Drake nodded. “That does it, all right, Perry. When you stop to think, it’s logical enough.”
“That’s probably the way it was. When did Reedley get those bills at his bank?”
“About a week ago. Went in and cashed a check for five thousand dollars—wanted it all in hundreds. The bank has a pretty good idea what he does with it. Of course, the explanation of the listing of the numbers is that the Government is trying to get information about the black market, and about the boys who are evading the income tax. Reedley has a clear record. But the bank took the numbers of those bills simply because the drawer with the hundred-dollar bills in it had already been arranged and the list was right there. So that’s it, Perry.”
Mason nodded in assent, but Drake had not quite finished.
“Now,” Paul went on, “let’s give the police a run-around on this. Orville Reedley can’t tell them how Hines got those bills, because in the first place he doesn’t know, and in the second he’d be afraid to even if he did know.”
“Why afraid?”
“He lost them gambling,” Paul explained. “Suppose he tells the officers that. Then the officers say, ‘O.K., who were you gambling with? Give us the names.’”
“Boys who start tattling on these big gamblers,” Mason said, “aren’t very good life-insurance risks.”
Drake nodded.
“So,” Mason went on, “you’re quite right. We’ll give Orville L. Reedley to the police as a nice red herring. You say his present flame is Daphne Gridley?”
“As nearly as we can tell.”
“See that the cops get a tip on that, too.”
“You’ve already sent his wife off on a hot scent.”
Mason grinned. “Start the cops on it as well. The success of a red herring, Paul, depends on choosing one who just might be suspect—”
“Okay, Perry, we’ll toss Reedley to the wolves.”
“What else have you got?”
“I don’t suppose it makes any difference, but I’ve identified that boy friend of Helen Reedley’s that she was so touchy about.”
“Who is he?”
“Chap by the name of Arthur Clovis.”
“How in the world did you get a line on him, Paul?”
“Through those telephone numbers on the pad that Frank Holt picked up.”
“Say, wait a minute, Paul. You say the number was on that pad?”
“That’s right.”
“And that pad was in Carlotta Tipton’s apartment?”
“Uh-huh.”
“By the telephone that Hines used?”
“Yes.”
“But Hines wasn’t supposed to know anything about the boy friend. That was supposed to be a secret from him!”
“That’s the way I understood it, too—but the number was there.”
“How did you know it was Helen’s friend’s number?”
“We had a lucky break there. I had my men checking up on all the telephone numbers on that pad. One of them happened to be working today on this Arthur Clovis—at Clovis’s apartment—when suddenly Helen Reedley came to call on Clovis. The operative who was there had no idea who she was, naturally, but he gave me a description of her a little while ago that checked all right.”
“Better watch those descriptions, Paul,” Mason said. “Don’t forget how easy it was to find brunettes of that same physical description.”
“I know, but the Reedley girl has something else that sticks out like a sore thumb. The operative made a note in parentheses after the description—he called her ‘high-voltage.’ That’s certainly Helen Reedley.”
Mason nodded. “Sounds that way. Now how about Arthur Clovis? What does he do?”
Drake grinned as he fished a cigarette case out of his pocket. “You’ll get a real kick out of this, Perry.”
“Okay, let me have it. What does he do?”
“He works in a bank.”
“What bank?”
Drake lit the cigarette and blew out the match deliberately. “The bank where Orville L. Reedley keeps his account.”
“Well, I’ll be damned! What job?”
“Assistant cashier. Evidently a nice chap—dreamy-eyed and idealistic. From all we can find out, he’s been saving some money and planning to go into business for himself.”
“Then he’s quite well acquainted with Orville Reedley?”
“I should suppose so.”
“Probably handles his deposits, cashes his checks, and all that?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say, wait a minute, Paul. Do you suppose he’s the one that cashed Reedley’s check and recorded the numbers on those hundred-dollar bills?”
“Gosh, Perry, he may have been.”
Mason frowned. “Let’s give this some thought, Paul. If Hines had Arthur Clovis’s phone number, it must mean he’s been doing some gumshoeing of his own. Ostensibly, he was just a nice, coöperative little tool for Helen Reedley. Really, he was laying the foundation for a sell-out. He must have got that telephone number by snooping around Helen Reedley’s apartment. And that gives us a picture. Helen Reedley gave him her keys and the run of the apartment, so that he could fix up this substitute brunette convincingly. He used the keys to prowl around whenever the apartment was unoccupied.
“That means only one thing, Paul—blackmail. Or a sell-out, if you look at it from the other angle. Now that gambler, let’s suppose he’s in love with Helen Reedley. Any idea who he might be?”
“Hines went around some with Carl Orcutt,” Drake replied. “Orcutt used him for little things.”
“Check on Orcutt, Paul.”
“That’ll be tough. My operatives won’t want to work on him. The guy’s pretty hard, Perry. Anybody that gets in his way is likely to become a casualty.”
“Well, see what you can do. And how about Helen Reedley’s calling on Clovis today? Why wasn’t he on his job at the bank?”
