Mason dropped the telephone into its cradle, frowned thoughtfully.
“What’s all this?” Adelle Hastings asked. “Does this have to do with my case?”
Mason looked at her thoughtfully. “What case?” he asked.
She seemed embarrassed. “Why, I— Well, of course I expect to pay you for your time, Mr. Mason. You’ll be compensated.”
Mason said to Della Street, “Get Homicide at police headquarters, Della. See if Lieutenant Tragg is in. I’ll talk with him, but if he isn’t in I’ll talk with whoever is in charge.”
Della Street nodded, asked for an outside line, then put through the call herself.
“Homicide, please,” she said. Then after a moment, “Is Lieutenant Tragg there? Perry Mason calling.”
She turned to the lawyer and said, “They’re calling him to the phone, Perry.”
Mason picked up his phone and nodded to Della Street that she was to monitor the conversation.
Tragg’s voice, dry, crisply efficient, came over the line. “Hello, Perry,” he said. “Haven’t found another body, have you?”
“Would it surprise you?” Mason asked.
“No.”
“I don’t know what I’ve found,” Mason said. “It’s something that bothers me.”
“That’s fine,” Tragg said. “Anything that bothers you is certain to bother me. What seems to be the trouble?”
“A client of mine living in Las Vegas, Nevada, lost her purse a couple of days ago; that is, her handbag — the big bag that a woman carries, including lipstick, coin purse, cigarettes and all the rest of the paraphernalia.”
“Go on,” Tragg said.
“This woman,” Mason said, “was Adelle Sterling Hastings, the wife of Garvin S. Hastings. At present Mrs. Hastings has separated from her husband and is residing in Nevada.”
“Come on,” Tragg said, “get to the point, Mason.”
“Yesterday noon while I was out at lunch, and while Della Street was also out at lunch, a woman came to my office — a woman wearing large dark glasses, who said her name was Mrs. Hastings and that she would wait until I returned from lunch. She waited in the outer office for a few minutes and then left rather hurriedly, saying she would return but she never returned.
“Sometime later in the afternoon we discovered a woman’s handbag or purse in the office and on making an inventory of that purse we found credit cards, driving licenses, etc., which established the ownership.”
“And it was Mrs. Hastings’ purse?”
“That’s right.”
“Then give it back to her,” Tragg said, “and— Oh-oh, now, wait a minute, Perry. You’re sneaking up on my blind side. Was there by any chance a gun in the purse?”
“There was.”
“A permit to carry it?” Tragg asked.
“No. Mrs. Hastings doesn’t carry the gun. The last time she saw it, it was in the drawer of a bedstand in her apartment.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Tragg interrupted. “Had that gun been fired?”
“Twice.”
“All right,” Tragg said, “come clean, Perry. Where’s the corpse that goes with the gun?”
“I don’t know that there is any. However, naturally, I’m worried.”
“You should be. Where can I find Mrs. Hastings? What’s her address in Las Vegas?”
“Her address is 721 Northwest Firston Avenue, but as it happens, she is in my office at the present time. We have been discussing the situation and she feels that something should be done. I felt it would be advisable to notify you, in case you wanted to take a look at the evidence or—”
Tragg’s voice was as crisp as a cold lettuce leaf. “All right, Mason, what does she say about the gun having been fired?”
“She knows nothing about it,” Mason said. “Her handbag and her keys were stolen, and then the gun was stolen. Moreover, she was not the woman who left the handbag in my office. It was some other woman using her name.”
Tragg said, “Why not call the Las Vegas police in case those bullets found a mark in human anatomy somewhere? The body is probably in Nevada.”
“That’s my thinking,” Perry Mason said, “but I thought I should notify you because so many times you complain that I have concealed evidence and that has hampered your investigation.”
“It’s a crime to conceal evidence,” Tragg commented.
“I realize that.”
“And that,” Tragg said, “is why you’re calling me up now. You wanted to clear your own skirts.”
“I thought you should know.”
“Well, why not call the Las Vegas police?”
“Perhaps I should,” Mason said, “but since they’re in an entirely different jurisdiction I felt that I would first discharge my responsibility by notifying you.”
“All right,” Tragg said, “you’ve notified me. Thanks a lot. I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for calling, Mason. Good-by.”
Mason dropped the receiver into the cradle, turned to Adelle Hastings and said, “Tragg will probably be up here just as quick as a siren and the red light on an automobile can get him here. Now, you’re going to have to answer questions. If you have told me the truth, answer Tragg’s questions fully, fairly and frankly. If you haven’t told me the truth, just say that you have no statement to make. Don’t, under any circumstances, try to lie to Lieutenant Tragg.”
“I understand.”
“You weren’t the woman who was in this office yesterday?”
“No.”
“You didn’t leave that handbag here?”
“No.”
“You didn’t fire that gun?”
“No.”
“You left your revolver in your apartment and last saw it there?”
“Yes.”
“If you’re lying to me,” Mason said, “it could very well mean a life sentence or perhaps the death penalty.”
“I’m not lying to you.”
Mason nodded to Della Street. “Call Paul Drake.”
Della Street put through the call, nodded to Perry Mason.
Mason picked up the telephone. “How are you coming, Paul?”
“I’ve got six women,” Drake said, “and as of now they’re getting pretty impatient.”
“You won’t have to hold them much longer. You have dark glasses for them?”
“Yes.”
“Big ones?”
“I’ll say they’re big.”
“All right,” Mason said, “sit tight. You’ll have action within five to ten minutes.”
“How long will it take?” Drake asked. “They want to know.”
“It won’t take over a couple of minutes,” Mason said. “Within twenty minutes from now they can go home. stick around and wait for the signal, Paul. When you get it, act promptly.”
Mason hung up and turned to Adelle Hastings. “Put your dark glasses in the case in your handbag. Have them so you can get them at a moment’s notice. Now, when Lieutenant Tragg comes here, don’t pay the slightest attention to anything that I say. That is, don’t let it confuse you.”
“What makes you think this officer is going to come here, Mr. Mason? From what I gathered in listening to your end of the telephone conversation there was nothing that he considered very urgent.”
Mason said, “I’m putting two sets of two and two together and making two fours, Mrs. Hastings. Then I’m putting those two fours together and making eight.”
There was a moment of silence.
“Did you tell Simley Beason that you were going to be here?” Mason asked.
“Yes. I told him I’d call him later but that I was trying to get an appointment with you and he could reach me at your office in case there was anything real important.”
“Did you tell him—”
Mason broke off as the telephone rang.
Della Street picked up the instrument, said, “Yes, Gertie... Just a moment, please.”
Della Street turned to Mason and said, “A Mr. Beason is calling Adelle Hastings.”