The Case of the Terrified Typist

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  “He’s gone?”

  “Gone slick and clean. We’ll probably pick up his trail later on, but it isn’t going to be easy, and by that time it won’t do any good.”

  Mason thought for a moment. Suddenly he sat bolt upright. “Paul,” he said, “we’ve overlooked a bet!”

  “What?”

  “A person renting a car has to show his driving license?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You’ve been looking for car rentals in the name of Marline Chaumont?”

  “That’s right.”

  “All right,” Mason said. “Start your men looking for car rentals in the name of Walter Irving. Call your men on the phone. Start a network of them making a search. I want that information, and I want it now.”

  Drake, seemingly glad to be able to leave the depressing atmosphere of the courtroom, said, “Okay, I’ll start right away, Perry.”

  Shortly before five o’clock a buzzer announced that the jury had reached its verdict. The jury was brought into court and the verdict was read by the foreman.

  “We, the jury impaneled to try the above-entitled case, find the defendant guitly of murder in the first degree.”

  There was no recommendation for life imprisonment or leniency.

  Judge Hartley’s eyes were sympathetic as he looked at Perry Mason. “Can we agree upon having the Court fix a time for pronouncing sentence?” he asked.

  “I would like an early date for hearing a motion for a new trial,” Mason said. “I will stipulate that Friday will be satisfactory for presenting a motion for new trial and fixing sentence. We will waive the question of time.”

  “How about the district attorney’s office?” Judge Hartley asked. “Will Friday be satisfactory?”

  The deputy district attorney, who sat at the counsel table, said, “Well, Your Honor, I think it will be all right. Mr. Burger is in conference with the press at the moment. He—”

  “He asked you to represent the district attorney’s office?” Judge Hartley asked.

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Represent it then,” Judge Hartley said shortly. “Is Friday satisfactory?”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  “Friday morning at ten o’clock,” Judge Hartley said. “Court is adjourned. The defendant is remanded to custody.”

  Reporters, who usually swarmed about Perry Mason asking for a statement, were now closeted with Hamilton Burger. The few spectators who had been interested enough to await the verdict got up and went home. Mason picked up his brief case. Della Street tucked her hand through his arm, gave him a reassuring squeeze. “You warned him, Chief,” she said. “Not once, but a dozen times. He had it coming.”

  Mason merely nodded. Paul Drake, hurrying down the corridor, said, “I’ve got something, Perry.”

  “Did you hear the verdict?” Mason asked.

  Paul Drake’s eyes refused to meet Mason’s. “I heard it.”

  “What have you got?” Mason asked.

  “Walter Irving rented an automobile the day that Marline Chaumont disappeared from the airport. Last night he rented another one.”

  “I thought so,” Mason said. “Has he turned back the first automobile?”

  “No.”

  “He keeps the rental paid?”

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t get him on the ground of embezzling the automobile, so we can have police looking for it as a ‘hot’ car?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Mason turned to Della Street. “Della, you have a shorthand book in your purse?”

  She nodded.

  “All right,” Mason said to Paul Drake, “let’s go, Paul.”

  “Where?” Drake asked.

  “To see Ann Riddle, the girl who bought the cigar counter in our building,” Mason said. “We may be able to get to her before she, too, flies the coop. Hamilton Burger is too busy with the press, decorating himself with floral wreaths, to do much thinking now.”

  Drake his voice sympathetic, said, “Gosh, Perry, it’s … I can imagine how you feel … having a client convicted of first-degree murder. It’s the first time you’ve every had a client convicted in a murder case.”

  Mason turned to Paul Drake, his eyes were cold and hard. “My client,” he said, “hasn’t been convicted of anything.”

  For a moment Drake acted as if his ears had betrayed him, then, at something he saw in Mason’s face, he refrained from asking questions.

  “Get the address of that girl who bought the cigar stand,” Mason said, “and let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  Mason, his face implacably determined, scorned the chair offered him by the frightened blonde.

  “You can talk now,” he said, “or you can talk later. Whichever you want. If you talk now it may do you some good. If you talk later you’re going to be convicted as an accessory in a murder case. Make up your mind.”

  “I’ve nothing to say.”

  Mason said, “Irving and Jefferson went into the building before the excitement. When they entered their office, Mae Jordan was there. They caught her. The phone rang. They were warned that the police had been notified that a girl was breaking into the office and that the police were coming up; that the girl who had seen the woman breaking in and the manager of the building were waiting at the elevators. There was only one person who could have given them that information. That was you.”

  “You have no right to say that.”

  “I’ve said it,” Mason said, “and I’m saying it again. The next time I say it, it’s going to be in open court.

  “By tomorrow morning at ten o’clock we’ll have torn into your past and will have found out all about the connection between you and Irving. By that time it’ll be too late for you to do anything. You’ve committed perjury. We’re putting a tail on you. Now start talking.”

  Under the impact of Mason’s gaze she at first averted her eyes, then restlessly shifted her position in the chair.

  “Start talking,” Mason said.

  “I don’t have to answer to you. You’re not the police. You—”

  “Start talking.”

