“Come on,” Mason said, “let’s see it.”
Benedict reached inside of his coat and pulled a revolver from a shoulder holster. He placed it on the table.
“A .38-caliber, lightweight Colt revolver,” Mason said. He picked it up, swung open the cylinder, inspected the shells and then added, “It is now fully loaded.”
Mason smelled the barrel. “Either it has not been fired recently or it has been cleaned after it was fired.”
“May I ask what causes your detailed scrutiny?” Benedict inquired. “You’re acting rather strangely, Mr. Mason.”
Mason said, “For your information, Mervin Selkirk was shot and fatally wounded. He died in his automobile out at the San Sebastian Country Club. As yet, I don’t know the exact time of death. You say you have a permit to carry this gun?”
Benedict said with widened eyes, “You mean Mervin Selkirk is dead?”
“He’s dead,” Mason said. “Murdered. You say you have a permit to carry this gun. Let’s see it.”
As one in a daze, Benedict extracted a wallet from his pocket, took out a sheet of paper which had been folded and bore evidences of having been carried for some period of time.
Mason studied the permit, then looked at the number on the gun.
“Well,” he said, “they check. I would suggest that you board the first plane, go back to San Francisco, go about your regular routine business and forget you were ever down here.”
“But Norda. Where’s Norda?” Benedict asked.
“As nearly as I can find out,” Mason said, “she is either at police headquarters or at the district attorney’s office. She’s probably being questioned, but she may have been booked on suspicion of murder.”
“Norda!” Benedict exclaimed. “Murder!”
“That’s right.”
“But I can’t understand! I can’t... it simply isn’t possible.”
“What isn’t possible?”
“That Norda killed him.”
“I didn’t say she killed him,” Mason said. “I said she might have been booked on suspicion of murder. Now, I’m not in a position to advise you. I’m representing her. Speaking not as an attorney but just as a person who would like to be your friend, I suggest that having learned there’s nothing you can do to protect Norda from Mervin Selkirk, you return to San Francisco.”
Benedict shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, but I can’t do that. I’m going to have to stay here now to see if there is anything I can do.
“Mr. Mason, I... I’m employed on a salary, but I have made some rather fortunate investments. I am a bachelor, I have saved my money, and if... well, I’ll be perfectly frank with you, Mr. Mason. In all, I have nearly forty thousand dollars in the bank. I would be prepared to assist Norda financially if that is necessary.”
“We’ll find out about that after a while,” Mason said, “but you can assist her financially from San Francisco as well as from down here.”
“No,” Benedict said. “I intend to remain here.”
“You remain here,” Mason said angrily, “and not only will the police pick you up and shake you down but if they crowd my client, I’ll lower the boom on you myself. It’s not my duty to help the police solve murders. It’s my duty to protect my clients. But right now you’re about the best murder suspect I could dig up, if I had to provide a good red herring.”
Benedict thought that over for a moment, then his face lit up. “Mr. Mason, that’s exactly the thing to do! If anyone intimates Norda killed him, you can use me as a red herring. In that way I can help... will Norda be able to have visitors? I mean can I talk with her?”
“Not for a while,” Mason said, “not if they charge her with murder.”
“But you can see her as her attorney?”
“Yes.”
“Tell her I’m here,” Benedict said. “Tell her what I told you about having funds available to help her financially.”
“You stick around here,” Mason said, “and keep packing that gun, and I won’t need to tell her anything about you. She’ll pick up the newspaper and read all about you. You’ll have your photograph published with headlines to the effect that police questioned Mervin Selkirk’s broken-jawed rival and found him carrying what may have been the murder weapon.”
“That certainly makes it sound sensational,” Benedict said.
“Well, what did you expect?”
“If,” Benedict said with dignity, “the police are no more efficient in locating me than they were in locating the brass knuckles which Mervin Selkirk used in breaking my jaw, they’ll never know I’m here.”
Mason said, “In the one instance you were dealing with a barroom altercation over a woman. Now you’re dealing with murder. You’ll find there’s a difference. Now let me ask you one other thing. Do you by any chance own any other weapon, say, for instance, a .22 automatic?”
“Why yes, I do, but I only carry that on fishing trips, as a protection against snakes and to kill grouse for camp meat.”
“Where is that gun now?”
“At my apartment in San Francisco.”
“You’re certain?”
Benedict hesitated.
“Well?” Mason prompted.
“No,” Benedict said. “I can’t swear to it. I looked for it yesterday afternoon; I wanted to bring it with me. I couldn’t find it. I suppose I put it... well, I didn’t make any search. I just looked in the drawer where I usually keep both guns. The .38 was there, the .22 wasn’t.”
Benedict’s eyes searched Mason’s face. “I’m afraid you’re attaching too much emphasis to a fact which has no real significance, Mr. Mason. The gun’s around my apartment somewhere. I’m a bachelor and not much of a housekeeper. Things get scattered around some. I... come to think of it, I may have left it rolled up in the sleeping bag I used on a fishing trip two months ago. I love to fish.”
Mason studied the man.
“I want to know more about this charge against Norda,” Benedict said. “I don’t see how anyone on earth could possibly suspect that...”
He broke off as knuckles pounded authoritatively on the exit door leading from Mason’s private office to the corridor.
After a moment the knock was repeated.
Mason pushed back his chair, walked over to the door, called out, “Who is it?”
“Lieutenant Tragg,” came the voice from the other side. “Open up. We’re looking for Nathan Benedict. He’s supposed to be in your office.”
Mason opened the door.
“Hello, Tragg. Meet Nathan Benedict,” he said.
Lt. Tragg said, “How are you, Benedict? When did you get in?”
“You mean here in the office?”
“Here in the city.”
“By plane last night.”
“What time?”
“I arrived about ten-thirty.”
“Where?”
“At the International Airport.”
“Where did you go from there?”
“I rented a car and drove out to Barton Jennings’ house. I wanted to see Norda Allison. She’d evidently retired. I sat there for a while, then went to a motel.”
“What motel?” Tragg asked.
“The Restwell.”
“Then what?”
“This morning I tried to call Norda Allison. I left my number.”
Tragg eyed him narrowly.
Mason said, “For your information, Lieutenant, since I am not representing Mr. Benedict and the information which he gave me was volunteered and not on a confidential basis, he came down here to protect Norda Allison from Mervin Selkirk. He knew that he was unable to resist Selkirk on a physical basis, so he carried along a .38-caliber Colt lightweight revolver for which he seems to have a permit which is perfectly in order.”
“Well, what do you know about that!” Tragg said. “Where’s the gun?”