The Case of the Borrowed Brunette
Page 4
“I’ve seen you before,” Mason said.
“When I was paying off one of the unsuccessful applicants for the job.”
“That’s right.”
The man rubbed his finger tips along the angle of his jaw. “That complicates the situation,” he said slowly.
“In what way?”
“Well . . . I’d like to know what your connection with it is.”
“And I want to know,” Mason rejoined, “what your connection with it is! What’s your name?”
“I . . . I am Mr. Hines’s representative.”
“Are you Mr. Hines himself?”
“Well . . . let’s say I’m his representative.”
“I’m asking you for your name.”
“Well, if it’s important, call me—Robert Dover Hines.”
“It is important,” Mason said. “Sit down. Where’s Helen Reedley?”
“I told you she had a severe headache.”
“That doesn’t conform with the facts of the case as I understand them. Now, let’s quit beating around the bush. What’s the game?”
“My dear Mr. Mason, I assure you that . . . Will you please tell me what your interest in the matter is?”
Mason said, “I want to talk with Helen Reedley.”
“That is impossible at the moment.”
“Nothing is impossible. That phone’s connected, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I fail to see what that has to do with it.”
“My own information,” Mason said grimly, “is that Miss Reedley is available. I want to talk with her, personally, now. I want her to identify herself to me as the person she claims to be. In the event that she doesn’t do that, I’m going to go over to that phone and notify the police.”
“What are you going to notify them about?” Hines asked suavely.
“You’ll find out when you hear me talk.” Mason’s tone was curt. “If you’re curious, just say the word and you can start listening.”
Hines placed his thumb on one side of his chin, the tips of his fingers on the other and made gentle, V-shaped, stroking motions. “This is indeed most unfortunate, Mr. Mason.” He was still suave.
“For whom?”
“For all concerned.”
“I’m concerned,” Mason said, “and I don’t think it’s at all unfortunate.”
“May I ask how you learned where to find this apartment?”
“Ask anything you damn please,” Mason said. “If I feel like answering, I’ll answer. If I don’t, I won’t. In the meantime, where’s Helen Reedley?”
“Mr. Mason, let’s not get worked up over this—let’s discuss it like practical men. Perhaps, after all, there’s a chance for us to get together. I feel that if you would only be frank and tell me . . .”
Mason moved quickly across the apartment to a closed door and jerked it open. It led into a closet.
Hines rushed over toward the lawyer. “Now, Mr. Mason, Mr. Mason,” he said. “You have no right to search this apartment! I must insist that you . . .”
Mason brushed him aside, jerked open another door.
This one opened into a bedroom, and in that bedroom sat Adelle Winters, her hands folded in her lap, a triumphant smile on her face. Seated near her was a brunette who was quite similar in build and general appearance to Cora Felton and who seemed definitely apprehensive.
Perry Mason bowed. “Miss Reedley?”
Hines, at his elbow, answered the question. “That is Miss Reedley.”
“How’s your headache?” Mason asked.
“I . . . I . . .”
“Come, come,” Hines protested. “This highhanded procedure is entirely illegal, Mr. Mason.”
“There’s the phone,” Mason said. “Call the police. Have me arrested.”
“Come, come, Mr. Mason,” Hines exclaimed again. “Let’s be reasonable!”
“Suits me,” Mason said. “It’s your lead. Make a play and I’ll follow suit.”
“Well, let’s go in the other room and sit down.”
“The ladies, I take it, will join us?”
The woman who Mason surmised was Eva Martell glanced uneasily at Hines, but Adelle Winters was on her feet at once. “Come, dear,” she said, and then added, “I presume this is the Mr. Mason who called up about an hour ago.”
“The same,” Mason said.
“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll do the talking,” Hines interposed hastily.
“I do mind,” Mason retorted.
“I mean, as far as the women are concerned.”
“Let’s quit beating around the bush, Hines. You put an ad in a paper that has a large circulation among actresses, an ad asking for women of a certain type who were free to accept a very mysterious employment. You had them all dress alike and you spotted them on street corners. You finally picked out this young woman, probably because she most resembles the woman you want her to impersonate. Now, I’ve been asked to look into this thing, at least to the extent of assuring myself there’s nothing illegal about it.”
“Who asked you to do that?”
“A client.”
Hines was evidently growing uneasy. “Mr. Mason, that answer is not satisfactory.”
“It’s satisfactory to me.”
“You want to find out whether this thing you call an impersonation is legal or not?”
“That’s right.”
“Suppose I can convince you that it is legal?”
“Then that’s all there is to it. If this young lady wants to earn money in a legal occupation, it’s quite all right with me.”
“Mr. Mason, I . . . Where can we talk privately?”
“Right here.”
“I said privately.”
“That’s as private as you can talk.”
“Well, let’s sit down,” Hines said reluctantly. “Let’s . . . This has taken me completely by surprise. I need a few moments to adjust myself.”
Eva Martell and Adelle Winters had seated themselves on the davenport, Mason now took the overstuffed chair opposite, and Hines, after some hesitation, moved up a straight-backed chair and sat down at the table. “Mr. Mason,” he said, “I have decided to be frank with you.”
