“I have,” Tragg interposed.
“Then you understand what I was trying to do?”
Tragg nodded slowly. “I didn’t realize it was a trap at the time,” he said. “I thought you were holding out on me, and I was planning to do something about that.”
Mason yawned, said, “Well, as soon as the telephone rang, I began to stall her along. I made her think I was pretty drunk. You see, Tragg, only two persons have the number of my private unlisted telephone. They are Paul Drake and Della Street; but, in an emergency the other night, we gave the number to the woman who was pretending to be Mrs. Sarah Perlin. That person must have murdered Mrs. Perlin. So when my telephone rang and it wasn’t either Della Street or Paul Drake, I knew I was talking to the murderer. I pretended that the champagne I’d taken at Rodney Wenston’s wedding had been too much for me.”
“Wenston’s wedding!” Tragg exclaimed in surprise. “Is he married?”
“You didn’t know?” Mason asked.
Tragg shook his head.
Mason said, “He married Doris Wickford. You can rest assured Wenston would never have permitted Doris Wickford to have made a claim against a full half of Elston Karr’s property without having seen to it that she couldn’t give him the horselaugh afterwards.”
“You mean Wenston was back of that?” Tragg asked.
“Of course, he was,” Mason said with an amused smile. “Karr had some money that would have belonged to Tucker’s heirs. He didn’t know, however, his dead partner had left an heir until he found it out by accident. He advertised to try and find her.
“That, of course, was too good an opportunity for Wenston to miss. He knew that he had only to fake a few letters, putting in facts which he already knew from his intimate association with Karr in order to make a pretty good claim. If he could have the claimant produce a picture of her father which would tally with that of Dow Tucker, it would make the case absolutely ironclad.
“The probabilities are that Wenston stumbled on to the person he planted as the daughter by accident, and before he got the idea of palming her off as the heiress. In all probability, Doris Wickford’s father actually did go to China, and wrote her a few letters. As a stamp collector, she had saved the envelopes. Wenston probably happened to be looking over her stamp album, and, seeing the entire envelope with its postmark and canceled stamp, got the idea. Well, Lieutenant, I’ll leave you with your case. If you’ll take Mrs. Gentrie into custody, I feel quite certain you’ll be able to work out a good case against her. And now, if you’ll pardon me, I’ll go back and try to get some sleep.”
Mason turned and started for the door.
“Look here,” Tragg said, coming after him, “you can’t walk out on me this way. I’m not certain you’ve even got a good case against Mrs. Gentrie. As far as that telephone business is concerned, it’s your word against hers.”
Mason said, “Well, I’ve given you enough stuff to work on, Lieutenant. The obvious facts are now in your command. You can let them all go now, except Mrs. Gentrie.”
One of the children began to cry. Mrs. Gentrie got slowly to her feet. “You’re not going to do this in front of my children. You’re not...”
One of the radio officers put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Sit down,” he said.
Arthur Gentrie pushed back his chair. “Now, you listen...”
Two officers held him.
Mason said, “That’s all there is to it, Lieutenant. Good night.”
He opened the door and ran rapidly down the steps.
Tragg shouted after him, “Hey, you! Mason! You’re not leaving now!” He jerked open the door and ran down the steps after the lawyer.
Perry Mason paused by the curb. Tragg came running up to him, his manner bristling with indignation. “You look here,” he said in a loud voice. “You’ve given me some ingenious theories, but...” He drew close to the lawyer, suddenly lowered his voice, said, “What is this, a trap?”
“Uh huh,” Mason said. “Come on, Tragg. We should be in at the finish.”
“Where?”
“This way.”
Mason ran lightly around the corner by the garages. “Give me a boost up the fence, Tragg,” he said, “and then I’ll pull you up.”
Tragg boosted Mason up the high board fence. Once on top, Mason reached down and gave Tragg a hand up. Together, the two men dropped silently into the dark yard between the Gentrie house and the two-flat building.
“Now what?” Tragg whispered.
“Wait,” Mason said.
They waited in the darkness for almost a minute. Then quietly the door in the garage opened, and a dark figure tiptoed silently across the yard to the side door of the Hocksley flat. A key clicked against the lock. The door was opened, and the figure slipped inside.
Mason and Tragg moved cautiously across the lot. The door was still ajar. Motioning for silence, Mason led the way into the warm darkness of the flat. Listening intently, they could hear the sound of the dial on a telephone; then, after a moment, a woman’s voice sharp with emotion said, “What kind of a game do you think you’re playing? What’s this I heard about you marrying that little devil, that... Yes, you did, too! You were married to her this morning. Well, last night then. Don’t lie to me! After all I’ve done for you, don’t think I’m going to let you get away with that. The minute you try anything like that, you’re all finished... Well, he said so... Mr. Mason... I don’t think it was a trap. No. I didn’t say a word... You wouldn’t lie to me? You darling No-o-o-o-o. I didn’t really believe it, not down in my heart, but I wanted to find out. I–I must get back. The officers are over there. Mason is getting awfully close to what actually happened. You’ll have to do something about him at once. Remember now, I’ve taken care of the others for you. You’ve got to do this for me. All right, lover.”
The receiver clicked. There was the sound of rustling garments as a figure approached them.
“Okay,” Mason said in a low whisper.
Lieutenant Tragg’s flashlight sent a pencil of white brilliance through the darkness, a pencil which stabbed the white, frightened face of Rebecca Gentrie, and held it in a pitiless glare.
Chapter 19
Morning sun was touching the tips of the tall buildings as Mason, emerging from the Gentrie residence, helped Della Street into his automobile and said, “Well, I guess we’re entitled to play hookey today. Putting you on a day and night schedule and then having you type a confession afterwards is a little too much of a strain, isn’t it?”
She said, “Wouldn’t it be swell to take a plane over to Catalina, put on bathing suits, and just lie around in the sun, sleeping and eating hot dogs?”
“Temptress!” Mason charged.
She said, “If you’d drive right to the beach, we could catch the first plane over.”
Mason turned the steering wheel of his automobile toward Wilmington. “I think,” he said, “this is the direction of the office, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, keep going straight ahead,” she said.
“I’m a little dopey this morning,” Mason confessed, “so I’ll have to rely on you. If we should get lost, we’d have to telephone the office and explain to Gertie.”
“Gertie’s a good sport. You don’t have to explain things to her. She’ll stall off any clients.”
“You’re acting as though we were going to get lost,” Mason said.
“No, indeed. You’re headed for the office right now. Listen, you’ve been holding out on me again.”
“No. Honest I haven’t.”
“On Rebecca?”
Mason laughed. “Believe it or not,” he said, “after having all of the factors for a solution in my hands, I couldn’t put them together.”