Mason said, “Well, I have to admit that this is a time when I may have led with my chin, but I sized the man up as a pimp.”
“How, for heaven’s sake?”
“His appearance. His manner. Everything about him.”
“Mr. Mason, do you mean to tell me you can just take a look at a man like that, have a quick conversation with him, and know that he’s... well, what you call a pimp?”
“No,” Mason said at length, “I won’t go that far, Diana. And remember when I say the guy’s a pimp, I don’t mean that he’s actually engaged in pimping, I mean he’s that type of citizen. He’s one who would make his living out of representing a woman in a blackmail scheme.”
“But how in the world can you possibly tell? What is there about a man of that sort, the way he dresses, that... I just don’t get it.”
“It’s not any one particular thing,” Mason said. “It’s a combination of things. You take a man who’s making his living directly or indirectly out of women, and he knows there’s something wrong inside. He tried to cover it up. He tries to square himself with himself. He tries to put the best possible veneer on top of what’s underneath in order to hide the rotten part.
“So he goes in for a faultless personal appearance. His shoes are always shined. His trousers are sharply creased. He wears expensive shirts and ties. His nails are always well manicured. The skin of his hands is well cared for. His hair is cut, combed, and brushed so that it makes a flattering appearance in the mirror.
“Then there’s his voice. There’s something about it. A voice that isn’t used to carrying weight with the world in general but is sharply authoritative in dealing with a situation which he thinks he can handle. It lacks tone and timbre. You have the feeling that if he became enraged and flew off the handle his voice would rise to a sharp falsetto.”
“And this man, Cassel, had those points?”
“He had those points,” Mason said.
“What did he want?”
“He wanted money.”
“Did he say how much?”
“He wanted the bundle, five grand.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I stalled him along.”
“Did he go for it?”
“He didn’t like it.”
“Did he feel that you were—?”
“As I told you, he recognized me,” Mason said. “I’ve had my picture in the newspapers too often. He knew that he was dealing with Perry Mason, an attorney, and he didn’t like any part of it.”
“And you never did find out what he wanted, what he had on my brother, Edgar?”
Mason shook his head. “It evidently isn’t the ordinary kind of blackmail deal,” he said.
“You think it was something... well, worse than what you call the ordinary blackmail?”
“It could have been,” Mason said. “He acted as though he really had the winning hand.”
“What’s he going to do next?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders, said, “That’s something we’ll have to wait for.”
“Mr. Mason, suppose it could be something — well, real serious?”
“You don’t make a pass at a guy for five thousand bucks on squaring a ticket for parking in front of a fire hydrant,” Mason said. “Whatever it is, it’s something serious.”
“Look, Mr. Mason, I’ve... I could raise money if...”
Mason said, “Forget it. It’s against my policy to pay off blackmailers. To hell with them. Come on, Diana, we’re going to leave here casually. We won’t be carrying anything except your purse and that black bag with the money in it. I’m going to walk with you through the lobby and out the front door. As we cross the lobby, be talking and laughing. You know, the quick, nervous laugh of a woman who realizes that she’s embarking on an adventure which may have romantic overtones. I don’t want anyone to think that you may be surreptitiously leaving the hotel.
“Now, after we’ve walked across the lobby, we’re going down the street a couple of blocks to a taxicab stand. You remember and follow instructions. Get in a taxicab and pull away from the curb. Go to the Union Depot. Mingle around with the crowds. Switch cabs. Go to the airport and get that plane for San Francisco... Hold everything. I’ll see if I can get reservations.”
Mason picked up the phone and asked for an outside line. He gave the number of United Airlines, got the reservations desk, and asked for two tickets to San Francisco on the flight leaving at six twenty-seven.
The lawyer nodded his satisfaction, said, “We’ll pick up the tickets at the airport. Put them both under the name of Perry Mason... That’s right, Perry Mason, the lawyer. I’m listed in the phone books. I have an Air Travel Card and — That’s fine! I’ll pick up one ticket myself. Give the other one to a Miss Diana Douglas. Hold them right up until plane time, if you will.
“Thank you very much!”
Mason hung up the telephone, said, “Everything’s all set, Diana. Ask for a ticket that’s held in the name of Perry Mason. I’ll see you aboard the plane. I’ll have your suitcase with me when I check out of the hotel here. Now, remember that if anything happens to that bag of money you’re carrying, you’re stuck. You’re behind the eight ball. You’re in trouble.”
“I know,” she said. “I’ve been carrying it with me and I... I can hardly sleep worrying about it. I know that if anything happens to it I’m never going to be able to work things out. But I’ve got by so far and, after all, Mr. Mason, who knows I’m carrying five thousand dollars?”
“Too many people by this time,” Mason said grimly. “Come on, Diana, put on your best smile and we’re going to go down to the lobby, out the front door, and down to the taxicab stand. You’re going to be laughing and talking and I’ll try a wisecrack now and then... Come on, let’s go. I’ve got an idea this hotel may be a darn poor place for you from now on... You’ll have some time to wait at the airport, but try to be as inconspicuous as possible and get aboard the plane just as soon as the doors are open for boarding.”
8
Mason returned to Room 767 at the hotel, knocked at the door, and when Stella admitted him said, “Well, I got rid of the bait in the case. She’ll join me at the airport. Let’s hope nothing happens until we get off.”
“You think she’s in danger?”
“Not danger exactly, but this guy Cassel worries me. He may be smarter than I had him pegged. I’ve had an uneasy feeling about Diana ever since I arrived here at the hotel. She left too wide a back trail and—”
The lawyer paused as the sharp rap of knuckles sounded on the door. He turned back and said to Stella Grimes in a low voice, “Those are masculine knuckles and they sound imperative.”
“Cassel coming back?” she asked.
Mason shook his head. “He’s a soft, sneaky knocker. These are the knuckles of authority — either the house detective, or—”
He was interrupted by another knock and a voice said, “Open up, please. This is the police.”
Mason said to Stella Grimes, “Let me do as much of the talking as possible.”
Mason opened the door.
Two plain-clothes men, standing in the hallway, showed surprise as they recognized the lawyer.
“Perry Mason,” one said, “what are you doing here?”
“The question,” Mason said, “is what you are doing here.”
“We prefer to discuss it inside rather than in the corridor,” the spokesman said, and pushed his way into the room, holding in his hand a leather folder displaying a badge. “Los Angeles police,” he said.
“And what brings you here?” Mason asked.
The officers ignored him temporarily, looked at Stella Grimes. One of the officers nodded at the other. “Age twenty-two, five-feet-two, a hundred and sixteen pounds, blonde, blue eyes, good figure,” he said.