“What?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t do the right thing in getting you to represent Aunt Adelle. I did tell you that she isn’t always reliable in what she says, but I didn’t realize how far she would—”
“Come on,” Mason interrupted. “Out with it, Coral. Never mind the alibis or apologies. What is it?”
“Oh, Mr. Mason, I . . . I hardly know how to tell you.”
“Just tell it!”
“Well, I have just been visiting with Aunt Adelle. I had a pass to get in and see her. . . Well, she told me that what she had said wasn’t entirely the truth.”
“About what?”
“About the wallet.”
Mason groaned. “Do you mean to say she did get it from the man’s dead body?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Mr. Mason.”
“Exactly what did she tell you?”
“Well, she said she got it afterwards; that most of the things happened just as she told you, but that the wallet was there after she came back to the apartment. I was talking with her about how fine you had been and how marvelously you were handling the case. Well, then she started to cry, and she said she felt like a heel!”
“Where are you now?” Mason asked.
“In a drugstore about two blocks from the City Hall.”
“Hop a taxi and get up here,” Mason said. “You’ll just have time to make it if you hurry. I must see you before I go to the Grand Jury room.”
When he had hung up he said to Della Street, “Here’s a pretty how-do-you-do! Did you listen in?”
“Yes, and I took notes in shorthand.”
“Good girl! I— Oh, Lord, there’s somebody at the door.”
Insistent knuckles were pounding on the exit door of Mason’s private office. Mason nodded to Della, who went and opened the door. It was Mae Bagley.
“Oh, Mr. Mason,” she began impetuously, “I wouldn’t do this for worlds! Only—well, I’ve been subpoenaed to appear before the Grand Jury again, and Mr. Gulling has been talking to me—”
“Sit down,” Mason told her. “What did Mr. Gulling say?”
“He said they had all the evidence they really needed to show that you had put Eva Martell in my rooming house, but they wanted to really clinch the case; that I would get complete immunity if I’d tell them the truth; that they wouldn’t bother me about my license or about being an accessory. They’d take it for granted that you had influenced me. He said that everything would be all right—there’d be no perjury charge, or anything.”
“What did you say?” Mason said.
“I looked him in the eyes and said, ‘Why, Mr. Gulling, I can’t understand how you could possibly make such a proposition. I should think you’d realize that a woman in my position couldn’t afford to lie. If I had ever seen Eva Martell before, or if Mr. Mason had brought her to my house, I’d have told you!’”
“Make it stick?”
“I don’t know . . .”
Mason said, “Look, Mae, my advice to you is to take advantage of that offer and tell the truth.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Of course I mean it.”
“You mean to come right out and tell them everything that happened?”
“Yes—come right out and tell them everything that happened,” Mason repeated. “You shouldn’t have lied to protect me in the first place. You’ve got yourself in bad, and I certainly don’t want to hide behind your skirts.”
“Why—why, I had no idea of telling them! I just thought you ought to know.”
“You’re on your way up there now?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“Go tell them the whole story,” Mason said, “and say that I told you to.”
“Well . . . well, thanks, Mr. Mason. I. . . gosh, I had no idea you’d tell me anything like that.”
“That’s my advice to you,” Mason said, “and be on your way.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason. I just want you to know how I feel. . . I’d do anything for you, anything on earth, even go to jail!”
“That’s fine,” Mason told her with a smile, “but you just tell them the truth and things will straighten out all right.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mason. I . . . I’ll see you up there, I suppose.”
“Probably,” Mason said.
She walked over to the exit door, nodded to Della Street, gave Mason a warm smile, and before the automatic door check had pulled the door into place, they could hear the clack of her heels along the corridor.
Mason looked across at Della Street and shrugged. “As an attorney, it was the only advice I could give—just to tell the truth.”
Della Street nodded and got to her feet, saying, “My nose shines. You’ll be here for a few minutes yet?”
“Yes, Cora Felton is coming up.”
Della let herself out into the corridor and the door closed. Mason groaned, looked at his watch, and resumed his restless walking of the floor.
Della Street ran down the corridor to catch Mae Bagley at the elevator. “Mae,” she said in a quick whisper, “you understand, don’t you?”
“What?”
“That was the only advice Mr. Mason could give you. If he had told you not to say anything, or to tell a falsehood, it would have been a conspiracy to commit perjury if—well, if it should ever come out.”
“Listen, sister, you don’t need to worry about me,” Mae assured her. “You tell Mr. Mason to just go ahead with what he has to do and quit worrying about anything I may say. Anything Gulling gets out of me he can put in his eye!”
The two women looked at each other for a moment, and suddenly Mae Bagley’s arms were around Della. “You poor kid!” she said. “You’re shivering. Is it that bad?”
“Gosh,” Della admitted, “I don’t know, but I am worried.”
“It’ll be okay! Skip on in and give him a pat on the back. Tell him what I’ve just told you.”
Della Street shook her head. “I can’t tell him in so many words,” she said. “It’s one of those things nobody can ever talk about. We just— Well, at a time like this, we just have to take each other on faith.”
The elevator cage lighted up the shaft and then came to a stop. As the door slid open Mae Bagley walked in, turned, and waved at Della encouragingly.
