Mason nodded.
“You promise?”
Again there was a nod.
Freel took a soiled handkerchief from his hip pocket and wiped his forehead. “What do I do?” he asked.
Mason indicated Della Street with a nod of his head. “Start talking to her,” he said, “and sign your name to it when she gets it written.”
Freel looked across at Della Street. “It all started,” he said, “when I tried to blackmail Albert Tidings. First I wanted to sell him information and then…”
Della Street’s hands poised over the keyboard for a moment then crashed down on the keys as the portable typewriter exploded into staccato noise. As Freel paused in his statement, Mason said, “When that’s finished, Della, get him to sign it. Have the Captain sign as witness. Put the paper in an envelope, beat it over to The Clarion, and hand it to the editor personally. Take Freel along with you.”
Della Street nodded, then, with her hands held over the keyboard, glanced expectantly at Freel.
Mason said in a low voice to the private detective, “If he gets rusty, break him in two. If he tries to beat it, collar him and hold him.”
“How shall I hold him?” the operative asked.
Mason looked at him scornfully. “You have two hands — aren’t they enough?”
He pushed past the operative to the door, stepped out in the corridor, and pulled the door shut. He stood for a moment listening. Five seconds after the door had closed he heard the type bars on Della Street’s machine clack into rapid action.
Grinning, Mason started walking down the corridor.
Chapter 15
In his private office, tilted back in the swivel chair, his feet resting on a corner of the desk, Mason grinned up at Sergeant Holcomb.
“This time,” Holcomb said grimly, “I have a warrant.”
“I don’t think the D.A. wants you to serve it, Sergeant.”
“Take another think.”
Mason said, “That was an interesting case, Sergeant. Two or three things about it were puzzling but after all it wasn’t as complicated as it seemed. The Clarion’s getting out an extra I understand. You’ll probably enjoy reading it.”
“Nuts,” Holcomb said.
Mason went on calmly, “Freel gave The Clarion a complete confession. Della Street delivered it personally and Freel along with it.”
Holcomb’s eyes showed both interest and suspicion. “What is this, a run-around?”
“Nope, the low-down. Better watch your step, Sergeant, or you’ll be pounding pavements.”
“I have a warrant,” Holcomb said.
“So you have.”
“Get your hat.”
Mason, holding his hands up in front of him as though holding an imaginary newspaper, pretended to read. “So rapidly did The Clarion work in breaking the case that the police were still baffled. Even after the Extra Edition hit the street, one of the more amusing sidelights was the spectacle of Sergeant Holcomb of the Homicide Squad, with the dogged persistence of an unimaginative police officer, serving a warrant on a well-known attorney just as Clarion newsboys were selling the extras which gave the true facts of the case. Sergeant Holcomb, however, dutifully plodding along in the line of duty, escorted the grinning Perry Mason into Headquarters, pushing aside as he did so newsboys who were shouting the name of the real murderer.”
Mason went through the pantomime of folding a newspaper and putting it down on the desk.
Sergeant Holcomb said, “You can’t stall along that way.”
“I’m not trying to stall, Sergeant. I’m trying to give you a break.”
“Yes, you always did like me.”
“No kidding, Holcomb, you’re not a bad sort… you’re obstinate and pig-headed and a little dumb, but you have the courage of your convictions, loyalty to your work and absolute honesty. Why don’t you get aboard the bandwagon?”
“Doing what, for instance?” Holcomb asked. “Not that you’re selling me anything, Mason.”
“The lipstick on Tidings’ face, for instance,” Mason commented. “That was an interesting angle, Sergeant. There were several women in the case but only one of them would have kissed Tidings. Only one of them could have approached Tidings out there on that lonely road without having him reach for his gun.”
“What do you mean, lonely road?” Sergeant Holcomb asked.
“You know what I mean. Tidings wanted to get something on his wile. He was waiting out there near her house. A car drove up. Tidings knew the people in that car. They had been following him. They stopped the car and got out. Tidings kissed the woman.”
Sergeant Holcomb was thinking with knitted brow and furrowed forehead. “Who?” he asked.
“Byrl Gailord,” Mason said.
“How do you figure?”
“Byrl Gailord wanted money. Mrs. Tump wanted money. Tidings liked Byrclass="underline" he hated Mrs. Tump. He wouldn’t see Byrl while Mrs. Tump was with her so Mrs. Tump waited and followed Tidings when he left the office. They followed him to Adelle Hastings’ apartment but didn’t have a chance to talk with him. They followed him out to where he was waiting for his wife and did have a chance.
“Byrl kissed him, made a fuss over him, and then Mrs. Tump came pushing up and made her demands, and threatened to bring him into court. Tidings laughed at her. He told her the minute she made a move he’d show that Byrl was the illegitimate daughter of Mrs. Tump’s daughter, that the Russian nobility business was a fake. And that was when Mrs. Tump shot him.”
“A nice bed-time story,” Sergeant Holcomb said.
“No, it’s logic,” Mason insisted. “I found a roll of money in the mattress of Freel’s bed. Freel hadn’t made that dough out of Mrs. Tump. She was too smart to pay in advance. The only other person who could have played Santa Claus was Tidings. I figured Freel had sold out to Tidings and I knew Tidings wouldn’t buy expensive ammunition without using it.
“I knew that Mrs. Tump would never hire a lawyer if she thought there was any possibility of getting a settlement without a lawyer. She didn’t hire me to negotiate a settlement but to give herself an alibi. One would hardly be expected to hire a lawyer to interview a dead man. It was a clever move but the trouble was I knew Mrs. Tump would never offer to pay a fee while there was any chance of chiseling a settlement without a fee.
“You police, incidentally, overlooked a bet. Your laboratory could analyze that lipstick and analyze the lipstick used by the women in the case.”
Sergeant Holcomb seemed thoughtful. “We could have done that — can do it yet — but that isn’t going to keep me from serving this warrant on you, no matter how much you talk.”
Mason got to his feet, stood broad-shouldered, eyes locking with those of Sergeant Holcomb. “Get this,” he said. “As far as I’m concerned I don’t give a damn what you do. If you’re foolish enough to drag me down to Headquarters while The Clarion is putting the news on the street, it won’t hurt me any. You’ll be the one who gets all the laughs. No, Sergeant, the reason I’m telling you this is because I’m trying to give you a break. Beat it up to The Clarion office, tell them you have doped the whole thing out, grab Freel as a material witness — and you’ll get your picture in the paper.”
Sergeant Holcomb said, “I am going to serve that warrant.”
“Go ahead. You’ll have your picture in the paper in any event. How would you prefer to have the caption read? Sergeant Holcomb Who Solves Murder Mystery in Clarion’s Office, or Sergeant Holcomb Arresting Prominent Lawyer, While Clarion Newsboys, Seen in Lower Left-Hand Corner, Are Selling Newspapers Giving True Facts in Case to the Public?”