Mason said slowly, “I don’t want to go myself. I’ve a clerk up there I can trust. I want to send him a good stenographer so he can prepare some pleadings if it becomes necessary. I also want someone who knows Doris Kent, to keep watch on her residence and let me know if she either comes in or goes out. Then I’ll arrange to have detectives called in. The person who knows her can put the finger on her, and the professional detectives can carry on from there.”
“I know her,” Harris said. “Edna introduced me to her a month ago.” He turned to Edna Hammer and said, “Come on up, Edna, it would be a nice lark.”
Edna Hammer hesitated, glanced at Helen Warrington; and Peter Kent, interpreting that glance, said, “Go ahead, both of you girls go up. I won’t be needing Helen for anything. She’s had experience as a legal stenographer, and she can be available if anything breaks.”
Mason nodded brief thanks. “That’s taken care of then,” he said. He went to the telephone, called his office and said to Della Street, “Prepare an affidavit for final judgment of divorce in the Kent case. The interlocutory decree of divorce was granted in Santa Barbara a year ago, on the thirteenth. You’ll have to leave the number and page of the judgment book blank until we can get the data. It was entered on the same day it was made.”
“I already have that,” she said calmly. “I have the affidavit all prepared and the final decree of divorce ready for the judge’s signature.”
“Been reading my mind again, eh?” he asked.
“You’d be surprised,” she told him. “Do you come after the affidavit or do I bring it over?”
“Where’s Paul Drake? Is he there?”
“No, he went out. He’s been in and out all evening.”
“Has he found out anything new?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Get a cab,” Mason told her, “and come on out.”
By the time Mason hung up the telephone, Helen Warrington, on an extension telephone which had been plugged into a phone jack back of the bar, had a call through to the airport. “I have a pilot who can furnish a bimotored, cabin plane,” she said, “but he wants to wait until daylight to make the trip. He says he can leave at daylight and have you in Yuma by seventhirty in the morning.”
Kent looked questioningly at Mason. The lawyer nodded his head. “That’s okay,” Kent said. “Charter the plane.”
Abruptly he began to shake, his arms, legs and face twitching. He turned his back as though to hide his affliction. Helen Warrington said in a coolly capable voice, “Very well, have the plane ready to start at daylight.”
The butler opened the door, said to Helen Warrington, “Mr. Peasley calling, Miss Warrington.”
Kent abruptly snapped out of his jerking fit. “Look here,” he warned, turning to face them, “not a word of this to Bob Peasley.”
“Really,” Helen Warrington said, “unless it’s imperative that I go…”
“I want you to,” Edna Hammer said petulantly. “After all, you know, it’s going to be an all night trip.”
“Tell Peasley,” Kent said, “that you’re going out on business for me; don’t tell him how long you’ll be gone or where you’re going. Tell him he’ll have to excuse you tonight.”
“And don’t tell him who you’re going with!” Harris laughed. “He’d stick a knife into me.”
Helen Warrington said to the butler, “Show Mr. Peasley in.”
“Well,” Harris said, “since I’m going to drive the car, I’ll keep sober, but there’s no reason on earth why you folks can’t have one of the famous Harris KDDO cocktails as a stirrup cup.”
“Yes,” Edna Hammer said, “give Bob one. It’ll do him good.” There was a touch of acid in her tone.
The door opened. A stoopshouldered young man of about twentyfive gave a perfunctory, generally inclusive nod, said, “Good evening, everyone,” and let his eyes turn at once to Helen Warrington.
She moved to his side. “Mr. Mason, Mr. Peasley,” she said.
“Perry Mason!” Peasley exclaimed. “The lawyer!”
“In person,” Mason agreed, shaking hands, “and about to sample one of the famous KDDO cocktails of our esteemed contemporary, Jerry Harris, admittedly the greatest bartender of the postprohibition era.”
Kent moved over to Peasley’s side. “I’m sorry, Bob, but you’ll have to excuse Helen this evening. She’s going to be very busy.”
Peasley made an attempt at a smile. “That’s all right, I only dropped in for a minute, anyway. I’ve got a hard day ahead of me at the office tomorrow. I just wanted to talk with Helen for a moment.” His eyes fastened upon Helen Warrington significantly.
