Jennings slowly grinned. “All right, I’ll apologize,” he said. “Now then, you’ve got a lawyer here. You tell me how much damages you want for that sock on the puss and I’ll write you a check, and my apologies go with the check.”
Eden thought things over.
“Well?” Mason prompted.
Eden grinned ruefully, rubbed his jaw. “When you put it that way,” he said, “I guess I don’t want anything. I can see things from your viewpoint. You aren’t half as mad at Loring Carson as I am. When you see him, just pass on that sock on the jaw to him and then give him another one for me.”
“I’ll see him all right,” Jennings promised grimly. “The dirty bounder!”
“And how about Nadine Palmer?” Mason asked. “How is she taking all this?”
“I wouldn’t know. Every time I try to call her she hangs up on me.
“You tried to see her after that?” Mason asked.
“I did see her after that, but we didn’t go out together. If we had, every gossip columnist in the city would have had a field day writing those tongue-in-cheek articles about the woman in green.”
“May I ask what you discussed with her, generally?” Mason asked.
“You may not. It’s none of your damn business.”
“Of course,” Mason pointed out, “if she is no longer married...”
“She’s a darn nice girl,” Norbert Jennings interposed angrily, “and don’t pull any of that line with me. She’s human and she has human feelings, and she has pride and she has her good name. She’s always been tremendously popular and now whenever she walks into a room eyebrows start lifting... Damn Carson! If I ever get my hands on him I’ll... I’ll...”
“Take it easy,” Mason said. “Making threats can sometimes be an expensive luxury.”
“All right,” Jennings said. “I’ve got money. I can afford to pay for the luxuries I want. Making threats happens at the moment to be a luxury that interests me. I’ll repeat. If I ever get my hands on Loring Carson I’m going to make that yellow-livered cur whimper for mercy. I’m going to...”
“Perhaps you have some legal redress,” Mason said.
“Legal redress, my eye. I could sue the louse and what good would that do? In the first place if he had any money I wouldn’t want it. Every nickel that I’d get from him would be money I wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. What’s more, you can’t get blood out of a turnip.”
“Have you considered the possibility that he may have money cached away?” Mason asked.
“I tell you, I’m not interested in money,” Norbert Jennings said angrily. “I’ve got money! I’ve got all the money I want. I’ve got too damned much money. It’s never given me any happiness yet. I... To hell with it... I’m sorry, Eden. I guess you’re on the receiving end of this the same way I am, I’m really sorry I socked you.”
He pushed forward an impulsive hand.
Eden took it.
Without another word, Jennings turned and left the house.
“Well,” Eden said, rubbing his jaw, “we keep getting into more and more complications.”
Mason said, “I might also advise you that a Mrs. Sterling, who seems to be buyer for some feminine establishment, is having a lingerie-modeling session in your fenced-off living room.”
“The devil,” Eden said, grinning. “I suppose this was all arranged.”
“I suppose so,” Mason said.
“How far had it gone?”
“The first model was wearing the lingerie. She did a species of striptease on a raised dais and—”
“Well, well, well,” Eden interrupted, “perhaps the situation will have some advantages after all.”
“Now wait a minute,” Mason said, “no matter how you figure this thing, it’s bait, and while I don’t know where the hook is right now, don’t take the bait.”
“You mean, don’t look?” Eden asked.
“Well,” Mason said, grinning, “I guess we’ll have to look.”
“Exactly,” Eden said. “Acting purely and professionally as my attorney, I see you’re going to have to prolong your visit. All right, let’s go.”
Eden pulled back the drapes on the doorway, disclosing the living room.
On the other side of the barbed-wire fence on the dais a beautiful model, attired in lingerie, was pirouetting slowly.
Standing at one corner of the room, Vivian Carson was watching, not the model but the arched doorway.
The minute Mason and Eden entered the room Vivian Carson grasped the edge of a piece of cloth, nodded to a young woman standing at the opposite end of the room from her and they advanced toward each other, pulling and tugging at improvised curtains which, after sticking a time or two, were pulled together to close off that section of the living room.
“So that’s the reason she put up a rod above the barbed-wire fence,” Eden said.
Mason grinned. “It seems she thinks of everything,” he said.
“So it would seem,” Eden observed. “And I suppose if I so much as put a finger on the other side of that barbed-wire fence to widen the gap between the two sections of cloth I’d...”
“Be guilty of contempt of court,” Mason finished.
Eden sighed. “Well, I guess the only thing to do now is to find a nightclub with a good striptease.”
“And, under the circumstances,” Mason said, “it would seem that I have nothing more to discuss with you.”
Eden laughed. “One question, Mason.”
“What?”
“If that curtain hadn’t been there and the lingerie show had continued, would you have billed me for your time while you sat watching the show?”
“Sure I would,” Mason said. “That comes under the heading of ‘conference with a client.’ ”
“I can see I’ve taken up the wrong profession.” Eden grinned. “What the hell do you suppose that woman will think of next?”
“That,” Mason said, “is something I’m not even going to try to predict. I’ll have a complaint ready for you to verify in a fraud action day after tomorrow. Come to the office around ten to sign the papers. Then we’ll try to serve them on Carson.”
Chapter 4
Perry Mason, pacing the floor of his office, paused to look out of the window at the morning sunlight, consulted his wrist-watch, turned impatiently to Della Street.
“How’s the fraud complaint coming, Della?”
“The typist will have it ready in fifteen minutes.”
“I want to file it as soon after ten o’clock as possible,” Mason said. “How about Paul Drake? Hasn’t he come in yet?”
“Apparently not. He was working on a case until all hours this morning and I left word for him to get in touch with you just as soon as he came in.”
“Well, that’s the worst of running a detective agency,” Mason said. “You can’t plan your time, but just the same I—”
He broke off as knuckles sounded in code sequence on the corridor door of the private office.
“That’s Paul now. Let him in, will you please, Della?”
Della Street opened the door.
Paul Drake, head of the Drake Detective Agency, looking worn and haggard, said, “Hi, folks. It’s a beautiful morning for this time of year, isn’t it? That is, if you care for beautiful mornings and this time of year.”
“We care,” Mason said.
“I was afraid you would. Personally, I’m past caring. What gives?”
Mason said, “A little after ten o’clock this morning, Paul, I’m going to be filing a complaint in a case entitled Morley Eden versus Loring Carson. It’s going to be quite a complaint.”
“A civil action?” Drake asked.
“That’s right. It’s an action on the ground of fraud. Loring Carson claimed that he could guarantee title to certain property, that he had evidence which would defeat his wife’s divorce action, that he could prove her guilty of infidelity and that two lots of real estate were community property, that she had no separate property rights in any of the real estate.”