“And the other clues are?”
“Probably threads torn from our garments. Did you notice Ansley’s coat?”
“I know there was a section torn from the lining,” she said. “I— Gosh, Chief, I could have been more careful. As it was, I was in a hurry and — well, those barbs seemed to be sticking in every place and I—”
“Sure,” Mason said, “you were simply trying to get the clothes free and get away from there as quickly as possible. You had no reason to realize the importance of not leaving threads or bits of cloth... I take it you have some shopping you’d like to do today and perhaps you’d like to spend the afternoon at a beauty parlor, or drop in at a matinee?”
“And in case I’m questioned, what do I say about where I spent the day and how I spent the day?”
“You are entitled to a day off,” Mason said. “You’ve been working overtime.”
“When?” she asked.
“That’s a good point,” Mason told her. “Don’t try to cover up. In case you’re questioned, say you did quite a bit of work last night.”
“And then what?”
“If they ask you anything else, state that you don’t answer questions concerning business matters unless I give you permission.”
“Chief, shouldn’t I stay with you today?”
Mason shook his head.
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to seem to be avoiding the police. If we’re together, we would have to be working. If we were working, it would have to be on some case. And if we were working on some case, we might be picked up and questioned before we’re ready to be questioned. If, however, you’re taking a day off, you can keep yourself out of circulation where the police wouldn’t be picking you up.”
“And how about you?”
“Well, I’ll have to take care of myself,” Mason said, grinning. “I think perhaps I can do it.”
“If word gets around that they want to question you, they’ll be able to pick you up. You’re too well known to circulate around the city without leaving a trail.”
“I know it,” Mason said, “but I don’t think they’ll announce that they want to question me. That is, they won’t give the information to the radio or the press — not just yet.”
“Suppose Ansley calls in while we’re gone?”
“I don’t think he will,” Mason said. “He won’t unless the police pick him up. Tell Gertie at the telephone that you’re taking a day off, that I’m going to be in and out during the day, that if Ansley should telephone, she’s to explain to him that I have to see him and that he’s to leave a phone number where he can be contacted.”
Mason walked over to pick up his hat.
“Be seeing you, Della,” he said.
Her eyes were anxious as she watched him out of the door.
Mason got his car from the parking lot, drove some twenty blocks until he was away from the immediate vicinity of his office, found a parking place, went to a drugstore and consulted the telephone directory. He found the number of Beatrice Cornell in the Ancordia Apartments and dialed it.
A woman’s voice, sounding calm and impersonal, said, “Yes, hello.”
“Minerva?” Mason asked eagerly.
“What number were you calling, please?”
“I want Minerva.”
“There’s no one named Minerva here.”
“Sorry,” Mason said, dropped the receiver into its cradle, returned to his car and made time to the Ancordia Apartments.
He found the name of Beatrice Cornell listed as being in Apartment 108.
Mason pressed the buzzer and almost instantly the electric door release sounded.
The lawyer opened the door, walked through a somewhat gloomy lobby, down a corridor, found Apartment 108 and tapped gently on the door.
The door was opened by a woman who said, with crisp, businesslike efficiency, “I’m Miss Cornell— Why, it’s Perry Mason!”
Mason bowed. “I called you last night, but I’ve never met you, have I?”
“Heavens, no! You’ve never met me. I’m one of your fans. I’ve followed your cases with the greatest interest. Your picture is very familiar to me... I suppose you want to see me about what happened last night — your phone call. Come in and sit down,” she invited.
Mason entered the sitting room of a double apartment, noticed a large, executive desk on which were three telephones. There was a smaller, secretarial desk with a typewriter, a stenographic chair and a considerable amount of typed material.
She caught the surprise in his face and laughed. “I run a sort of catchall service, Mr. Mason. I answer telephones for a whole select list of confidential clients who want to leave night numbers where messages can be taken, yet want a little more personalized service than the average telephone-answering service. For instance, I have several doctors who telephone me when they’re out on their evening calls. I keep track of exactly where they are, and, in case of any emergency, know where they can be located in the shortest possible time. I also have a mail service for clients, do a little secretarial work, run a model service, and, all in all, manage to make a living out of odds and ends. In fact, I’m building up a pretty good business.”
“Isn’t it rather confining?” Mason asked, accepting the chair she indicated.
“Sure, but it’s a good living.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Mason asked.
“Seven years, and I’ve built up a very nice business. Before that I was a photographic model. After a while I began to realize that every tick of the clock was undermining my stock in trade. First, I began to put on a little weight here and there, and then I had to start dieting, and... well, after a while I saw the light and got out of the business. Now I have a list of models I book for photographers who want professionals.
“But you didn’t come here to talk about me, Mr. Mason. I suppose you want to know about last night, and what you’re trying to find out is whether I was involved in an automobile accident.”
“And I’d like to find out about your models,” Mason said.
“That’s simple. I used some of my old connections and friendships to build up a model-booking service. I have half a dozen photographic models who let me handle their bookings.”
Mason said, “Thanks for your cordiality and co-operation. I hate to be a nasty, suspicious, skeptical audience, but you’re talking to an attorney in a matter which may be of some importance.
“A young woman was involved in an automobile accident last night. She was unconscious for a while. She gave your name and this address. My client took her to this apartment house and delivered her here.”
“I see,” she said thoughtfully. “And you want some assurance that I wasn’t the woman?”
He nodded.
“How serious was the automobile accident?”
“One of the cars overturned.”
“You say this young woman was injured?”
“She was thrown out and apparently skidded for a ways. She was lying unconscious. Later on, she came to.”
“There were bruises?” she asked.
“Probably. On the legs and hips.”
“Well, Mr. Mason,” she said, “I was here last night. I answered telephones fifty times. I’m here every night. I feel certain I have no information that would help you.”