“Oh, he isn’t working today—he’s at home, sick. Probably all broken up over the way things are going for Mrs. Reedley.”
Mason got up and started to pace the floor. “Hang it, Paul, this begins to have ramifications. Why should Arthur Clovis be broken up?”
“Well, we’ve heard how sensitive he is, you know. And—after all—the bird was killed in Helen Reedley’s apartment.”
“Sensitive or not, Clovis must be a pretty good egg, or Helen wouldn’t have fallen for him. I’d guess that he would be willing to take the gaff if he had to.”
“Yes,” Drake said. “You may be right, at that.”
“Your man didn’t have much of a talk with him?” asked Mason.
“No talk at all—didn’t even see him. Didn’t have to, as it turned out. He was going to represent himself as coming from an insurance company to check on a policy application Clovis had made. But when he got to the house— But first let me tell you about the house. It’s one of those with no attendant in the lobby—just a whole string of bells in the vestibule. You ring the apartment you want, and a buzz signal opens the door and tells you to come up. And there’s a speaking tube in case the person upstairs wants to find out who it is, before buzzing the door open.
“Well, my man had planned to snoop around the apartment house for a while, get a line perhaps on how long Clovis had been there, and even see him if he could get in. But as he was standing there in the vestibule, checking up on the address and making sure that Clovis did live there, this woman came hurrying in from the street and jabbed her finger on Clovis’s bell. She gave it a short push, a long one, and then two more short ones. The buzzer sounded right away and she went on in. He got a pretty good description of her, and gave it to me.”
“How long ago did this happen?”
“Apparently some time within the last hour or so. He reported just before I came up here.”
Mason was silent for a few moments as he paced the floor, deep in thought. Then he said, “The thing just doesn’t click, Paul. There’s something wrong somewhere, some discrepancy in chara
cter. . . . Of course, no one checks the accuracy of the lists turned in by the bank employees.”
“You mean the lists of serial numbers?”
“That’s right. A cashier’s cash has to balance at the end of the day; but he can take out all the hundred-dollar bills he wants, make up the amount with twenties, and report giving hundred-dollar bills to anyone.”
“You mean that those hundred-dollar bills that Hines had didn’t come to him through the husband?”
“I don’t know,” Mason said. “But when the assistant bank cashier who has reported giving hundred-dollar bills to a husband turns out to be the boy friend of the husband’s estranged wife, and those bills show up in the wallet of a man who was murdered in the wife’s apartment—well, after all, Paul . . . it does make me skeptical.”
“Hell,” Drake said, “when you put it that way, it makes me skeptical, too! Let’s go see the guy.”
Mason nodded. “I want to wait for Della. She’s gone down to pick up some cash.”
“Not in hundred-dollar bills, I hope?”
Mason grinned. “In hundred-dollar bills, Paul. And I only hope the bank keeps a record of them. Here she is now.”
Della Street breezed into the office. “Hi, Paul! Here’s the money, Chief.”
“Okay, get that letter written. I’m going out with Paul. Probably back in three-quarters of an hour.”
“Rumor around the courthouse is that Harry Gulling is laying for you, Perry.”
“Let him lay,” Mason said. “He may lay an egg.”
16
MASON PUSHED the button opposite the name ARTHUR CLOVIS, giving a short ring, then a long, and then two shorts. Almostly instantly the buzzing of the door signified that the electrically controlled catch had been released and Drake, who was waiting, pushed the door open.
“What’s the number?” Mason asked.
“Two-eleven.”
“An elevator?”
“I don’t know. But here are the stairs, anyhow.”
“Okay, we’ll walk up,” Mason said.
They climbed to the second floor, found the apartment they wanted, and Mason tapped gently.
The door was flung open. A man’s voice said, “Why, Helen, what brings you back—” He stopped in open-mouthed astonishment.
Mason thrust out his hand, his smile was affable. “Mr. Clovis, I believe?”
“That’s right.”
“My name’s Mason, and this is Mr. Drake. May we come in?” And Mason pushed on past the startled young man, seated himself, smiled, and said, “I was talking with Helen Reedley. I believe she told you about it.”
“She . . . Did she send you here?”
Mason’s face showed surprise. “You mean you didn’t know I was coming?”
“No.”
“Well, close the door and sit down; we may as well talk things over without taking the whole apartment house into our confidence. I want to find out what you can tell me about what happened when Orville Reedley cashed that five-thousand-dollar check. I believe you were the one who took the record of the numbers. . . .”
Arthur Clovis’s face showed relief. “Oh, that. That’s all been taken care of. A Lieutenant Tragg from the Homicide Division of the Metropolitan Police Force questioned me and drew up a written statement for me to sign.”
“You cashed the check for Reedley?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Worked in the bank for some time, have you?”
“Three or four years.”
“Know Orville Reedley quite well?”
“Only as a depositor.”
“Wait on him frequently?”
“Yes. As it happens, I’m in charge of the window R-to-Z and I often have dealings with Mr. Reedley.”
