“You want me to believe that after you first left the apartment, and went down to the lobby, and then came back up in the elevator, both Hines and the murderer walked in without your seeing them; that they walked into the bedroom; that the murderer killed Hines with your gun that he had picked up from the sideboard; that he replaced the gun, took Hines’s wallet and threw it on the floor, and then was trapped in the bedroom by your return?”
“That’s right.”
“That’s the way it happened?”
“That’s the way it must have happened.”
Mason looked at her. “That is,” he went on, “just to make the thing more convincing, the murderer took that wallet containing something over three thousand dollars and tossed it on the floor, so that you could find it and walk off with it?”
“You don’t believe me, do you, Mr. Mason?”
“No.”
“That’s exactly the way it happened. Cross my heart and hope to die, Mr. Mason, I’m telling you the truth.”
“How do you suppose Hines got into the apartment house without your seeing him?”
“I don’t know.” There was a moment of silence. Then she said, “He had to get there, Mr. Mason. If he was killed with my gun, he had to be there before I left — no matter who killed him. His body was there in the bedroom.”
“It was for a fact,” the lawyer conceded. Then he asked abruptly, “How about that number Hines gave you so that you could call him? Did he tell you where the phone was located?”
“No.”
“And while you were telephoning, you didn’t see him come into the apartment house? Neither you nor Eva saw him enter?”
“No — nobody came in during the few minutes we were there before I started upstairs.”
Mason said, “There’s one way of putting the facts together so your story isn’t quite so implausible. I’ll investigate that theory.”
“What’s that?”
”That Hines lived in another apartment in the same building, and that was the apartment where the telephone was located.”
“Yes. That’s so. That must be it. That would make my story sound better, wouldn’t it?”
Mason studied her.
“Now you’re sure this story you’ve told is the truth.”
“It’s the truth, Mr. Mason,” she said, and after a moment added, “but I haven’t a damn bit of confidence in it.”
Chapter 11
From a phone booth in the reception room at the jail, Mason called Paul Drake.
“How are you coming?” Paul asked.
“Not so good,” Mason admitted, “but I have a lead, Paul.”
“What?”
“Have Della give you the telephone number the girls were instructed to call in order to get in touch with Robert Hines. Find out where that phone is located. I’m particularly anxious to find out whether Hines had an apartment there in the Siglet Manor on Eighth Street.”
“I think the police have dug up everything there is to know about your friend Hines,” Drake said. “He didn’t live there — he lived in a downtown residential hotel and had had the same room there for five years. He was single, and rather taciturn; he played the ponies occasionally, and seems to have done a bit of sharp-shooting here and there. He was tighter than the bark on a tree when it came to putting money out.”
“Just check on that telephone number anyway, Paul. It’s important. Get me the lowdown on it as soon as you can. What have you found out about that apartment where Reedley hangs out? Or rather, about his neighbor?”
“We may have struck pay dirt there, Perry. Her name’s Daphne Gridley. She’s a commercial artist. She’s also done some work as an interior decorator. She’s been there five or six years in the apartment house, and apparently it was through her efforts that Reedley got the apartment he’s in now.”
“What does she look like, Paul?”
“Class.”
“How old?”
“Twenty-six or twenty-seven.”
“Blonde or brunette?”
“Chestnut-haired.”
“Knows her way around?”
“I think so.”
“Making money?”
“She inherited a flock of it five or six years ago. She only does the art stuff to keep busy.”
“Well, it doesn’t do us any particular good, Paul, except that it checks with what we discovered. There’s a certain amount of personal satisfaction in that.”
“What you discovered,” Drake corrected. “And you just can’t ever tell. It might help if you had something on Reedley, and I think I can find out a little more if I go to work on the Gridley woman. How about it?”
“Use your judgment. I seem to have a bear by the tail and I’m going to need all the help I can get. Chase down that number right away, Paul. I’ll call you back inside of twenty to thirty minutes.”
“Okay,” Drake said, “I suppose the police will have beaten us to it, but there’s no harm in giving it the once-over. They can’t rule you off for trying, Perry.”
“Trying is right. I’ve got to hit the high spots. However, I have a hunch the police may not know about this. Hines was mixed up in some gambling activities, and the police know all about those. But it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that they hadn’t bothered to chase down that phone number — perhaps they didn’t even get it from the women. Well, I’ll call you back.”
“Okay,” Drake said. “But you’d better play them pretty close to your chest, Perry. This is beginning to look a little tough for the Winters woman.”
“Are you telling me!” Mason said. “And the worst bit of evidence you don’t even know. Well, I’m not representing her — that’s one consolation.”
Mason hung up, returned to his auto, and drove a dozen blocks to a rooming house run by a woman who had once been a client.
“Hello, Mae,” Mason said. “How’s our girl friend?”
“Fine, Mr. Mason. She’s in 211. I took up some breakfast to her about an hour and a half ago. She doesn’t want to be any trouble and didn’t want to bother me, but I told her you said she mustn’t be seen in public until you had things fixed up.”
“Right,” Mason said. “Thanks a lot, Mae.”
Mae Bagley was a tall blonde woman in the early thirties. Her face could be hard, but as she looked at Perry Mason her eyes softened. “I didn’t even put her on the register, Mr. Mason, just in case they did get a tip-off or anything. Two-eleven is supposed to be vacant.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Mae.”
“You said to bury her, and when you say anything — well, that’s all there is to it.”
“That’s nice of you, but it’s taking chances—”
“I’d take ‘em for you any day, Mr. Mason.”
“Thanks, Mae. You’re a good egg. I’ll go on up.”
Mason climbed the stairs to the second floor and tapped on the door of 211.
Eva Martell opened it so quickly that it seemed she must have been sitting by the door waiting for the lawyer’s arrival. She was dressed for the street and her face lit up when she saw who it was.
“Oh, I’m so glad to see you! I thought it was the woman coming for the dishes. I wanted to take them down to her, but she said you had... But do come in and sit down. Here — take this chair, it’s the most comfortable. I’ll sit over here by the window.”
Mason seated himself, took out his cigarette case, opened it, and offered her a cigarette. She shook her head. “I’ve been smoking too much, and I’m getting a bit nervous. Just waiting, not knowing what’s going on. Tell me, Mr. Mason, is Aunt Adelle out yet? Have you been able to fix things up?”