“What other thing?”
Mason indicated the bed-stand with its open drawer. “The thing you pretended to be looking for just now, and I would like to compliment you on your acting ability. I certainly hope you can do as well when you get in front of a jury.”
She regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, then said, “Mr. Mason — if you really are Perry Mason — do you have my handbag?”
Mason nodded.
“How did you get it?”
“You came to my office a little after noon today and left it there when you went out.”
“I wasn’t in your office at all. I have heard the name Perry Mason. I lived in Los Angeles with my husband for some time and have seen your name mentioned in the papers from time to time. I have never been in your office in my life.”
“Your bag?” Mason asked.
“My bag was stolen from my automobile sometime yesterday. I was in Los Angeles. I wanted cigarettes. I found a parking place in front of a store, grabbed a dollar bill from my change purse, dashed into the store, picked up a package of cigarettes and— Well, when I came out my purse was gone — although I didn’t miss it until later.”
“I see,” Mason said, smiling slightly. “Now, if you had the presence of mind to complain to the police that your purse had been stolen, you just might have a story the jury would believe.”
“Why should there be a jury? Why shouldn’t they believe my story? What possible object would I have in making up such a story?”
“I take it then you didn’t complain to the police.”
“As a matter of fact I didn’t, although I don’t see where it concerns you in the least.”
“Why didn’t you complain to the police?”
“Because,” she said, “for one thing, I didn’t know it was gone until I arrived at my home in Los Angeles and looked for my key and found the whole bag was gone.
“You see, I was on my way to keep an appointment with my husband. I was afraid I was going to be late and he is a stickler for promptness, so I was in a hurry. For that reason I didn’t put the cigarettes in my bag but just tossed them on the seat. The bag must have been gone at that time. In fact, that was the only time it could have been taken, but I didn’t notice it until I got to my house and reached for my key container.”
“Why didn’t you notify the police then?” Mason asked.
“My husband said it would be a waste of time and— Well, he didn’t want it known that I was spending the night there in our house. You see, we’ve separated and—”
“Was your reluctance to call the police due in part to the fact that there was something else in your bag?” Mason asked. “The something that you were looking for just now in the drawer by the side of the bed?”
“The gun?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“My gun wasn’t in the handbag,” she said. “For all I knew it was in that drawer in the stand by the bed. Someone evidently has taken the gun, presumably the same person who stole my handbag, since the keys to this apartment were in the handbag — and now you show up with those keys. Perhaps it is your story that should be checked, Mr. Mason.”
“You didn’t take the gun with you on your trip to Los Angeles?”
“Certainly not. I went in to Los Angeles to keep my appointment. I drove back this afternoon and got in just about twenty minutes ago. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, bad a drink, and was taking a shower when I heard voices out here... Now then, Mr. Mason, if you have my bag I’ll trouble you to return it.”
Mason said, “I’d like to ask a couple of questions first.”
“You have no right to ask questions — no more right to have your questions answered than you had to take my key and make an illegal entry into this apartment.”
Abruptly Mason became crisply businesslike. “You went in to Los Angeles yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“You had an appointment with your husband?”
“Yes, I tell you.”
“You kept it?”
“Yes.”
“What did you want to see your husband about?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“A property settlement?”
“I say it’s none of your business.”
“You didn’t reach any agreement with him?”
“Again, that’s none of your business, Mr. Mason.”
“Where did you spend the night last night?”
“For your information, I spent it in my own home, but there again, that’s none of your business.”
Mason said, “Look here, Mrs. Hastings, if you’re lying, and apparently you are, you’ve worked out what you feel is a very ingenious lie. But I warn you that you can’t get away with it. The police are too thorough and too clever.”
“I’ll worry about my affairs, Mr. Mason. You worry about yours.”
Mason said, “The bag which you left in my office shortly after noon had your driving license, a purse with a considerable sum of money in it, keys, and a gun; and for your information, two of the cartridges in that gun had been freshly discharged.”
“What!” she exclaimed, her eyes growing large.
Mason said, “You’re a very convincing actress. There are times when I find myself believing your story, and I believe it very much against my better judgment.”
Adelle Hastings moved over to a chair, abruptly sat down as though her knees refused to support her weight.
“Won’t you... won’t you sit down?” she asked.
Mason nodded to Della Street.
They took chairs.
She said at length, “Mr. Mason, you’ve entered my apartment unlawfully for a purpose I don’t quite understand. Lawyer-like, you’ve managed to put me on the defensive by asking me questions and talking about my story not being true. Now I’d like to find out about your story.”
Mason said, “My story can be vouched for by my secretary and by my office receptionist. She said you arrived about twelve-twenty, shortly after Miss Street and I had gone out for lunch. She said that you told her that you had to leave the office for just a moment, that you would be right back, but you never returned.
“Then, later on in the afternoon, we found this hand bag by the chair where you had been sitting. Naturally we didn’t know it was yours at the time. I took it into my private office and Miss Street and I made an inventory of the contents.”
“Did you,” she asked, “open the coin purse?”
“Yes.”
“What did you find in there?”
“Money.”
“How much money?”
Mason nodded his head to Della Street.
Della Street took a notebook from her purse, said, “Three thousand, one hundred and seventeen dollars and forty-three cents.”
“And a gun was in there?”
“Yes.”
“You say it had been fired twice?”
“Yes.”
“Where... where is that gun now?”
“In a drawer in my office.”
“Where is my bag with the contents?”
“I have it with me.”
“Have you,” she asked, “some way of proving that you’re Perry Mason?”
“Certainly,” Mason said.
He took a folder from his pocket, showed her his driving license and credit cards.
“Well,” she said at length, “I guess I have to accept your story. Where’s my handbag?”
“In my brief case here,” Mason said.
“Well, at least I can have that back.”
“You can when you have convinced me that you’re Adelle Hastings or Mrs. Garvin S. Hastings.”
“But I can’t convince you. You have all the proof — it’s in the handbag and you have that.”
Mason said, “And I’m not going to turn that handbag over to anyone until I’m positive of the identification.”
She thought for a moment, said, “If you have my bag you have a folder containing my driving licenses.”