Chapter 15
Mrs. Dangerfield seemed for a moment almost dazed, then abruptly she said, “I must call my husband at once.”
Mason glanced at Della Street. “You can put through a call from here.”
Mrs. Dangerfield got to her feet, said, “No. I–I have some other things I want to do.”
Mason said, “There are one or two more questions I’d like to ask you, Mrs. Dangerfield.”
She shook her head with sudden firm decision. “No. I’ve said everything I care to, Mr. Mason. My husband didn’t know I was coming. I left a note for him that I was going to be away today. I didn’t tell him where I was going I... I took the car... I think I’d better let him know where I am immediately.”
“You can use this phone,” Mason said. “We can get a call through in just a few minutes.”
“No,” she announced definitely, and looked around the office somewhat as an animal might look at some new cage. “This the way out?” she asked, pointing toward the door into the hall.
“Yes,” Mason said, “but...”
“I’ll talk with you later, Mr. Mason. I’m leaving right now.”
She swept out through the door.
Mason said to Della Street, “Quick, Della. Drake!”
But Della Street’s fingers were already whirring the dial on the telephone. She said, “Drake’s office? A woman just left this office, a Mrs. Dangerfield. Fifty, looks forty, brunette, dark eyes, dark blue coat. She’s at the elevator. Get a tail on her right away. Follow her. See where she goes and what she does. Quick!... That’s right.”
She hung up and said, “They’ll pick her up right away.”
“Good work, Della.”
Della said, “I’d give a hundred dollars to know what she says over the wire to her husband.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed. “What she’s most interested in is finding out where he was last night — when Milter was murdered. Rush me through a call to the chief of police at El Templo.”
Della Street put through the call, explaining to the operator that it was an emergency, and within less than a minute, Mason had the police officer at El Templo on the line.
Mason said, “This is Perry Mason, the lawyer, in Los Angeles. A Mrs. Dangerfield has just left my office. Her husband is there in El Templo. She’s going to put through a telephone call to him. If you can listen in on that telephone call, I think you’ll get some interesting information that...”
“You’re Mason?” the voice interrupted.
“Yes.”
“What’s this woman’s name?”
“Dangerfield.”
“Spell it.”
Mason spelled it.
“She’s putting through that call?”
“Yes. Right away.”
The voice said, “Hold the line a minute. There’s someone here wants to talk with you, but I’ll get busy on this first.”
Mason held the line, said to Della Street, holding his palm cupped over the transmitter, “At least we’re getting some intelligent co-operation down there. They’ll probably never tell us what’s said, and they may not admit they listened in on the conversation, but I’ll bet they manipulate things so they’re put in on the call.”
The man’s voice came over the wire again. “Hello. Hello. This Mr. Perry Mason?”
“Yes.”
“All right. Mr. Witherspoon wants to talk with you.”
Witherspoon’s voice was no longer the carefully controlled voice of a man who is accustomed to issuing orders and dominating every situation in which he finds himself placed. There was something almost pathetic in the eagerness of his voice as he said, “Is this you, Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Come down here. Come down at once!”
“What is the matter?” Mason asked.
Witherspoon said, “There’s been another one.”
“Another what?” Mason asked.
“Another murder.”
“You mean someone in addition to Leslie L. Milter has...”
“Yes, yes. Good God, it’s preposterous! The damnedest thing you ever heard! They’ve all gone crazy. They...”
“Who was murdered?” Mason asked.
“The man who was staying in my house, Roland Burr.”
“How?” Mason inquired.
“Same way. Somebody left a vase of acid in his room, dropped some cyanide in it, and walked out. The poor guy was laid up in bed with this broken leg. He couldn’t have got out even if he’d wanted to. He just had to stay there and take it.”
“When?”
“Just an hour or so ago.”
“Who did it?” Mason asked.
Witherspoon almost shouted into the telephone. “That’s why you have to come down here at once!”
“Who did it?” Mason repeated.
“These damn fool police claim that I did,” Witherspoon shouted.
“Are you under arrest?”
“I guess it amounts to that.”
Mason said, “Say nothing. Sit tight. I’m on my way down.”
He hung up the telephone, motioned to Della Street, said, “Get your things, Della. We’re headed for El Templo.”
Della Street said, “You’re forgetting Allgood. He’s on his way down.”
Mason had pushed back his chair, and was starting for the coat closet. He stopped abruptly, standing by the corner of the desk. “That’s right. I’d forgotten all about Allgood.”
The telephone rang. Della Street, picking up the receiver, said, “Just a moment,” held her hand over the mouthpiece, and said, “He’s in the office now.”
Mason settled back in his swivel chair. “Bring him in, Della.”
Allgood tried to look frowningly impressive as he followed Della Street into the office. His glasses were pinched on his nose. The black ribbon, hanging down until it merged in the lapel of his coat, gave his face a certain stern severity.
A smile twinkled at the corners of Mason’s mouth. “Sit down, Allgood,” he said.
Allgood made something of a ceremony of seating himself. “Thank you, Counselor.”
“What about this visit your secretary made to Milter?” Mason asked.
“I am most distressed by it, Counselor. I wanted to explain to you.”
“Explain what?”
“How it happened.”
Mason said, “I have only a few minutes. Go ahead.”
Allgood’s index finger twisted itself nervously around the narrow silk ribbon which dangled down from his glasses. “I want you to understand that Miss Elberton is an exceedingly loyal young woman,” he said.
“Loyal to whom?”
“To me — to the business.”
“Go ahead.”
“It happens that Milter had kept in touch with her. Milter has the annoying habit of persistence in such matters.”
“Even when he’s not wanted?” Mason asked.
“Apparently.”
“All right,” Mason said impatiently, “she knew where Milter was. How did it happen she was listening in on our conversation?”
Allgood admitted, “That was due to an inadvertence on my part and a certain amount of natural curiosity upon hers. There’s an interoffice communicating system in my office, and just before you came in I happened to have been conversing with her. I left the lever in such a position that our conversation was audible in the outer office. She took it upon herself to communicate with Milter — that is, to try to do so.”
“She didn’t do it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She says that Milter was otherwise engaged when she arrived at his apartment.”
“Was he alive?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“Why not?”
“She didn’t go up. Someone else was up there.”
Mason said, “Baloney! She had a key to his apartment.”