterward.”

  Mason paused in the big reception office only long enough to tell Nora Pitts to stay on
the job until Drake phoned.

  “If that girl comes in, hold her,” Drake said. “Keep her here and phone the office.”

  They got in Mason’s car. Mason drove to the address on Cabachon Street, which was a narrow-fronted, two-story apartment house.

  “Apartment two-eighteen,” Drake said.

  Mason repeatedly jabbed the button. When there was no answer he rang the bell for the manager.

  The door latch clicked open. Drake held the door open. They went in. The manager, a big-boned woman in her sixties, came out to look them over. She studied the group with a cold, practiced eye. “We have no short-term rentals,” she said.

  Drake said, “I’m an investigator. We’re looking for information. We’re trying to locate Mae Jordan.”

  “Oh, yes,” the woman said. “Well, Miss Jordan left.” “What do you mean she left?”

  “Well, she told me she’d be away for a while and asked me if I’d feed her canary.”

  “She was going somewhere?”

  “I guess so. She seemed in a terrific hurry. She dashed into the apartment and packed a couple of suitcases.”

  “Was she alone?” Mason asked.

  “No. Two men were with her.”

  “Two men.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Did she introduce them?”

  “No.”

  “They went up to the apartment with her?”

  “Yes.”

  “And came down with her?”

  “Yes. Each one of them was carrying a suitcase.”

  “And Miss Jordan didn’t tell you how long she’d be gone?”

  “No.”

  “How did she come here? Was it in a car or a taxi-cab?”

  “I didn’t see her come, but she left in a private car with these two men. Why? Is there anything wrong?”

  Mason exchanged glances with Paul Drake.

  “What time was this?” Mason asked.

  “About … oh, let’s see … It’s been a little over an hour and a half, I guess.”

  “Thank you,” Mason said, and led the way back to the car.

  “Well?” Drake asked.

  “Start your men going, Paul,” Mason said. “Find out where Mae Jordan worked. Get the dope on her. Dig up everything you can. I want that girl.”

  “What are you going to do with her when you get her?” Drake asked.