Brownley said slowly, "He's the one who helped Janice kill Grandfather."
Mason's eyes bored steadily into Brownley's. "Are you just talking?" he asked. "Or are you saying something?"
"I'm saying something."
"Where's your car?"
"Over here."
"All right. Let's get in it."
Brownley opened the door of a big gray cabriolet and slid in behind the steering wheel. Mason climbed in beside him, sitting next to the curb, and pulled the door shut.
"This your car?" he asked.
"Yes."
"All right, what about Janice?"
There were dark circles under Brownley's eyes. His face was white and haggard. He lit a cigarette with a hand that trembled, but when he spoke his voice was steady. "I took the message the cab driver left last night-or rather this morning," he said.
"What did you do with it?"
"Took it up to my grandfather."
"Was he asleep?"
"No. He'd gone to bed, but he wasn't sleeping. He was reading a book."
"So what?" Mason asked.
"He read the message and got excited as the devil. He jumped into his clothes and told me to have someone get his car out, that he was going down to the beach to meet Julia Branner; that Julia had promised to give him back Oscar's watch if he'd come alone without being followed and go aboard his yacht where she could talk with him without being interrupted."
"He told you that?" Mason asked.
"Yes."
"What did you do?"
"I advised him not to go."
"Why?"
"I thought it was a trap."
Mason's eyes narrowed slowly. "Did you think someone would try to kill him?"
"No. Of course not. But I thought they might try to trap him into some compromising situation, or into making statements."
Mason nodded. There was a moment or two of silence, and then the lawyer said. "Go on. This is your party. You're doing the talking."
"I went down personally and opened the garage so Grandfather could get his car out. When he came down I begged him to let me drive him. It was a mean night, and Grandfather isn't… wasn't… so much of a driver. He couldn't see well at night."
"And he wouldn't let you drive?" Mason asked.
"No. He said he must go alone; that Julia's letter insisted he must be alone and that no one must follow him, otherwise he'd have his trip for nothing."
"Where is this note?"
"I think Grandfather put it in his coat pocket."
"Go ahead… No, wait a minute. He told you he was going to his yacht?"
"That's what I understood him to say; that Julia wanted to meet him aboard the yacht."
"All right. Go ahead."
"Well, he went out of the garage and I went back to the house, and there was Janice, all dressed and waiting for me."
"What did she want?" Mason asked.
"She said she'd heard the commotion and thought perhaps there was something wrong and wanted to know…"
"Wait a minute," Mason interrupted. "How was she dressed-in evening clothes, or what?"
"No, she had on a sport outfit."
"Go on," Mason said.
"She wanted to know what had happened, and I told her. She was furious with me for letting Grandfather go, and said I should have stopped him."
"Then what?"
"Then I told her she was crazy; that I couldn't have held him with a block and tackle, and I went upstairs. I waited for her to come up. I heard her come up just behind me, and then, after a minute or two, I heard her leave her room and start downstairs again. So I sneaked out in the hall and took a look down the stairs. She was tiptoeing so as not to make any noise, and she was wearing a rain coat."
"What sort of a rain coat?" Mason asked tonelessly.
"A very light yellow rain coat."
Mason pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it silently. "Go on," he said.
"She sneaked downstairs," Brownley said, "and I followed her."
"Trying not to make any noise?"
"Yes, of course."
"Go on."
"She went to the garage and took out her car."
"What sort of a car?"
"A light yellow Cadillac coupe."
Mason settled back against the cushions. "You saw her leave?"
"Yes."
"How long after your grandfather left?"
"Just a minute or two."
"All right, what did you do?"
"I waited until she'd left the garage and then I sprinted for my car and got it started. I didn't turn on the lights, and followed her."
"Could you keep her car in sight?"
"Yes."
"You had told her your grandfather was going down to his yacht to meet Julia?"
"Yes."
"And she went down to the beach?" Mason asked.
"I don't know. That's what I wanted to tell you about."