  “All right,” she said. “I was paid to keep a watch on things, to telephone them if anything suspicious happened. There’s nothing unlawful about that.”

  “It goes deeper than that,” Mason said. “You were in on the whole thing. It was their money that put you in the cigar store. What’s your connection with this thing?”

  “You can’t prove any of that. That’s a false and slanderous statement. Duane Jefferson never told that little tramp anything like that. If he did, it was false.”

  “Start talking,” Mason said.

  She hesitated, then stubbornly shook her head.

  Mason motioned to Della Street. “Go over to the telephone, Della. Ring up Homicide Squad. Get Lieutenant Tragg on the line. Tell him I want to talk with him.”

  Della Street started for the telephone.

  “Now wait a minute,” the blonde said hurriedly. “You can’t—”

  “Can’t what?” Mason asked as her voice trailed into silence.

  “Can’t make anything stick on me. You haven’t got any proof.”

  “I’m getting it,” Mason told her. “Paul Drake here is an expert detective. He has men on the job right now, men who are concentrating on what you and Irving were doing.”

  “All right. Suppose my gentleman friend did loan me the money to buy a cigar stand. There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m over the age of consent. I can do what I damn please.”

  Mason said, “This is your last chance. Walter Irving is putting out a lot of false clues, shaking off any possible pursuit. Then he’ll go to Marline Chaumont. She’s in one of the outlying towns. When she and Irving get together, something’s going to happen. He must have given you an address where you could reach him in case of any emergency. That will be Marline’s hide-out. Where is it?”

  She shook her head.

  Mason nodded to Della Street. Della St
reet started putting through the call.

  Abruptly the blonde began to cry.

  “I want Homicide Department, please,” Della Street said into the phone.

  The blonde said, “It’s in Santa Ana.”

  “Where?” Mason asked.

  She fumbled with her purse, took out an address, handed it to Mason. Mason nodded, and Della Street hung up the telephone.

  “Come on,” Mason said.

  “What do you mean, come on?” the girl said.

  “You heard me,” Mason told her. “We’re not leaving you behind to make any telephone calls. This is too critical for us to botch it up now.”

  “You can’t make me go!”

  “I can’t make you go with me, but I can damn sure see that you’re locked up in the police station. The only bad thing is that will cost about fifteen minutes. Which do you want?”

  She said, “Stop looking at me like that. You frighten me. You—”

  “I’m putting it to you cold turkey,” Mason said. “Do you want to take a murder rap or not?”

  “I—” She hesitated.

  “Get your things on,” Mason said.

  Ann Riddle moved toward the closet.

  “Watch her, Della,” Mason said. “We don’t want her to pick up any weapons.”

  Ann Riddle put on a light coat, picked up her purse. Paul Drake looked in the purse and made sure there was no weapon in it.

  The four of them went down in the elevator, wordlessly got in Mason’s car. Mason tooled the car out to the freeway, gathered speed.

  Chapter 20

  The house was in a quiet residential district. A light was on in the living room. A car was parked in the garage. A wet strip on the sidewalk showed that the lawn had recently been sprinkled.

  Mason parked the car, jerked open the door, strode up the steps to the porch. Della Street hurried along behind him. Paul Drake kept a hand on the arm of Ann Riddle.

  Mason rang the bell.

  The door opened half an inch. “Who is it?” a woman’s voice asked.

  Mason pushed his weight against the door so suddenly that the door was pushed inward.

  Marline Chaumont, staggering back, regarded Mason with frightened eyes. “You!” she said.

  “We came to get your brother,” Mason said.

  “My brother is—how you call it?—sick in the upstairs. He has flies in his belfry. He cannot be disturbed. He is asleep.”

  “Wake him up,” Mason said.

  “But you cannot do this. My brother he—You are not the law, non?”

  “No,” Mason said. “But we’ll have the law here in about five minutes.”

  Marline Chaumont’s face contorted into a spasm of anger. “You!” she spat at the blonde. “You had to pull a double cross!”

  “I didn’t,” Ann Riddle said. “I only—”

  “I know what you did, you double-crosser!” Marline Chaumont said. “I spit on you. You stool squab!”

  “Never mind that,” Mason said. “Where’s the man you claim is your brother?”

  “But he is my brother!”

  “Phooey,” Mason told her.

  “He was taken from the hospital—”

  “The man who was taken from the state hospital,” Mason said, “isn’t related to you any more than I am. You used him only as a prop. I don’t know what you’ve done with him. Put him in a private institution somewhere, I suppose. I want the man who’s taken his place, and I want him now.”

  “You are crazy in the head yourself,” Marline Chaumont said. “You have no right to—”

  “Take care of her, Paul,” Mason said, and started marching down the hall toward the back of the house.

  “You’ll be killed!” she screamed. “You cannot do this. You—”

  Mason tried the doors one at a time. The third door opened into a bedroom. A man, thin and emaciated, was lying on the bed, his hands handcuffed at the wrists.

  A big, burly individual who had been reading a magazine got slowly to his feet. “What the hell!” he thundered.

  Mason sized him up. “You look like an ex-cop to me,” he said.

  “What’s it to you?” the man asked.