“That’s fine. But before you do that, let’s see that we’re all square with the board. Have you paid these women what you promised them?”
“Not yet.”
“Pay them now, then.”
“I will gladly pay them, but I don’t like to have the suggestion come from you or in that tone of voice.”
“Pay them and there’ll be no need for any suggestion.”
“You have already made the suggestion.”
“All right, then—damn it, pay them!”
Hines flushed. “Are they your clients?”
“In a way. A friend of theirs has asked me to keep an eye on the situation.”
After a moment of hesitation Hines took out a wallet that was well padded with money. From it he took five fifty-dollar bills and handed them to Eva Martell; then a hundred-dollar bill and gave it to Adelle Winters.
“That’s better,” Mason said, as Hines returned the wallet to his pocket. “Now you can start talking.”
“This young woman is Miss Eva Martell,” Hines began. “The lady with her is Mrs. Adelle Winters, who acts as her chaperone. If you saw the ad, you will recall its stipulation that I would pay a chaperone and pay her well. For my own protection, as well as for that of the young woman, I want to make absolutely sure that there is nothing untoward in the situation, nothing that could possibly lead to a . . . er . . . morals charge.”
“Okay,” Mason said, “we’ll assume that’s taken care of. So this is Miss Martell. Now I believe you are living here, posing as Helen Reedley?”
“Yes,” the brunette said.
“Why?”
“Because I was told to do so.”
“By whom?”
She hesitated, and Adelle Winters replied. “Those were the instructions given by Mr. Hines, this gentleman sitting
here. That’s what he told us to do when we moved in. We’ve followed them to the letter. Everything we’ve done has been just what he told us to do.”
“That right?” Mason asked.
Hines cleared his throat. “It’s substantially correct,” he admitted reluctantly.
Mason said, “I take it, then, that you’re willing to assume the responsibility?”
“Entirely, sir. Every bit of it.”
“And I take it you’re aware it’s a crime to impersonate others?”
“Only when there is an intent to defraud, Mr. Mason. I have looked up the law very, very carefully. I can assure you that every step I have taken is strictly within the law. There is no intent to defraud anyone,” Hines explained.
“But you do intend to deceive people.”
“There’s a legal distinction.”
“I know there is,” Mason said. “I’m trying to find out whether you are aware of that distinction.”
“I am!”
“Who rents this apartment?”
“I . . . er . . .”
“Come on,” Mason said. “Who rents it?”
“Helen Reedley.”
“The real Helen Reedley?”
“Yes.”
“Who gave you permission to install these two women here?”
“Well . . . I have her authorization.”
“In writing?”
“No.”
“There you are,” Mason said.
“Look here, Mr. Mason. Let me make you a fair business proposition. Suppose I have Helen Reedley herself come to you and tell you that I represent her, that everything I am doing is all right, that there is no intention to defraud anyone, and that we will jointly assume responsibility for everything this young woman is asked to do. Suppose I do all that?”
“The real Helen Reedley?” Mason countered.
“That’s right.”
Mason grinned. “Number Two on your list of brunettes, I suppose?”
“Mr. Mason, Helen Reedley will have her driver’s license. It will have her thumbprint on it. You will take the thumbprint directly from her hand and compare the two. Nothing could be fairer than that.”
“When will this take place?”
Hines looked at his watch. “It is now approximately twelve o’clock noon. I can have her at your office at one o’clock.”
“Have her there.” Mason got to his feet and started for the door. At the doorway he turned and said to Eva Martell, “My number’s listed in the telephone book. If there’s anything you want to know about, ring me. I’ll call you some time this afternoon. Until you hear from me, don’t do anything.”
“But, Mr. Mason,” Hines protested, “I assure you it’s all right—all perfectly legitimate! It’s . . . Hang it, you’ve embarrassed me by injecting your personality into this case. But, since it’s been done, I can assure you that you will be satisfied—satisfied absolutely.”
“I’m a hard man to satisfy,” Mason told him.
“A thumbprint will satisfy you, won’t it?”
“Of the identity of the thumb,” Mason said, and added, “and that’s all.”
He closed the door and left Hines sitting there with the two women.
4
MASON, IN his office, looked at his watch for the second time within ten minutes. “Well, I guess it’s a stand-up,” he said.
Della Street nodded.
“We’ll give her another five minutes.”
“You really thought she’d come?” Della Street asked.
“I didn’t know. I was trying to keep an open mind.”
“How did Hines impress you?”
“Not too well.”
“But he’s in such a vulnerable position,” Della Street said. “I can’t understand why he’d promise you he’d do something like that and then not do it. Unless, of course, he’s just sparring for time.”
“He was sparring for time all right,” Mason said. “But it seems to me he could have resorted to something that would have been a little less spectacular when it failed. And he certainly could have shaded the time limit quite a bit. He could have said that he’d have her here at four o’clock and gained a cool three hours.”