"But I thought you said you'd followed her!"
"I did, as well as I could."
"Go ahead," Mason told him. "Tell me in your own way just what happened, but tell it to me fast. It may be important as hell."
"She was driving like the devil," Brownley said, "and it was raining pitchforks. I had to keep my lights out, and it was all I could do to follow her…"
"Skip all that," Mason told him. "You followed her, did you?"
" Yes."
"Okay. Where did she go?"
"She went down Figueroa to Fifty-second Street, and then she turned off and parked the car."
"On Figueroa, or on Fifty-second?"
"On Fifty-second."
"What did you do?"
"Slid my car into the curb on Figueroa, switched off the ignition and jumped out."
"And of course that's on the road to the beach," Mason commented musingly.
Brownley nodded.
"Go on," Mason told him impatiently. "What happened?"
"She was walking ahead of me in the rain. In fact, she was running."
"Could you see her?"
"Yes. The light yellow rain coat showed up as a light patch. I ran as hard as I could without making any noise, and of course, I could go faster than she could. That light-colored rain coat was easy to follow. I could see it indistinctly, but you know how it would be…"
"Yes. I know," Mason said. "Where did she go?"
"She walked four blocks."
"Walked four blocks!" Mason exclaimed.
"Yes."
"Why didn't she drive?"
"I don't know."
"You mean to say she was driving a light yellow Cadillac coupe and she parked it on Fifty-second just off Figueroa and then walked four blocks through a driving rain?"
"She ran most of the way."
"I don't care whether she was running or walking. What I mean is, she left the car and went on foot?"
"Yes."
"Where did she go?"
"There's a little apartment house there. I don't think it has over eight or ten apartments in it. It's a frame house, and she went in there."
"Any lights?" Mason asked.
"Yes. There were lights on the second floor in the right-hand corner and on one side-it's only a two-story building. The shades were drawn, but I could see the light through the shades, and occasionally I could see a shadow moving across the curtains."
"You mean you stayed there and watched?"
"That's right."
"How long?"
"Until after daylight."
Mason gave a low whistle.
"I went up to look the place over," Brownley said, "and as nearly as I could figure from the mail boxes, the front apartment was in the name of Mr. and Mrs. Victor Stockton. I couldn't tell whether the side apartment which was lighted was in the name of Jerry Franks or Paul Montrose."
"And you stayed there until after daylight?"
"Yes."
"Then what happened?"
"Well, after it got light I moved farther away of course.
And then I could see the back of the building as well as the front. There were a bunch of vacant lots along there and I found one where I could stay and watch."
"And it had quit raining then?"
"It was just quitting."
"Then what happened?"
"Then Janice and a short, chunky fellow, with a felt hat, came out of the place and walked rapidly down the sidewalk toward Figueroa Street. It was daylight then and I didn't dare to crowd them too closely. I waited until they'd got quite a start. You know, it wasn't bright daylight, just the gray of dawn."
"And Janice was wearing her rain coat?"
"Yes."
"The same one she had worn earlier?"
"Yes, of course."
"What did she do?"
"She and this fellow climbed in her car and turned it around and started back toward town. I made a run for my car, but by the time I got into it, started it and turned around they were far enough away to be out of sight. I stepped on the gas and finally caught up to where I could see them. I turned up the collar of my overcoat so they wouldn't recognize me, and turned on my headlights so it would be hard for them to see what the car looked like."
"But they knew, of course, you were following, after you turned your headlights on?"
"I guess so, yes. But they didn't slow down any or try to ditch me."
"There were other cars on the road?"
"Not very many. I think I met one or two, and maybe passed one. I can't be certain. I was watching Janice."
"And what did she do?"
"She drove directly to this hotel. She and this man got out. I had a chance to see him then. I think he has gray eyes and a gray mustache. He wears glasses and…"
"Ever see him again?" Mason asked.
"Yes. He's up there now. He went in about fifteen or twenty minutes ago."
