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“Okay,” she said. “I’d like to see you for a moment alone.”
Eva Beltersniffed.
“Don’t mind her,” said Mason, “she’s going.”
“Oh, no, I’m not,” Eva Belter said.
“Yes, you are,” Mason ordered. “You’re going right now. I had to have you here while I was dictating those papers in order to get the information that I needed. You’re going back and put that will back in the house. Then you’re going up to my office this afternoon and sign all of these papers. And, in the meantime, you’re going to keep your own counsel. The newspaper reporters are going to ask you questions. They’ll get in touch with you somewhere along the line. You’re going to use all of your sex appeal and be shocked and crushed by the terrible misfortune you’ve suffered. You’re going to be unable to give out any kind of a coherent interview, and you’re going to sell them on your grief. Every time they stick a camera your way, show lots of leg and turn on the water works. Do you understand?”
“You’re coarse,” she said coldly.
“I’m effective,” he told her. “What the hell’s the use of you trying to slip a lot of stuff over on me when you know it doesn’t go?”
She put on her hat and coat with dignity and marched to the door.
“Just when I get so I really like you,” she told him, “you have to go ahead and spoil it all.”
He silently held the door open for her, bowed her out and then slammed it shut.
He moved over close to Della Street, and said, “What is it, Della?”
She reached down the front of her dress and pulled out an envelope.
“A messenger brought this.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Money.”
He opened the flap of the envelope. There were one hundred dollar traveler checks on the inside. Two books with one thousand dollars in each book. All of the checks were signed “Harrison Burke” and duly counter-signed. The name of the payee was left blank.
There was a note attached to the checks, scribbled hurriedly in pencil.
Mason unfolded the note, and read it:
I thought it would be better for me to keep out of the way for a little while. Go ahead and keep me out of this. No matter what happens, keep me out of it.
The note was signed with the initials “H.B.”
Mason handed the books over to Della Street.
“Business,” he said, “is looking up. Be careful where you cash them.”
She nodded her head.
“Tell me, what’s happened? What has she got you into?”
“She hasn’t got me into anything except a couple of good fees. And before she gets done, she’s going to pay more.”
“She has too,” insisted Della. “She’s got you mixed up in that murder case. I heard some of the reporters talking this morning. She got you out there before she notified the police, and she’s framed things so that she can drag you into it at any time. What makes you think she isn’t going to tell the police you were the man who was in the room when the shot was fired?”
Mason made a weary gesture.
“I don’t,” he said. “I have an idea that she’s going to do that sooner or later.”
“Are you going to stand for it?”
The lawyer explained patiently.
“When you’re representing clients, Della,” he said, “you can’t pick and choose them. You’ve got to take them as they come. There’s only one rule in this game, and that is that when you do take them, you’ve got to give them all you’ve got.”
She sniffed. “That doesn’t mean that you have to sit back and let them accuse you of murder in order to protect a sweetheart.”
“You’re getting pretty wise,” Mason remarked. “Who’ve you been talking to?”
“One of the reporters. Only I haven’t been talking. I’ve been listening.”
He smiled at her. “Skip along and get these things out, and don’t worry about me. I’ve got work to do. Whenever you come over here, be careful that nobody shadows you.”
“This is the last time I dare to try it,” she said. “I had an awful time getting away. They tried to follow me. I pulled the same stunt that Mrs. Belter did the first time she came to the office, of going through the dressing-room. It always bothers a man when he’s trailing a woman, and she walks into a ladies’ room. They’ll fall for it once, but not twice.”
“Okay,” said Mason. “I’ve kept under cover almost as long as I can myself. They’ll be picking me up sometime today.”
“I hate her!” Della Street said fervently. “I wish you’d never seen her. She isn’t worth the money. If we made ten times as much money out of it, she still wouldn’t be worth it. I told you just what she was—all velvet and claws!”
“Wait a minute, young lady,” Mason warned. “You haven’t seen the blow-off yet.”
Della Street tossed her head. “I’ve seen enough. I’ll have these things all ready by this afternoon.”
“Okay,” said Mason. “Let her sign them, and see that everything’s in order. I may have to grab them and run, or telephone you and have you meet me some place.”
She flashed him a smile and went out, very trim, very self-possessed, loyal and very worried.
Mason waited five minutes, and then lit a cigarette, and walked out of the hotel.
Chapter 13
Mason paused at the door of room 946 in the Wheelright Hotel and tapped gently on the panels. There was no sound from within. He waited a moment, then knocked a little more loudly.
After a few moments, he heard a stir from the interior of the room, the creak of bed springs, and then a woman’s voice saying, “Who is it?”
“Telegram,” said Perry Mason.
He heard the door latch click on the inside, and the door open. Mason lowered his shoulder, pushed the door back and walked into the room.
The girl had on pajamas of the sheerest silk which revealed the details of her figure. She had been sleeping, and her eyes were swollen. Her face still had traces of make-up but showed a certain sallow color of skin beneath the cosmetics.
Seeing her in the light of the morning, Mason knew that she was older than he had at first thought. She was, however beautiful, and her figure would have been the delight of a sculptor. Her eyes were large and dark. There was a sullen pout to the mouth.
She stood before him without any semblance of modesty, but with a certain air of sullen defiance about her.
“What’s the idea of busting in here this way?” she asked.
“I wanted to talk with you.”
“That’s a hell of a way to do it,” said the girl.
Mason nodded. “Get back into bed. You’ll catch cold.”
“Just for that,” she said, “I don’t think I will.”
She crossed to the window, raised the shade, and turned to face him.
“Well,” she said, “spill it.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mason, “but you’re in a jam.”
“Says you!” she retorted.
“It happens that I’m telling you the truth.”
“Who do you think you are?”