“Large cash withdrawals?”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to discuss the affairs of a client at the bank. But if you’ll get in touch with the account manager, he’ll doubtless—”
“I’ll do that later,” Mason interrupted. “I’m interested now in finding out something of the personal relationship.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re in love with Reedley’s wife.”
“Mr. Mason!”
“Come, come,” Mason said, “save the dramatics. Let’s just get down to brass tacks.”
“That remark is . . .”
“The truth,” Mason finished, as Clovis hesitated.
“You are asking about something that is none of your business. Damn your impertinence anyway!”
“Let’s skip all this, Clovis, and find out what the score is. The last thing you want is to have this given any publicity. And, what’s more to the point, you know very well that it’s the last thing Helen wants. I have all the facts, so let’s not do any bluffing. We can save time being frank.”
“I understand you are an attorney,” Clovis said sullenly.
“That’s right.”
“Well, what business is this of yours?”
“I’m making an investigation on behalf of my clients.”
“Who are your clients?”
“Two women, Adelle Winters and Eva Martell. Do you know them?”
“No.”
“Then you shouldn’t have any hesitancy about answering questions.”
“It’s a matter I don’t care to discuss.”
“If necessary, I can subpoena you as a witness at the preliminary examination, put you on the stand, and get the information I want in front of a courtroom full of people.”
“I don’t think the law would let you do that.”
Mason lit a cigarette and said nonchalantly, “Lots of people disagree with me about points of law. Some of them are lawyers, too.”
“Just what do you want to know?”
“I want to know what the set-up is. I want to know why Helen Reedley arranged for a stand-in. I want to know why you’re so surreptitious about your affair with Helen.”
“Helen is a married woman, and there is no ‘affair.’”
“She’s left her husband.”
“Who is a particularly ruthless, determined man, unusually possessive and jealous.”
“And so you’re afraid of him?”
“Afraid of him?” Clovis exclaimed indignantly. “Hell, I’ve been wanting to go have it out with him for two months, but I refrained on account of Helen. She’s frightened to death of him. He has all but ruined her life. She’s becoming a nervous wreck.”
“Did you know about the woman who was impersonating Helen Reedley?”
“No.”
“You knew Helen wasn’t at her apartment.”
“She told me she’d let a friend have the apartment.”
“And gave you her new address at the hotel?”
“Yes.”
“You saw her there?”
“Yes.”
“Went out with her?”
“Yes.”
“Same old restaurants as usual?”
Clovis started to say “Yes,” then gave the question puzzled consideration, changed his mind, and said, “Well no, as a matter of fact, we were going to new restaurants.”
“I know,” Mason said, “but you didn’t have any idea of the purpose back of all this?”
“None whatever.”
“Until Hines came to see you,” Mason said.
Clovis jerked as though Mason had pushed a pin into him. “Hines,” he said, as though the repetition of the name would give him time to think.
“He came to see you?” Mason asked.
“What makes you think he did?”
“Did he?”
“Well, yes.”
“When?”
“The morning of the third.”
“What did he want?”
“I . . . Mr. Mason, you won’t think this is the truth, but it is. I simply don’t know what the man wanted.”
“Didn’t he say?”
“No.”
“Lay any foundation for meeting you at a later time under different circum
stances?”
“No.”
“Any attempt at blackmail?”
“I don’t think there was.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“Because I wasn’t at the time aware of all the circumstances. And in such a situation, naturally, one is likely to overlook significant passages in the conversation, little hidden meanings that tie in with . . .”
“Suppose you tell me exactly what happened.”
“I was on duty at the bank. Hines came to my window. It was during a slack period and there was no queue. When he gave me his name I told him he was at the wrong window, that I handled only the R-to-Z deposits. He smiled and said, no, he thought he was at the right window.”
“Then what?”
“Then he started making enigmatic remarks. I couldn’t get what he was driving at.”
“Can you remember what he said?”
“Well, it was all rather mysterious. He said he might want to borrow some money, and that the person who would endorse his note would be a depositor whose name would be in the accounts that were handled at my window.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him that notes were handled in an entirely different department in the bank. And then he asked, ‘I suppose you know Orville L. Reedley and Helen Reedley, his wife?’ I didn’t answer the question directly, though I was perfectly polite—I just told him that he would have to inquire at the Loan Department.”
“Then what happened?”
“He started to turn away from the window, then stopped and smiled pleasantly and said, ‘I’ve seen your face before,’ or something of that sort. I told him I didn’t remember him and he said that he had a girl friend who lived in the Siglet Manor Apartments and asked me if I knew the place.”
“What did you do?” Mason asked.
“I simply turned away. He smiled and walked out.”
“Do you know whether he went to the Loan Department?”
“No, he didn’t—he just walked out. I watched him.”
“He intimated to you that he would be asking to borrow money on a note signed by Helen Reedley?”
“Or Orville Reedley. That, of course, was just my guess. I don’t really know.”
The Case of the Borrowed Brunette Page 15