"The same man?"
"Yes."
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Look here," Mason said slowly, "there was a back exit from that apartment house?"
"Yes."
"Did you watch it while you were shadowing the place?"
"No. That's what I've been trying to explain. I watched the front and that was all. After it got light enough to see, I got where I could see both front and back, but that was only a few minutes before they came out."
"And lights were on in these apartments when Janice got there?"
"Yes."
"And you stayed there all the time, watching the place?"
"Yes."
"But she might have gone in the front, out the back and then returned through the back door any time before daylight. Is that right?"
"Yes, of course she could have done that."
"And you think she did?"
Brownley nodded.
"What makes you think so?"
"Because she was desperate. She's an impostor. She was going to be showed up and sent to jail."
Mason said slowly, "The thing doesn't make sense."
Brownley's tone was impatient. "I'm not claiming it makes sense," he said. "I'm telling you what happened."
Mason frowned thoughtfully at the tip of his cigarette for several minutes, then slowly opened the door of the car.
"Have you told anyone about this?" he asked.
"No. Should I?"
Mason nodded and said, "Yes, you'd better tell the D.A."
"How will I get in touch with him?"
"Don't worry," Mason said grimly, "they'll get in touch with you," and slammed the door of the car shut behind him.
Chapter 12
Mason, his face wearing a worried frown, sat in the visitor's room and looked through the wire mesh to where Julia Branner sat directly across from him. A long table stretched the length of the room. Down the center of the table ran the wire mesh, separating visitors from prisoners. A jail matron stood at the far corner of the room on the jail side. On Mason's right, back of a barred partition which was between Mason and the door, two officers were on duty. Back of them was a little room containing a veritable arsenal of revolvers, tear bombs and sawed-off shotguns.
Mason tried to hold Julia Branner's eyes with his, but she kept avoiding his gaze. Mason said, "Julia, look down at my hand-not that one, the other one. Now I'm going to open that hand causally. There's something in the palm. I want you to look at it and tell me if you've ever seen it before."
Mason glanced at the matron, looked out of the corner of his eye at the two officers, slowly opened his right hand, but carefully avoided letting his own eyes drop. Julia Branner stared as though fascinated at the hand. Slowly, Mason closed it again into a fist and pounded gently on the table as though emphasizing some point. "What is it?" he asked.
"A key."
"Your key?"
"What do you mean?"
"A man by the name of Sacks," Mason said, "a private detective, is going to claim you gave him that key and…"
"It's a lie! I don't know any Sacks. I don't…"
"Wait a minute," Mason cautioned. "Not so loud. Take it easy, sister. You probably didn't know him as Sacks, and of course you didn't know he was a detective. He's a tall, broad-shouldered chap, about forty-two or forty-three, with gray eyes and regular features-that is, he did have regular features," Mason added with a grin. "His features aren't so regular now."
"No," she said, putting her hand to her mouth, "I never saw him. I don't know him."
"Take your hand from your mouth," Mason said, "and quit lying. Is this the key to your apartment?"
"I haven't any apartment."
"You know what I mean-the one where you were living with Stella Kenwood."
"No," she said in a faint voice. "I don't think that's the key. It's a frame-up."
Mason said, "Why did you send a message to Renwold Brownley, telling him to go down to the water-front?"
"I never did."
"Don't try to pull that," he said, frowning irritably. "They can prove you did. There's a taxi driver and…"
"I'm not going to say anything more," she interrupted, clamping her lips together. "I'll take my medicine if I have to."
"Look here," Mason told her, "I had faith in you and I tried to help you. You're not playing fair with me. I may be able to get you out of this, but I've got to know just exactly what happened. Otherwise, I'm like a prize fighter going into the ring blindfolded. You mustn't tell anyone else, but you've got to tell me."
She shook her head.
Mason said, "I tried to give you a square deal. Now you're lying down on me."