“Everyone excuse us, please,” she said gayly. “Save my KDDO cocktail, Jerry Harris.”
She nodded to Bob Peasley. They left the room, and Edna Hammer heaved a sigh of relief. “Deliver me from a jealous man!” she said. “Did you notice the way he looked at you, Jerry?”
“Did I!” Harris remarked, pouring ingredients into a cocktail shaker. “One would think I was the Don Juan of Hollywood.”
Edna Hammer’s tone was slightly wistful. “Are you, Jerry?” she asked.
“Darned if I know,” he told her, grinning. “It’s hard for me to keep track of all the competition; but I do my best.”
Lucille Mays, who had been talking in a low voice with Peter Kent, suddenly laughed, and said, “I’ll bet you do at that, Jerry.”
“Sure,” he told her, “I’m not kidding. It’s the only way I can put my stuff across. You see, it’s only natural for women to want the man that all other women want Therefore, by making all women want me I make all women want me, whereas if women didn’t want me, no woman would want me.”
“I hate me,” Lucille Mays said, laughingly.
“No,” Jerry told her, “it’s a serious truth,” and then, turning audaciously to Edna Hammer, he said, “Isn’t it, sweetheart?”
Edna Hammer laughed up at him and said, “It is with me, Jerry, but when I sink my mud hooks into you, don’t forget you’ll be branded. If I see any woman hanging around I’ll stick a knife in her.”
Harris, carefully measuring the last of the cocktail ingredients into the shaker, said, “A couple more of these, sweetheart, and you’ll be more liberal minded.”
Edna said to Harris, “Hurry up, Jerry; Mr. Mason’s being courteous and gallant, but I can see he’s just seething with important thoughts… Leo’s are like that.”
“Am I a Leo?” Jerry asked. “I seethe with important thoughts.”
“You,” she told him, her eyes suddenly filled with sombre fire as her voice lost its bantering tone, “are a Taurus—and how I like it!”
Chapter 6
Perry Mason, clad in pajamas, stood at the bedroom window, looking down on the patio which was drenched with moonlight. The big house, built in the form of a “U,” surrounded a flagged patio, the eastern end of which was enclosed by a thick, adobe wall some twelve feet high. Dr. Kelton, his huge bulk sagging one of the twin beds, rubbed his eyes and yawned. Mason surveyed the shrubbery which threw black shadows, the fountain which seemed to be splashing liquid gold into the warm night, the shaded alcoves, striped awnings, umbrellas and scattered garden tables. “Delightful place,” he said.
Dr. Kelton yawned again and said, “I wouldn’t have it as a gift. Too big, too massive. A mansion should be a mansion. A bungalow should be a bungalow. This business of building a hotel around an exaggerated patio makes the whole thing seem out of place.”
“I take it,” Mason remarked, turning to face Dr. Kelton, and grinning, “you didn’t have a particularly pleasant evening.”
“I did not, and I still don’t know why the devil you didn’t let me go home after I’d looked Kent over.”
“You forget that you’re going to get up at daylight to see the bridal party off.”
Kelton’s head shook in an emphatic negative. “Not me. I’m going to stay right here. I’ve practiced medicine long enough to value my sleep when I can get i
t. I don’t get up any morning to see any bridal party off on any airplane.”
“Don’t be such a damned pessimist,” Mason said. “Come take a look at this patio in the moonlight, Jim, it’s beautiful.”
Dr. Kelton stretched out in the bed to the tune of creaking springs. “I’ll take your word for it, Perry. Personally, I don’t like the place. I’ll feel a damn sight easier when I get out of here.”
“Worried about someone sticking a carving knife in your ribs?” Mason asked.
Dr. Kelton, sucking in another prodigious yawn, said, “For God’s sake, turn out the light and come to bed. Listening to you two lawyers wrangling I got so sleepy I…” There was a faint scratching sound on the panels of the door. Kelton sat bolt upright, said in a low voice, “Now what?”
Mason, finger on his lips, motioned for silence. After a moment, the same scratching sound was repeated. “Sounds,” Mason said, grinning, “as though someone with a carving knife were standing just outside your door, Jim.” He opened the door an inch or two, and showed surprise. “You!” he exclaimed.
