Norda Allison gave him a grateful hand. “I don’t know how I can thank you enough, Mr. Mason.”
“You don’t have to,” Mason said. “I hope we can get the thing straightened out. We’ll do the best we can.”
Chapter Six
It was three-thirty in the afternoon when Paul Drake called in on Mason’s unlisted telephone.
Mason, who had been dictating steadily since one-thirty, regarded the ringing telephone with annoyance. He picked up the receiver, said, “Hello, Paul, what is it?”
Drake’s voice over the wire said, “I have an idea you better get out here, Perry.”
“Where’s here?”
“Next door to the Jennings’ house.”
“What’s it all about?” Mason asked.
Drake, speaking guardedly, said, “I’m visiting with a Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Gales. The address is 6283 Penrace Street. They have some information that I’d like to have you check. I think you’d like to get their story.”
Mason said irritably, “Now listen, Paul, I’m terribly busy at the moment. I got Della to give up her week end in order to get this dictation out and we’re right in the middle of a very important matter.
“If you’ve uncovered any information there, write out a statement and get them to sign it. Get—”
“Then you’re going to be out,” Drake interrupted. “How soon can you get here, Perry?”
Mason thought that over, said into the phone, “I take it you’re where you can’t talk freely, Paul.”
“That’s right.”
“How about leaving the house and going to a telephone booth where you can tell me what it’s all about?”
“That might not be advisable.”
“You have some information that’s important?”
“Yes.”
“About that printing press or something?”
“About the bloodstains,” Drake said.
“About the what?”
“The bloodstains,” Drake said. “You see, Perry, the postal authorities started an investigation and then after they found this gun under the pillow of the bed where Norda Allison had been sleeping, they called in the local police. She’s been taken to Headquarters for questioning. For some reason the authorities are hot on her trail.
“Now, Jonathan Gales knows something about the bloodstains that I think you should know. There’s some evidence here that you’d better get hold of before the police—”
“I’ll be right out,” Mason interrupted.
“Don’t come in your car,” Drake warned. “Get a taxi-cab, let it go as soon as you get to the house. I have an agency car out here that is rather inconspicuous. I’ll drive you back when you’re ready to leave.”
“I’ll be right out,” Mason promised.
He dropped the telephone into the cradle, said to Della Street, “That’s the worst of this damned office work. It gets your mind all cluttered up with stuff — I should have known the minute Drake telephoned and asked me to come out that it was important, but I had my mind so geared to trivia that I forced his hand and made him tell me what it was he considered so important. Now, the witnesses may decide to clam up.”
“What was it?” she asked.
“I’ll tell you in the taxi,” Mason said. “Come on, let’s go. The address is 6283 Penrace Street. Apparently that’s next door to where the Jennings live. Grab a shorthand book and we’ll take a cab. Hurry!”
They raced down the corridor to the elevator, found a cab waiting at the cabstand at the corner, climbed in and Mason gave the address.
“Now tell me what it’s all about,” Della Street said.
“Bloodstains,” Mason told her.
“I heard you say that over the telephone. What’s the significance of the bloodstains?”
“Apparently,” Mason said, “the police have been called in. They found a gun under the pillow where Norda Allison had been sleeping. You remember she told about having found an ejected empty cartridge case in front of the tent where Robert was sleeping out in the patio. Now, apparently, bloodstains enter into the picture, and from the way Paul Drake talked, I have an idea the police don’t know anything about those stains as yet.”
“Well,” Della Street said, “we seem to be getting into something.”
“We seem to already have gotten into it,” Mason told her, “up to our necks.”
Mason lapsed into frowning concentration. Della Street, glancing at him from time to time, knowing the lawyer’s habits of thought, refrained from interruption.
The cab pulled up in front of the address on Penrace Street.
“Want me to wait?” the driver asked.
Mason shook his head, handed him a five-dollar bill, said, “Keep the change.”
The cabby thanked him.
Mason glanced briefly at the police car which was parked next door at the Jennings’ house, walked rapidly up the cement walk to a front porch and extended his thumb toward the bell button.
The front door was opened by Paul Drake while Mason’s thumb was still a good three inches from the bell button.
“Come on in,” Drake said. “I was waiting at the door hoping against hope you wouldn’t drive up until after Lieutenant Tragg had left.”
“That’s Tragg over in the other house?” Mason asked.
Drake nodded, said, “Come on in and meet the folks.”
Drake led the way into a cozy living room which had an air of comfortable simplicity.
There were deep chairs, comfortable in appearance, books, a large table, a television set, floor lamps conveniently arranged by the chairs, newspapers and magazines on the table. Through an archway could be seen a dining room with a big sideboard, a glass-enclosed cupboard for dishes. The house itself was modern, but the furniture gave the impression of being comfortably old-fashioned without qualifying for the label of “antique.”
A somewhat elderly couple arose as Paul Drake escorted Mason and Della Street into the living room.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Gales,” Paul Drake said by way of introduction. “They have quite a story; at least Mr. Gales has.”
Gales, a tall, bleached individual with a drooping moustache, bushy white eyebrows and gray eyes, extended a bony hand to Perry Mason. “Well, well,” he said, “I’m certainly pleased to meet you! I’ve read a lot about you, but never thought I’d be seeing you — Martha and I don’t get out much any more and we spend a lot of time reading. I guess Martha has followed every one of your cases.”
Mrs. Gales reached out to take Della Street’s hand. “And I’ve seen photographs of Miss Street,” she said. “I’m really a fan of yours, my dear, as well as of Mr. Mason. Now, do sit down and if we can do anything that will be of any help, we’re only too glad to do it.
“How about making a cup of tea? I could...”
Drake glanced at his wrist watch, then looked significantly through the windows over towards the Jennings’ house. He said, “We may be interrupted at any minute, Mrs. Gales. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have you tell your story just as briefly as possible — what you have to say about Robert.”
“Well, do sit down,” she said. “Let’s be comfortable. Heavens to Betsy, I certainly feel shoddy having people like you here and not being able to offer a cup of tea. I’ve got some nice cookies I baked yesterday—”
“About the gun,” Drake said. “Tell Mr. Mason about Robert and the gun.”
“Well, there’s not much to tell. Robert is a mighty nice, very well-behaved boy. But he’s just crazy about guns. He’s always watching those Western television shows — ‘pistol pictures,’ Jonathan calls them.