Conway, mentally cursing his clumsiness, said nothing. The elevator girl kept her eyes lowered, raising them only for one swift glance.
Conway didn’t dare to leave the key to Room 729 on the clerk’s desk. Walking when he wanted to run, the revolver in his hip pocket, Conway moved rapidly across the lobby, out of the door of the hotel, and then hurried down the street to the place where he had parked his car.
He jumped inside, started the motor and adjusted himself behind the steering wheel. He became increasingly conscious of the bulge in his hip pocket.
He withdrew the 38-caliber revolver, started to put it in the glove compartment, then just as a matter of precaution, swung open the cylinder.
There were five loaded cartridges in the cylinder, and one empty cartridge case bearing the imprint of the firing pin in the soft percussion cap.
Conway snapped the cylinder back into place, smelled the muzzle of the gun.
The odor of freshly burnt powder clung to the barrel.
In a sudden panic, Conway pushed the gun into the glove compartment, started the car, and drove away from the curb fast.
When he came to a service station where there was a telephone booth, he parked the car and looked up the number of Perry Mason, Attorney at Law.
The directory gave the number of Mason’s office. There was no residence phone, but a night number was listed.
Conway called the night number.
A voice came on the line and said, “This is a recorded message. If you are calling the office of Mr. Perry Mason on a matter of major importance, you may call at the office of the Drake Detective Agency, state your name, address, and business, and Mr. Mason will be contacted at the earliest possible moment.”
Chapter Two
The unlisted telephone in Perry Mason’s apartment jangled sharply.
Only two persons in the world had that number. One was Della Street, Perry Mason’s confidential secretary. The other was Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency.
Mason, who had been on the point of going out, picked up the receiver.
Paul Drake’s voice came over the wire. “Perry! I have a problem that you may want to work on.”
“What is it?”
“Have you followed the fight for proxies in the California & Texas Global Development & Exploration Company?”
“I know there is a fight on,” Mason said. “I’ve seen ads in the paper for the last week.”
“Jerry Conway, president of the company, is waiting on another telephone. He’s calling from a pay station. He’s pretty well worked up, thinks he’s been framed, and wants to see you at once.”
“What kind of frame?” Mason asked. “Some sort of badger game, attempted bribery, or—?”
“He doesn’t know,” Drake said, “but he has a revolver in his possession and the weapon has been freshly fired. Of course, I’ve just hit the high spots on the phone with him, but he’s got a story that’s sufficiently out of the ordinary so you should be interested, and he says he has money enough to pay any fee within reason. He wants action!”
“A revolver!” Mason said.
“That’s right.”
“How did he get it?”
“He says he took it away from a woman.”
“Where?”
“In a hotel room.”
“Did he take her there?”
“He says not. He says he had a key to the room, and she came in and pulled this gun on him, that she had a nervous trigger finger, and he took the gun away from her. It wasn’t until after he had left the place, that he noticed the gun had been freshly fired and now he’s afraid he’s being put on the spot.”
“That’s a hell of a story I” Mason said.
“That’s the way it impresses me,” Drake told him. “The point is that if the guy is going to be picked up and he’s relying on a story as phony as that, somebody should instruct him to at least tell a lie that will sound plausible.”
Mason said, “They have to think up their own lies, Paul.”
“I know,” Paul retorted, “but you could point out where this one is full of holes,”
“Can he hear your side of this conversation?”
“No.”
“Ask him if it’s worth a thousand dollars for a retainer,” Mason said. “If it is, I’ll come up.”
“Hold the phone,” Drake said. “He’s on the other line.”
A moment later Drake’s voice came back on the wire. “Hello, Perry?”
“Uh-huh,” Mason said.
“Conway says it’s worth two thousand. He’s scared stiff. He thinks he’s led with his chin.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “Tell him to go on up to your office and make out his check for a thousand bucks. Get a couple of good men to stand by in case I need them. I’m on my way up.”
Mason switched out the lights in his apartment, and drove to Paul Drake’s office.
Jerry Conway jumped up as Mason entered the room.
“I have a feeling that I’ve walked into a trap, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I don’t know how bad it is. But... well, there’s a lot of money involved in this proxy fight, and the people on the other side are willing to do anything. They’ll stop at nothing!”
Drake slid a check across the desk to Perry Mason. “I had Conway make out his check for the retainer,” he said.
“Got a couple of men lined up?” Mason asked.
Drake nodded.
Mason picked a straight-backed chair, spun it around so that the back was facing the center of the room. He straddled the chair, propped his elbows on the back of the chair and said to Conway, “All right, start talking.”
“There isn’t much time,” Conway said nervously. “Whatever has happened is—”
“There’s no use running around blind,” Mason said. “You’re going to have to take time to tell me the story. Tell it to me fast. Begin at the beginning.”
Conway said, “It started with a telephone call.”
“Who from?” Mason asked.
“A young woman who gave the name of Rosalind.”
“Have you seen her?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“I saw a young woman tonight who said she was Rosalind’s roommate. I... I’m afraid—”
“Go on,” Mason interrupted. “Get it over with! Don’t try to make it easy on yourself. Give me the details.”
Conway told his story. Mason leaned forward, his arms folded across the back of the chair, his chin resting on his wrists, his eyes narrow with concentration. He asked no questions, took no notes, simply listened with expressionless concentration.
When Conway had finished, Mason said, “Where’s the gun?”
Conway took it from his pocket.
Mason didn’t touch the gun. “Open the cylinder,” he said.
Conway swung open the cylinder.
“Turn it so the light shines on it.”
Conway turned the weapon.
“Take out that empty shell,” Mason said.
Conway extracted the shell.
Mason leaned forward to smell the barrel and the shell. “All right,” he said, still keeping his hands off the gun. “Put it back. Put the gun in your pocket. Where’s the key to the room in the hotel?”
“I have it here.”
“Pass it over.”
Conway handed the key to Perry Mason who inspected it for a moment, then dropped it in his pocket.
Mason turned to Paul Drake. “I’ll want you with me, Paul.”
“What about me?” Conway asked.
“You stay here.”
“What do I do with the gun?”
“Nothing!”
“Shouldn’t I notify the police?”