“Then you’ll hear from me.”
“And what will I hear?”
“I don’t know. I’ll be calling on you for help.”
“What sort of help?”
“I don’t know, perhaps advice in a tight situation.”
“I can’t establish a relationship with a client on that kind of a basis,” Mason said.
“You mean financially?”
“In part.”
“At the time I call on you for help we’ll discuss additional fees. I know that you’ll be fair with me and I certainly won’t ask you to do anything which is unfair, inequitable or unjust.”
“Or illegal?” Mason asked, with a twinkle in his eye.
She started to say “or illegal” but suddenly caught herself, hesitated a moment, then said, “You wouldn’t do anything that was illegal, so why waste time talking about it?”
“Then you’ll get in touch with me if you need me?”
“Very definitely.”
Mason said, “You can reach me at this office during office hours. During the evening you can reach me through the Drake Detective Agency, which has an office on the same floor here in this building.”
“I saw the sign on the door as I walked down from the elevator,” she said.
“They have a twenty-four-hour switchboard,” Mason said, “and in the event of any emergency — that is, if it’s a real emergency — they can usually get in touch with me.”
Della Street handed her a card. “Here are the numbers,” she said, “day and night.”
“Thank you, Miss Street.”
Mason said to Della, “Make out a receipt, Della, for a three-hundred-dollar retainer in the form of cash. Now, do you want this made simply to the Code Number thirty-six, twenty-four, thirty-six?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want any receipt.” She slipped the loop of her purse over her wrist, picked up the black cosmetics bag, smiled at Della Street, said, “Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Mason,” and walked out.
Mason sat watching the automatic doorstop as it closed the door.
When the latch had clicked, Mason said to Della, “You know she put on a good act.”
“In what way?”
“That we’d never see her again.”
“You think it was an act?”
“I’ll give you ten to one,” Mason said, “that within a matter of five days that girl calls us up and is in serious difficulties — difficulties which she had already anticipated.”
“No takers,” Della said. “It’s bad luck to take the other side of a bet with you. I’ll tell you one thing, however, those weren’t her measurements. She’s nearer thirty-two, twenty-four, thirty six.”
Mason thought that over. “Padding?” he asked.
“Not that much,” Della said. “She’s using quite a bit, but not that much.”
“Now that you mention it, Della,” Mason said, “I see what you mean. So we have a client who is lying to us right at the start.”
“Sailing under false colors,” Della Street said, smiling.
Mason said meditatively, “ ‘The Case of the Falsified Tape.’ ”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out to be ‘The Case of the Costly Client,’ ” Della said. I’m suspicious of padded stories, padded expense accounts, and padded clients.”
“She sneaked up on my blind side,” Mason said. “I should have given her more of a third degree and broken down her story. However, it’s too late now. We’ll ride along with her false measurements.”
2
At ten minutes after nine Mason entered his private office through the hall door, smiled a greeting at Della Street, said, “Anybody in the outer office, Della?”
She shook her head and then said, “Gertie.”
“Well, Gertie is supposed to be there.”
“Gertie’s there, hitting on all six,” Della said. “Gertie is so excited she is running around in circles.”
“What’s excited Gertie?”
“Your mysterious client of yesterday.”
Mason’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “We’ve heard from her again?”
“Gertie has.”
“What do you mean?”
Della motioned to Mason’s desk. On top of the mail was a folded newspaper, opened at the section of CLASSIFIED ADS and folded so that the so-called “Personals” were on top.
Mason walked over to the desk, seated himself in the cushioned swivel chair, picked up the paper, let his eyes glance down the section of personal columns, and noticed the ad which had been marked in the margin:
AM HERE READY TO CONCLUDE NEGOTIATIONS ON STRAIGHT CASH BASIS. NO CHECKS. SPOT CASH. CONTACT ME AT WILLATSON HOTEL. 36-24-36.
“Well, I’ll be darned,” Mason said. “Do you suppose that’s our gal?”
“Sounds like it,” Della said.
“Hang it,” Mason said, “that’s what comes of taking a case sight-unseen. Now, that gal is mixed up in some adventure which is going to get her into trouble just as sure as shooting. And when she gets into trouble she’s going to look to us to get her out.”
Mason hesitated a moment, then jerked his thumb toward the telephone. “Paul Drake, Della.”
Della dialed Paul Drake’s unlisted number and, in a moment, said, “Just a minute, Paul, Perry wants to talk with you.”
She handed the phone over to Mason.
“Hi, Paul,” Mason said, “are you too busy to come down to the office for a minute?”
“Never too busy but what the scent of new business causes me to come running!”
“Come running, then,” Mason said, and hung up.
Della Street said, “Is it ethical for you to tell Paul...?”
“It isn’t ethical for me to tell him anything,” Mason said, “not at this stage of the game — at least the way I interpret ethics. But I’m going to find out something about who this gal is seeing and what it’s all about.”
“Any idea?” Della asked.
Mason said, “I think she came down from San Francisco.”
“Why?”
“The way she’s dressed for one thing,” Mason said, “plus the time of day she came in. She took a plane down, checked her baggage somewhere, probably at the Willatson Hotel, took a cab, came up here... And she had probably arranged to put that ad in the paper before she ever came down here. As I remember it, it takes a day or two to get an ad of that sort published... If that’s correct, she telephoned the Willatson Hotel for a reservation.”
“And so?” Della asked.
“And so,” Mason said, “we’re going to find out a little bit about our mysterious client, a little bit more than the three measurements.”
Paul Drake’s code knock sounded on the corridor door of the private office. Della opened the door. “Hi, Paul,” she said. “How’s the digestive system?”
“Better, thanks, Beautiful. You folks haven’t had me sitting up all night on cases where I’ve had to eat soggy hamburgers at an office desk. I’ve dined out on good freshly cooked meat now for six days in succession.”
“Business that bad?” Mason asked.
“Lousy,” Drake said.
“Maybe we can help,” Mason told him. “But this isn’t a big case, it’s just a routine job.”
“Who’s the client?” Drake asked.
“I am,” Mason said.
“Oh, oh.”
“He wants to find out about a client,” Della said.
Drake settled himself in the overstuffed leather chair, threw his legs over the rounded arm, took out a notebook and a fountain pen, and said, “Shoot.”
Mason said, “I think I let a client down, Paul.”
“How come?”
Mason hesitated, spoke cautiously. “I can’t tell you the details without violating the code of ethics, Paul. An attorney is supposed to protect the confidences of his client. Any statements that are made are completely confidential.