Della was walking slowly back to the office when the second cage came to a stop. The door slid open and Cora Felton hurried out.
“Oh, hello!” Della Street said. “The boss is waiting in here. We only have a minute.” And she took Cora back through the door to Mason’s private office.
Mason, still pacing the floor, looked up as they entered.
“Hello, Cora,” he said. “Sit down. Tell me what it is.”
“Mr. Mason, I just don’t know. I’ve completely lost confidence in Aunt Adelle. I can’t understand why she would do a thing like that.”
“What does she say now?”
“Well, she says she picked up the wallet and then wondered why Mr. Hines had left it there. Then she walked into the other room and found the body, and her first thought was that now perhaps nobody would know the wallet was missing and she could keep what was in it. She didn’t know how much that was, but she could see that the wallet was pretty well filled with money. When she had a chance to look at it—while Eva was telephoning you and then the police—she saw the big bills and made up her mind she just wouldn’t give it up. She’s always had to fight her way through the world, and the world hasn’t given her a square deal. People have done all sorts of mean things to her, and—”
“Never mind the justification,” Mason said. “Tell me the rest of it.”
“Well, when the police nabbed her and asked her where and when she’d got this wallet, she was frightened and lied because she thought that the only thing to do was to claim she’d found it before Mr. Hines was murdered. She says that at that time she didn’t know Hines had been killed with her gun. That meant that the murder must have been committed while she was downstairs; she thought
then that it had happened some time later—after she’d left the apartment.”
Mason asked, “Any particular reason why she should have told you all that?”
“Yes, there was. The police had someone in a cell with her, a cellmate thrown in on a charge of murdering her husband. The woman was sweet and sympathetic, and she and Adelle started exchanging confidences. She told Aunt Adelle all about her case, and Aunt Adelle loosened up and told her quite a bit. Well, when Aunt Adelle was being taken out of the cell to go through some formality, one of the other prisoners waited until the matron had moved off a little way, and then she whispered some underworld jargon to Aunt Adelle—about buttoning her lips because they’d thrown a ‘stoolie’ in with her. For a moment it didn’t register, and then Aunt Adelle got what it was all about, and now she’s panic-stricken.”
“She ought to be,” Mason said grimly. “What a sweet mess this is!”
Della had been watching the time, and now she said, “You’ll have to be leaving, Chief.”
Mason nodded, picked up his brief case and hat.
“Does this make much difference, Mr. Mason?” Cora asked nervously.
“Does it make much difference!” Mason’s tone was rough with sarcasm. “It only kicks her case out of the window. Once she admits falsifying that last sworn statement she made—” He broke off as the phone rang.
Della Street scooped up the receiver. “Hello. Yes—wait a minute, Paul. He’s just leaving.”
Mason quickly took the receiver from Della and said, “Hello, Paul. Anything new?”
Drake’s voice was excited. “Anything new! Listen, Perry. We’ve got it! The guy fell for it like a ton of bricks. My man had a grip full of washers, and—”
“Never mind that,” Mason cut in. “Give me the answer quick.”
“The bird rummaged around in the drawers and sold him fifteen keys, and one of them had stamped on it ‘Siglet Manor Apartments.’”
“You haven’t fitted it to Helen Reedley’s apartment?”
“Not yet, Perry. Have a heart—gosh, my man just got it. But we’re on our way down there now.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “That’s a load off my mind. It looks as though we were beginning to get somewhere. You can see what happened. He told Helen Reedley what Hines had said, and Helen Reedley recognized it at once as a blackmailing approach . . . Okay, Paul, I’ve got it now. It may be a way out. If anything turns up, call me in the anteroom of the Grand Jury—I’ll arrange things so I can take phone calls there. I’ll have Della come along to hand me messages in case I can’t go to the phone. Keep working on it. So long. I’m on my way.”
Mason hung up and nodded to Della.
As she gave him his hat and brief case she said demurely, “I happened to see Mae in the hall, Chief. She’s nice, isn’t she?”
Mason stopped and looked at his secretary with a steady scrutiny. She met his eyes, her own all wide-eyed innocence.
“I mean she’s just a good kid,” Della added.
Mason circled her with his arm and drew her to him. “So are you!”
20
MASON CAUGHT Mae Bagley just outside the Grand Jury anteroom. He nodded his head with a slight inclination toward a bend in the corridor and Mae Bagley followed him around the corner.
“Who’s in there?” Mason asked.
“Just about everybody.”
“Can you remember names?”
She smiled. “I got all the names—that’s why I’m out here waiting for you. I thought you’d like to know before you went in.”
“Good girl!”
She said, “There’s a man by the name of Clovis who I think has to testify about some numbers on some bills. He’s a banker.”
“I know him.”
“And Sam Dixon— You know him all right. And Tom Folsom, and the woman Carlotta Tipton, who I think is going to testify about some phone calls, and Helen Reedley and Orville Reedley. Those last two are staging a typical husband-and-wife act, sitting on opposite sides of the room and glaring across at each other.”
“All right. Now let me tell you something. You must have confidence in me and get this straight and do exactly as I tell you.”
