“I was near the door when I heard a key click in the lock. The door opened and the housekeeper came in. I should have shot her then, but I tried to rely on surprise and rush past her in the dark. She grabbed at me. I struck at her with the gun. She tore a piece of cloth from my dress, but I fought free and slammed the door. Then I sneaked in and went to bed. I didn’t know a piece was gone from my dress until the next day. She’d seen that dress. Sooner or later she’d identify the piece she’d torn out.
“I heard people from next door take the car out of the garage. I knew they were driving the old man to a doctor. Rodney had told me about the housekeeper having her own place at East Hillgrade Avenue. I went out there the next night to try and make a deal with her. She knew she’d seen the pattern on the dress somewhere before, but couldn’t remember where. That was all that had saved me. She’d have thought of it later. She was going to turn me in to the police. She pointed a gun at me. I struggled with her. The gun went off in the struggle. I really didn’t intend to kill her.
“I wasn’t the least bit panic-stricken. I thought I could ring up Mr. Mason and Opal Sunley and pretend to be the housekeeper, confessing to the murder, and then make it seem logical she’d committed suicide. It almost worked. I did intend to kill Steele, the snoop. He’d been prowling around. He knew too much. I found a telegram in his pocket sending him to San Francisco. I knew I had to kill him to save Rodney. I didn’t care for myself, but I couldn’t let Rodney be dragged into it. I love Rodney as I have never believed it possible for a woman to love.
“Afterwards, when the message in the second can said that Perry Mason had fingerprints, I thought of a marvelous scheme to clean up the whole business. I have always hated my sister-in-law. Lots of times I’ve thought I’d like to kill her. I rang up Mason, pretended to be Florence, confessed to the murders, and said I was going to kill myself. Then I only needed to go quietly to Florence’s room, tell her that I had heard the phone ringing and had answered it, that Mason wanted to talk with her and was holding the line. Arthur sleeps so soundly I could have done this without waking him. When she came down to the telephone, I’d have shot her and then put the gun in her hand.
“You never would have got any of this if Mason hadn’t lied to me about Rodney having married that creature. I couldn’t go ahead with the scheme of killing Florence, because he sounded so drunk that he couldn’t have remembered what I told him. I have no regrets. I did what I did for the man I love...”
“That’s enough,” Mason said. “It will give Tragg everything he needs.”
“How about the person who broke into her darkroom and lit a match?” Della Street asked.
Mason laughed. “Just a little more alibi stuff. Those films weren’t fogged. She simply pretended to be trying to help. She was really manufacturing a lot of confusing details.”
“And she flew to San Francisco?”
“Sure. She had a meeting of a crossword-puzzle club, and there was an opera afterwards, so she had a good excuse for one of her infrequent absences from the house.”
“I never would have suspected her,” Della said.
Mason was thoughtful. “I should have suspected her sooner than I did. Any person who has studied criminology recognizes in that type the most dangerous potential murderer. She was a creature of repressions, a sex-starved, disappointed female. By pretending to fall in love with her, Wenston had no trouble whatever in making her an accomplice. She’d have done anything for him. You have only to read any of the well-authenticated works on criminology to recognize her counterpart in dozens of murders.”
“Did you have any idea the picture was faked?” Della asked.
Mason said, “Yes. Gow Loong tipped me off to that. He’s Chinese. His eyes notice little details which we pass up, probably because the Chinese have such marvelous memories. He noticed that the picture of the Wickford family group showed a face on the father which was not only like the photograph of the picture of Tucker taken in Shanghai, but was absolutely identical with it in every line and shadow. Gow Loong didn’t know enough about photography to realize what this meant, but, as is the case with Chinese the world over, being confronted with something he couldn’t understand, he became suspicious.”
“How about Opal Sunley?”
“Just a good kid,” Mason said, “who knew something mysterious was going on. She knew she was being paid to keep her mouth shut, and she kept it shut. She was there to transcribe records. She transcribed them. She didn’t ask any questions and didn’t try to find out what was going on. Of course, Junior was in love with her. When he heard what he thought was a shot in the adjoining house, he dashed over there to investigate, because he was afraid Opal might have returned to the residence of her employer. He was in love. Her reticence about her job made him think she was having an affair with her boss. He was suspicious, and he was jealous. When he didn’t find her there, he telephoned her. Notice her number was one that could be easily dialed in the dark. When she answered, he pretended he was calling from his own house. He then went back home, ashamed of himself. He never wanted her to know that he had suspected her to the extent of going over to the adjoining flat and making a search. He’s young and romantic. He would have even gone to jail before he’d have told the truth. Della, we actually are approaching the beach.”
“Well, it does look like it,” Della said. “You don’t suppose that I got my directions mixed, do you? How about the charred remnants of the clothes Tragg found out at Mrs. Perlin’s bungalow?”
Mason said, “That’s simple. Karr went to San Francisco to be treated for his wound. According to the story he told the doctor there, he’d been shot after he’d retired. That left them with some bloodstained clothes to get rid of; trousers, underwear, shirt, possibly a coat, and most certainly a pair of shoes. When Karr came back, he gave those things to Mrs. Perlin, told her to keep out of sight for a while, and to dispose of those clothes. She burnt them in the furnace at her bungalow.”
“Why did they have her disappear?” Della asked.
“Probably because she was the weak link in their organization. She couldn’t have stood up to police questioning. Della, we definitely are headed toward the beach.”
“Well—”
Mason said, “We’ll have to telephone Gertie. Be kind of nice to cover up with warm sand and doze off to sleep, then plunge in the salt water.”
“Uh huh. Ham and eggs and coffee would be nice, too.”
“Stack of buckwheats on the side?” Mason asked.
“No. That’s too heavy. I have to watch my figure, you know.”
Mason grinned. “Not when you’re on a beach in a bathing suit, you don’t, baby. Plenty of other people are doing that for you.”
She smiled across at him. “You’re awfully nice,” she said. “It wouldn’t be so bad getting scared to death in murder cases if there were only longer interludes in between. Will we take a spin in the speedboat?”
“Will we go out in the speedboat!” Mason echoed. “Well, I hope to tell you! After we’ve had a little sleep, we’ll charter a speedboat and tear the ocean wide open. Speed, in case you haven’t noticed it, is our middle name.”
By way of illustration, Mason’s foot pressed down on the foot throttle until the speedometer needle went quivering up into the high figures.
Della Street smiled, said, “Yes, I’d noticed,” and then, adjusting the mirror on the sunshield of the car so she could apply powder to her nose, she added evenly, “And in case you’re interested, there’s a gentleman behind you on a motorcycle who seems also to have observed that trait in your character.”