“Well, let me in,” Edna Hammer said in a hoarse whisper.
Mason opened the door, and Edna Hammer, clad in a filmy negligee, slid surreptitiously into the room, closed the door behind her and twisted the key in the lock.
“I say,” Dr. Kelton protested, “just what is this?”
“I thought you went to Santa Barbara,” Mason remarked.
“Don’t be silly. I couldn’t go. Not with Uncle Pete walking in his sleep, and this the night of the full moon.”
“Why didn’t you say so, then?”
“Because I was in a spot. You and Uncle Pete wanted Helen Warrington to go so she could help your assistant up there. Naturally she wouldn’t go unless I went. I might have explained, but Bob Peasley showed up, and if he’d thought Helen had been planning to go to Santa Barbara alone with Jerry… Well, he’d have killed Jerry, that’s all.”
“But I still don’t see why you couldn’t have said frankly that you didn’t care to go,” Mason said.
“I didn’t want Uncle Pete to be suspicious. He’d have realized something was wrong.”
“So what did you do?”
“So I went out to the car, explained to Jerry and Helen exactly how things were. They were very nice about it, as soon as they understood.”
Dr. Kelton said, “Is that any reason why you two should put on night clothes, and hold conferences in my bedroom?”
She looked at him, laughed, and said, “Don’t be frightened. I won’t bite. I want Mr. Mason to come with me while I lock Uncle Pete’s door and the sideboard drawer.”
“Why can’t you do it alone?” Mason asked.
“Because if anything should happen, I’d want you as a witness.”
“I’d make a poor witness,” Mason laughed. “Dr. Kelton makes a swell witness. Get up, Jim, and help the girl lock up.
Kelton said in a low voice, “You go to the devil, Perry Mason, and let me sleep.”
“I haven’t a robe with me,” Mason said to Edna Hammer. “Do I go wandering around the house in slippers and pajamas?”
“Sure,” she told him. “Everyone’s in bed.”
“If it’s okay with you, it is with me,” he told her, “let’s go.”
She unlocked the door, looked cautiously up and down the corridor. Moving on silent feet, her progress accompanied by the rustle of silk, she led the way to her uncle’s bedroom door. Kneeling before the lock, she gently inserted a key, taking care to make no noise. Slowly, she turned the key until, with an almost inaudible click, the bolt shot home. She nodded to Mason, resumed her progress toward the stairs. Near the head of the stairs she whispered, “I oiled the lock so it works smoothly.”
“Doesn’t your uncle have a key?” he asked.
“Oh, yes, but he’d hardly get the keys out of his pocket and unlock the door if he were asleep. You know a sleepwalker wouldn’t do that.”
“How about the sideboard?”
“I have the only key for that drawer.”
She produced a small flashlight, lit the way to the sideboard and inserted the key in the top drawer.
“The carving set’s in there?” Mason asked.
She nodded, turned the key, clicking home the bolt.
“I’m so glad you came out here tonight,” she said. “You’re getting things fixed up. Uncle is better already. I feel certain he’ll get a good sleep tonight and won’t do any sleepwalking.”
“Well,” Mason said, “I’m going to keep my door locked.”
She clutched at his arm and said, “Don’t frighten me or I’ll shock your doctor friend to death by staying all night in your room.”
Mason laughed, followed her back up the stairs, paused at the door of his room, turned the knob, grinned and said, “Jim beat me to it. He locked the door after we left.”
“Perhaps,” she giggled, “he’s afraid that I’ll walk in my sleep.”
Mason tapped on the panels, and after a moment, the floor creaked with the sound of a ponderous body moving in slippered feet. Then the bolt shot back and the door opened. Edna Hammer pushed Perry Mason to one side, thrust in her head and said, “Boo!”
A half second later the bed springs on Kelton’s bed gave forth violent creaks. Perry Mason followed Edna Hammer into the room. She approached the bed. “Do you,” she asked Dr. Kelton, “walk in your sleep?”
“Not me,” Kelton said, managing a grin, “I stay put—but I snore to beat hell, in case you’re interested.”