“Anything in the world you say, Mr. Mason.”
“Did Della Street stop you in the corridor and tell you to disregard what I had said about—”
“Della Street?”
“My secretary.”
“Heavens, no, Mr. Mason! She must have gone down to the ladies’ room—I heard someone come out of your door, but I didn’t . . .”
“Look here,” Mason said, “you’re lying. You can’t afford to lie to me.”
“No matter who asks me,” she said, “I’d swear, and will always swear, that Della Street never said a word to me.”
“All right,” Mason said. “We’ll let that go. But if she did, don’t pay any attention to what she said. Here’s what I want you to do. I want you to go to Gulling and tell him that you’ve changed your mind; that you’re going to tell the truth if you can get an agreement giving you complete immunity from perjury, from being an accessory, from everything—but that you want that agreement in writing, and you want it signed by him. Now go to him right away and get that.”
“But what shall I tell him when I once get the agreement?”
“Then,” Mason said, “tell him the absolute truth, every single bit of it. Do you understand? Don’t hide anything, except—well, of course, you don’t need to tell him about any conversation you may have had in the corridor outside my office.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Mason—I wouldn’t admit that conversation if Saint Peter himself asked me about it.”
“Good girl!” Mason said. “Now go and get Gulling. I’ll come in a minute or two after you so that it won’t look suspicious.”
“Oh, I’ve been in and out, smoking and walking around. They’ve got me tabbed as the nervous type. That’ll make it look all the more convincing when I go to Gulling. He’ll think I’m cracking under the strain. You’re sure it’s all right? That you want me to do it, Mr. Mason?”
“Yes. Tell them everything—except this: you remember that I didn’t make any suggestions to you about not having Eva Martell sign the register. I just told you I wanted her to have a room where—”
“Yes, I remember that. Not putting her on the register was my own idea.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “Tell it the way it happened, and good luck to you!”
A few moments later, when Mae Bagley had had time to enter the room, Mason sauntered in.
Mae Bagley was whispering something to Gulling, and a moment later Gulling whisked her out of the room. The witnesses were kept waiting in hostile silence for a matter of some ten minutes. Then Gulling, looking triumphant, marched through the anteroom to the Grand Jury room and returned almost immediately. “Mr. Perry Mason,” he said.
Mason entered the Grand Jury room.
“Mr. Mason,” Gulling said, “you are called as a witness. The Grand Jury is investigating certain matters in connection with the murder of Robert Hines and with developments arising therefrom. I consider it only fair to tell you that you may be indicted yourself as an accessory or an accomplice to certain crimes. You are, of course, aware of your legal rights. You don’t have to answer any question that might incriminate you; on the other hand, any failure to answer a pertinent question will be considered a contempt.”
Mason settled himself in the witness chair and smiled frostily at Gulling. “Go right ahead, Mr. Gulling. Turn on your heat.”
“I’m not calling for any privileged communication between you and your clients, Mr. Mason, but I am asking specifically whether, after you had learned of the murder of Robert Hines, you did not conceal Eva Martell from the police. Whether you didn’t meet her at the streetcar stop nearest her apartment, put her in your automobile, and take her to a rooming house conducted by Mae Bagley, who is a former client of yours?”
Mason crossed his legs and nodded. “Why, certainly.”
“What!” Gulling shouted.
“Certainly I did,” Mason said. “Except that your entire premise is incorrect. I wasn’t hiding her from the police.”
“Who were you hiding her from?”
“Newspaper reporters,” Mason said promptly. “You know how it is. Those chaps have a way of ferreting people out and getting interviews from them.”
“But you did go to Mae Bagley’s rooming house with this young woman, and you did tell Mae Bagley you wanted her buried where no one could find her?”
“That’s exactly right,” Mason said.
“Where no one could find her?”
“Right.”
“No one?”
“Right again.”
“Don’t you understand that includes the police, Mr. Mason?”
“The police had already finished with her,” Mason smiled. “They’d taken her statement and let her go.”
“But they wanted her again shortly afterward.”
“Well,” Mason said, “I naturally can’t be expected to read the minds of the police. As I understand it, the charge the Grand Jury is investigating on this point relates to my intention. I am telling you what my intention was. If you want to make anything else out of it, you’ll have to do some proving!”
“The next morning you knew she was wanted by the police because I told you so.”
“You certainly did,” Mason said. “You also told me that I had until twelve o’clock to get her here. I told her to be sure and be at police headquarters and surrender before twelve o’clock. That discharged my responsibility, Mr. Gulling.”
“No, it didn’t. You didn’t get her here by twelve o’clock.”
“Isn’t that rather technical? A cruising radio car picked her up.”
“In a taxicab—which she said she was using to go to police headquarters. But she couldn’t prove it!”
“Come, come, Mr. Gulling,” Mason said, smiling affably. “You’re confusing your cart and your horse. That’s a matter for you to take up with Eva Martell. My only connection with it was that I told her to be up here by twelve o’clock. Even, however, if she had disregarded my advice and made a dash out of the state by airplane, I’d still be in the clear.”
The Case of the Borrowed Brunette Page 20