The Case of the Stuttering Bishop

"Suppose Harry Coulter could get through all right?" Mason asked.

"Sure," Drake said, "it's a cinch. He probably couldn't get his car through, but you can leave it to Harry to think up some excuse which will get him past a cop who's as dumb as that one."

Mason said, "There's a yellow Cad coupe over there, Perry. Let's park in close to it, give it a once-over and see if it's Janice's car."

Mason swung his car in close to the big yellow coupe. Drake jumped from the rear seat, walked boldly to the side of the coupe, flung open the door, looked at the registration certificate and said, "Okay, Perry, it's her car."

Mason said, "There may be some distinguishing mark on it that Coulter might have remembered, perhaps a dented fender or… Hello, what's this?" He paused to look at a dent in the left front fender. "This has been done recently," he said.

"It's just a fender dent which might have been done in a parking lot," Drake observed, coming to stare at the fender.

Della Street, looking over the leather upholstery in the car, called out excitedly, "Chief, look here!"

They hurried back to join her, and she pointed out several reddish-brown spots on the deep leather-covered shelf which was just back of the front seat. For a moment the three of them stood staring at the stains. Drake said, "You've got a good eye, Della. Those things are all but invisible against this russet leather."

She gri

"And that's why they were overlooked," Mason said.

"Do you suppose Janice could have been at the beach and loaded her grandfather's body into the car and…?"

"Not much chance," Mason said. "Let's get away from here. Those bloodstains are evidence. They've been overlooked. If anyone knows we've discovered them, the stains will be removed before we can prove their significance."

"But what are they evidence of?" Drake asked.

"We'll figure that out later," Mason said.

They walked down the pier some twenty yards to where an ambulance had been drawn up. A group of men with cameras and flash bulbs were taking close-ups of Philip Brownley and Janice Brownley. Hamilton Burger nodded to Perry Mason. "It's the body all right?" Mason asked.

"Yes, it's Renwold C. Brownley. The body evidently spilled out of the car, and the tide washed it back under the pier."

"Did he die by drowning or by gunshot wounds?" Mason asked.

Burger shook his head.

"Can't tell or won't?" Mason asked.

"I'm not making any statements right now," Burger a

Mason looked over toward the ambulance. "May I see the body?"

"I think not, Perry. Julia Bra

"No, one client in a case is enough for me."

Drake muttered in Mason's ear, "There's Harry Coulter. I'll get him to take a look at that yellow Cad."

Burger turned away, and Mason said, "Have him do his looking from a distance, Paul. Let's not show that we're taking any interest in that car. I want to figure out those bloodstains before we do anything more."

As Drake moved away, Philip Brownley came up to Mason and said, "Horrible, isn't it?"

Mason stared at him steadily. "No more horrible than it has been all along, is it?"

Young Brownley gave a visible shudder. "Finding Grandfather's body this way brings the tragedy of it all home to me so forcibly."

"You saw the body?"

"Yes, of course I had to identify it."

"How was he dressed?"

"Just as he left the house."

"How about the pockets of the coat, any documents?"

"Yes, there were some papers. They were pretty badly water-soaked. The police took them."

"Did you get to see them?"

"No, the police were very secretive about it… Tell me, Mr. Mason, you intimated when you were cross-examining me that if Grandfather didn't leave a will, and Janice isn't the granddaughter, I'd inherit the entire estate. Is that the law?"

Mason, staring at him steadily, said, "You'd like to squeeze Janice out of it, wouldn't you?"

"I'm just asking you what the law is. You know how I feel about her. She's an adventuress."

"I think," Mason told him, "you'd better consult a lawyer yourself. I don't want you for a client."

"Why not?"

Mason shrugged his shoulders and said, "I might want to take an adverse position."

"You mean representing Janice?"

"Not necessarily," Mason said.

"What do you mean then?"

"Figure it out," Mason told him.

The clanging gong of the ambulance called for the right of way. The car purred into slow motion, then, as it cleared the crowd, moved into greater speed. Drake took a few steps toward Perry Mason and nodded his head significantly. Mason moved over to join him.

"Harry says it looks like the car," Drake said, "but there are no distinguishing marks on it that he could remember well enough to swear to in court. If it isn't the car he saw, it's almost a dead ringer for it."

"And it was parked down near the place where Renwold Brownley kept his yacht?"

"Yes."

Mason touched Drake's arm and pointed across to where some yachts were moored. "Take a look, Paul," he said, "isn't the name on that yacht the Atina?"

Drake squinted his eyes and said, "It looks like it to me, Perry."

Della Street said positively, "Yes, that's the Atina."

"That's the yacht owned by the Cassidy who called on Bishop Mallory?"

Drake nodded.

Mason said, "Della and I are going places. I've got a hunch, Paul. Suppose you and Harry go take a look aboard the yacht."

"What for?" Drake asked.

"For anything you may happen to find," Mason said slowly.

"We may have some trouble getting aboard. There's a watchman, and it's a private mooring."

Mason said irritably, "For the love of Mike, do I have to tell you how to run a detective agency?"

"No, you don't," Drake drawled. "All I'm trying to find out is how strong we should go. How important is it that we get aboard that yacht?"

Mason, squinting his eyes against the sunlight which was reflected from the water of the bay, said, "Paul, I think it's damned important. You and Harry get aboard that yacht."

"That's all we wanted to know," Drake said. "Come on, Harry."

Mason motioned to Della Street. "Come on, Della," he told her, "we've got a job."

"What sort of a job, Chief?" she asked.

"Checking the records of receiving hospitals," he told her. "Let's go."

Della Street emerged from the telephone booth with a list of names. "These are the emergency cases you wanted to know about," she said, "together with the outcome. Numbers three, four and ten are dead. They were all identified. Number two is the only one who's still unconscious and unidentified."

Mason took the list, nodded and said, "Come on, we're going places." He snapped on the ignition, slammed the car into gear and started driving at high speed back towards Los Angeles.

"What did you think Drake was going to find aboard the Atina?" Della Street asked.

"Frankly," he told her, "I don't know."

"Why didn't you stay to find out?"

"Because," he said, "I doped out a theory of the case which may hold water."

"What is it?"

"I'll tell you," he said, "when I see whether it checks out. In solving a crime, a man has to figure out lots of theories. Some of them hold water, and some of them don't. A man who wants to build up a reputation for himself will keep his thoughts to himself until he knows that they check out."

Her eyes were tender as she studied his profile. "Do you want to build up a reputation for yourself, Chief?" she asked softly.

"And how!" he told her. They made the rest of the trip in silence. Mason brought the car to a stop before a hospital. Together they entered the office, and Mason said, "We want to look at the man who was picked up with a fractured skull on the morning of the fifth."