"You don't need to handle my case," she said. "Just get out of it. It's probably the best thing for you to do."
"Thanks for the advice," Mason said sarcastically, "but you've got me in so deep I can't get out, and you know it. I don't know how much of what I've heard is true. Perhaps you didn't plan to drag me into the case and leave me holding the sack, but it sure looks as though you did. If I try to get out now and they convict you, I'll either go up as an accessory or I'll be disbarred, and, so far as I'm concerned, it won't make a whole lot of difference which-and I think that's just the way you planned it. You wanted to get me in so deep I couldn't quit. I started playing around the edges and got in over my head before I knew where the deep spots were. Now I've got to get you out in order to get myself out."
She kept her lips tightly compressed. Her eyes remained downcast.
"Look here," Mason told her, "the story is that you got someone to impersonate Bishop Mallory so you could talk me into taking the case. Then you were going to make a quick clean-up and get out. Now somewhere there's a real Bishop Mallory. You may or may not be the real Julia Branner. Janice Seaton may or may not be your real daughter, and she may or may not be Renwold Brownley's granddaughter. There are things about this case that don't look good and don't smell good, and, in addition to all of them, there's a murder to be explained and…"
The woman interrupted him with a half scream. She jumped to her feet, turned toward the matron and said, "Take him away! Take him
away! Don't let him talk to me!"
The matron rushed toward her. One of the officers jerked out his revolver, clicked back the lock on the barred door and moved aggressively toward Perry Mason.
Mason dropped the key from his right hand into his vest pocket and got to his feet.
"What the hell's the idea?" the officer asked.
Mason shrugged his shoulders and said calmly, "You can search me. Hysterics, I guess."
The matron led Julia Branner from the room.
Mason paced the floor of his office impatiently. Della Street, worried, sat at her desk, an open notebook in front of her. Paul Drake, freshly emerged from a Turkish bath, sprawled over the leather chair. His cold had vanished, save for an occasional sniffle.
"Tell me what you know first," Mason said to the detective, "and then I'll tell you what I know."
Drake said, "The case is nutty, Perry, any way you want to look at it. I wish you'd get out of it and stay out of it. Julia Branner is a bad egg. There's no question but what she bumped him off. There's a lot of other stuff mixed in it, but I don't think it's going to do you any good. There's…"
"What's the other stuff?" Mason asked.
"Janice Brownley took her car out of the garage less than five minutes after the old man left," Drake said, "and young Brownley followed her out. A couple of detectives, Victor Stockton and Pete Sacks, have been handling the thing for Janice Brownley and probably for the old man. Now Janice…"
"Wait a minute," Mason interrupted. "We were wondering who had fallen heir to Jaxon Eaves' cut. Now why don't these two detectives fit into that picture? You told me yourself that Eaves collected a twenty-five thousand dollar bonus for finding the girl and undoubtedly had an arrangement by which he was going to get a cut out of any inheritance she received."
Drake shook his head lugubriously. "That won't do you any good, Perry," he said. "Let's suppose that Eaves did run in a ringer. Let's suppose Stockton and Sacks did inherit his interest in the case. That doesn't help you any, because Julia Branner couldn't find the real granddaughter any more than Eaves could, so she decided to run in a ringer and collect, but she got vicious about it and evidently got tied up with a gang of crooks. The theory the D.A.'s working on-and he's got some straight dope on it from someone-is that Julia decided to wait until Bishop Mallory was taking a sabbatical year where he couldn't be reached, then she was to have someone who claimed to be Bishop Mallory contact a lawyer with a build-up. She picked on you. After you'd been sold, you were to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. But she couldn't even wait for that. She bumped off Brownley to keep him from upsetting her apple cart. Remember, she hated his guts. Personally, I think the woman's a little off in the upper story. She's brooded over this thing until she's nutty, and she's just at an age when you can't tell what form her nuttiness is going to take.
The Case of the Stuttering Bishop pm-9 Page 13