“And if Helen Reedley does show up, and her thumbprint corresponds with the one on the driving license, will you be convinced that it’s all right?”
Mason laughed. “When and if she convinces me that she’s the one who has the lease to that apartment and that she owns the things that are in it. After all, there may be two or three Helen Reedleys in the country. I’m never going to be really satisfied until I know exactly why Hines wanted to borrow a brunette to live in Helen Reedley’s apartment.—Okay, Della, here’s Hines’s number. Get him on the phone for me.”
Della Street relayed the call through Gertie and a few moments later nodded to Mason. “He’s on the line, Chief.”
“Hello. Hines?” Mason said.
“Yes. Mr. Mason?”
“Right. Your party hasn’t shown up yet.”
“Hasn’t shown up yet!” Hines exclaimed in a tone of utter incredulity.
“You heard me.”
“I can’t understand it. Why, I understood she’d be there in . . . Why, she should have been there at least twenty minutes ago.”
“That was my understanding.”
“I’m sure that if you’ll just be patient she’ll be there any minute now. She must have been detained by something unexpected.”
“Let’s not have any misunderstanding about this thing,” Mason said. “Did you talk with her?”
“Why, yes.”
“In person or over the phone?”
“Over the phone.”
“And you’re certain of the identity of the person with whom you talked?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Hines: I’ll give you exactly ten minutes more. At the end of that ten minutes, my clients go out of that apartment—and, as far as they’re concerned, the job’s over until I know what it’s all about.”
“Mr. Mason, please don’t do that. I simply can’t afford to have them leave that apartment now. It would be . . . it would be disastrous!”
“Then get the Reedley woman in here within ten minutes,” Mason said and hung up.
He noted the time. “Now,” he said to Della, “have Gertie get Adelle Winters on the line. Tell her to rush the call through because Hines will probably be calling them, putting up some sort of stall.”
Della Street gave the number to Gertie, telling her to rush it. Then, while she was waiting on the line, she asked, “Do you want Adelle Winters or Eva Martell?”
“Eva Martell. She’s the one I’m retained to protect.”
Della nodded, then suddenly turned to the telephone. “Hello. This is Mr. Mason’s office. Is this— Oh, yes, Mrs. Winters, is Miss Martell there? This is Mr. Mason’s office. . . . Just a minute. Mr. Mason wants to talk with you, Miss Martell.”
She nodded to Perry Mason. “She’s on the line. Gertie has your line plugged in.”
“Miss Martell?” Mason asked, picking up his receiver.
“Yes.”
“Perry Mason talking. Hines has stood me up on that promise he made. Now, I want you to follow certain instructions to the letter.”
“Yes, Mr. Mason.”
“Get Mrs. Winters to accompany you. Take such clothes as you have there and have her get all the clothes she brought. Wrap them up in a package somehow, and get out.”
“She has quite a few clothes, Mr. Mason. There are some suitcases here. Could we borrow one, and then—”
“Definitely not,” Mason said. “I don’t want anyone to have it in his or her power to trap you. Do you understand?”
“Not exactly.”
“If you take so much as a penpoint out of that apartment, the real owner can claim that your original entry was felonious and that when you took her personal property from that apartment you were guilty of larceny following an unlawful entry. That�
��s burglary, and it’s a serious offense. Get what I mean?”
“Oh, yes, I see. Do you think someone might claim that?”
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to take any chances. Wrap your things up in a bundle. Never mind what it looks like. Never mind what anyone says to you. Get your things together and get out.”
“Mr. Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Does Mr. H. know we’re leaving?”
“I told him that you were going to.”
“Then he’ll probably come dashing over here?”
“Yes.”
“He may make some promises.”
“Never mind what he says,” Mason told her. “You folks get out, just as I told you.”
“And then what?”
“And then telephone me that you’re out. That will let me know I have a free hand. Now, be sure not to take anything from that apartment. Not so much as a paper match folder.”
“Where shall we go?”
“Any place. To your apartment, or to a movie—only get out, fast.”
“Very well. We’ll be out within thirty minutes.”
“Make it fifteen,” Mason said, and hung up to return to his dictating.
Some little time later the phone rang, and Della Street announced that Eva Martell was on the line.
“Hello, Eva. Where are you?”
“At a pay station in the Lorenzo Hotel.”
“No trouble about getting out?”
“Well, he rang up. He said he was going to come to the apartment, but he didn’t.”
“What did he want?”
“Wanted us to stay—made us all sorts of offers. Then asked us to stay at least until he could get up and talk with us. But, Mr. Mason, the reason we’re not home is that—well, we’re being followed!”
“By whom?”
“Two men that we’re sure of. There may be others—we don’t know.”
“I was afraid of that,” Mason told her. “Now, you’re absolutely positive that you haven’t taken a single thing from that apartment that didn’t belong to you?”
“Not so much as a cigarette.”
“And you’re sure these men are following you?”
“Yes.”
“Do they know that you know it?”
“I don’t think so. We wouldn’t have noticed them if it hadn’t been that we were . . . well, you know, sort of watching, a little nervous.”