  “Probably retired,” Mason said. “Hung out your shingle as a private detective. Didn’t do so well. Then this job came along.”

  “Say, what’re you talking about?”

  “I don’t know what story they told you,” Mason said, “and I don’t know whether you’re in on it or not, but whatever they told you, the jig’s up. I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer.”

  The man who was handcuffed on the bed turned to Perry Mason. His eyes, dulled with sedatives, seemed to be having some difficulty getting in focus.

  “Who are you?” he asked in the thick voice of a sleep talker.

  Mason said, “I’ve come to take you out of here.”

  The bodyguard said, “This man’s a mental case. He’s inclined to be violent. He can’t be released and he has delusions—”

  “I know,” Mason said. “His real name is Pierre Chaumont. He keeps thinking he’s someone else. He has a delusion that his real name is—”

  “Say, how do you know all this?” the bodyguard asked.

  Mason said, “They gave you a steady job. A woman handed you a lot of soft soap, and you probably think she’s one of the sweetest, most wonderful women on earth. It’s time you woke up. As for this man on the bed, he’s going with me right now. First we’re going to the best doctor we can find, and then … well, then we’ll get ready to keep a date on Friday morning at ten o’clock.

  “You can either be in jail at that time or a free man. Make your choice now. We’re separating the men from the boys. If you’re in on this thing all the way, you’re in a murder case. If you were just hired to act as a guard for a man who is supposed to be a mental case, that’s something else. You have your opportunity to make your decision right now. There’s a detective downstairs and police are on their way out. They’ll be here within a matter of minutes. They’ll want to know where you stand. I’m giving you your chance right now, and it’s your last chance.”

  The big guard blinked his eyes slowly. “You say this man isn’t a mental case?”

  “Of course he isn’t.”

  “I’ve seen the papers. He was taken from a state hospital.”

  “Some other guy was taken from a state hospital,” Mason said, “and then they switched patients. This isn’t a debating society. Make up your mind.”

  “You’re Perry Mason, the lawyer?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Got any identification on you?”

  Mason handed the man his card, showed him his driving license.

  The guard sighed. “Okay,” he said. “You win.”

  Chapter 21

  The bailiff called court to order.

  Hamilton Burger, his face wearing a look of smug satisfaction, beamed about the courtroom.

  Judge Hartley said, “This is the time fixed for hearing a motion for new trial and for pronouncing judgment in the case of People v. Duane Jefferson. Do you wish to be heard, Mr. Mason?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Perry Mason said. “I move for a new trial of the case on the ground that the trial took place in the absence of the defendant.”

  “What?” Hamilton Burger shouted. “The defendant was present in court every minute of the time! The records so show.”

  “Will you stand up, Mr. Duane Jefferson?” Mason asked.

  The man beside Mason stood up. Another man seated near the middle of the courtroom also stood up. Judge Hartley looked at the man in the courtroom.

  “Come forward,” Mason said.

  “Just a minute,” Judge Hartley said. “What’s the meaning of this, Mr. Mason?”

  “I asked Mr. Jefferson to stand up.”

  “He’s standing up,” Hamilton Burger said.

  “Exactly,” Mason said.

  “Who’s this other man?” the Court asked. “Is he a witness?”

  “He’s Duane
Jefferson,” Mason said.

  “Now, just a minute, just a minute,” Hamilton Burger said. “What’s all this about, what kind of a flim-flam is counsel trying to work here? Let’s get this thing straight. Here’s the defendant standing here within the bar.”

  “And here’s Duane Jefferson coming forward,” Mason said. “I am moving for a new trial on the ground that the entire trial of Duane Jefferson for first-degree murder took place in his absense.”

  “Now just a moment, just a moment!” Hamilton Burger shouted. “I might have known there would be something like this. Counsel can’t confuse the issues. It doesn’t make any difference now whether this man is Duane Jefferson or whether he’s John Doe. He’s the man who committed the murder. He’s the man who was seen committing the murder. He’s the man who was tried for the murder. If he went under the name of Duane Jefferson, that isn’t going to stop him from being sentenced for the murder.”

  “But,” Mason said, “some of your evidence was directed against my client, Duane Jefferson.”

  “Your client?” Hamilton Burger said. “That’s your client standing next to you.”

  Mason smiled and shook his head. “This is my client,” he said, beckoning to the man standing at the gate of the bar to come forward once more. “This is Duane Jefferson. He’s the one I was retained to represent by the South African Gem Importing and Exploration Company.”

  “Well, he’s not the one you defended,” Hamilton Burger said. “You can’t get out of the mess this way.”

  Mason smiled and said, “I’m defending him now.”

  “Go ahead and defend him. He isn’t accused of anything!”

  “And I’m moving for a new trial on the ground that the trial took place in the absence of the defendant.”

  “This is the defendant standing right here!” Hamilton Burger insisted. “The trial took place in his presence. He’s the one who was convicted. I don’t care what you do with this other man, regardless of what his name is.”

  “Oh, but you introduced evidence consisting of articles belonging to the real Duane Jefferson,” Mason said. “That dagger, for instance. The contents of the letters.”