“Oh, lovely,” she exclaimed. “Think of what a swell sleepwalker you’d make. You could walk in a fog and blow your own signals.” She turned with a laugh, slid her fingertips along the sleeve of Mason’s pajamas, said, “Thanks a lot. You’re a big help,” and sailed through the door with fluttering silks trailing behind her.
Jim Kelton heaved a sigh. “Lock that door, Perry, and for God’s sake, keep it locked. That woman’s got the prowls.”
Chapter 7
A small alarm clock throbbed into muffled noise. Mason reached out, switched off the alarm, jumped from bed, and dressed. Dr. Kelton quit snoring for a matter of seconds, then resumed his nasal cadences. Mason put out the light, opened the door and stepped into the corridor. Edna Hammer was standing within a few feet of his door. She was still attired in her negligee. The aroma of freshly made coffee filled the hallway. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I sneaked up to tell you I’d unlocked Uncle’s door and to ask you to smuggle me a cup of coffee.”
“Can’t you ring for the butler and have him bring it to your room?”
“No. I don’t dare to. No one must know I didn’t go to Santa Barbara. Uncle Pete would be furious if he thought I’d slipped something over on him. And then I have Helen to consider.”
Mason nodded. “Which is your room?” he asked.
“In the north wing, on the ground floor next to the ‘dobe wall. It opens on the patio.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” he promised. “Your uncle’s up?”
“Oh, yes, he’s been up for half an hour, packing and puttering around.”
A door knob rattled. Edna Hammer gave a startled exclamation and was gone with a flutter of silken garments. Mason walked toward the stairway. Peter Kent, freshly shaved, opened a door, stepped out into the hallway, saw Mason and smiled. “Good morning, Counselor. I hope you slept well. It’s splendid of you to get up to see us off.”
“I always get up to see my clients married,” Mason said, laughing, “but it looks as though I’m going to be the only one. Dr. Kelton’s sound asleep and refuses to budge.”
Peter Kent looked at his watch. “Five o’clock,” he said musingly. “The sun rises about six. We’re to be at the field at five fortyfive. That will give us time for bacon, eggs and toast, but we’ll have to make it snappy.”
He accompanied Mason down the flight of stairs to the big sitting room, where the butler had a cheerful fire going in the fireplace and a tabl
e set in front of it. Lucille Mays came toward Peter Kent with outstretched hands, starry eyes. “How did you sleep?” she asked solicitously.
Kent’s eyes met hers. “Wonderfully,” he said, “Counselor Mason inspires confidence. I’m sorry I didn’t consult him earlier.”
Mason returned Lucille Mays’ smile. They seated themselves at the table, had a hurried breakfast. As Kent started upstairs, Mason poured himself another cup of coffee, sugared and creamed it, strolled toward the door, ostensibly to look out into the patio.
Mason waited until they had left the room, then moved quickly down the long corridor. Edna Hammer was waiting for him, the door of her room open. Mason handed her the cup of coffee, said in a whisper, “You didn’t tell me whether you liked sugar or cream, so I took a chance.”
“Just so it’s hot coffee,” she said. “My Lord, I feel all in!”
“Cheer up,” he told her. “It’ll soon be over. We’ll know by ten o’clock, perhaps a little before.”
She took the coffee, thanked him with a smile, slipped into the room and closed the door. Mason returned to the living room. The butler, cleaning up the things, said, “Your cup and saucer, sir?”
Mason made a shrugging gesture. “Set it down somewhere,” he observed, “and can’t remember where. Doubtless it’ll show up. I was looking at some of the paintings in the corridor and then I walked out into the patio for a while.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler said.
“What’s your name?” Mason asked.
“Arthur—Arthur Coulter.”
“You act as chauffeur as well as butler?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What make of car does Mr. Kent have?”
“A Packard sedan and a Ford cabriolet. I’m getting out the sedan this morning. I believe he said you were to drive it.”
“That’s right. You’d better get started, Arthur.”
The butler vanished with the smooth, noiseless efficiency of a welltrained domestic. A moment later, Kent, carrying a suitcase and an overcoat, stood in the doorway, said, You’d better get your coat, Mr. Mason.”
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