“Well?” she asked.
“This little playmate of ours,” Mason told her.
“You mean Fate?”
Mason nodded.
“What’s Fate doing now?”
“I think,” he said, “that there was some reason why I was attracted to those diaries of Helen Cadmus.”
“All right,” she said, “Fate wanted you to do Mrs. Josephine Kempton a good turn, and you’ve done it. If you ask me, I’ll bet that five thousand dollar fee meant a lot to that young lawyer.”
“Probably so,” Mason said, “but I still don’t think we have the answer.”
“I don’t see why not. You’ve cleared everything up and... oh, I see, you’re thinking about the disappearance of Helen Cadmus?”
“I’m thinking about the disappearance of Helen Cadmus.”
“You don’t think it was suicide?”
Mason said, “I can’t get over a feeling in the back of my mind that it could have been murder.”
“Good heavens, Chief, there’s only one person who could have murdered her, and that was Benjamin Addicks.”
“Or her friend Nathan Fallon,” Mason said. “Don’t forget him.”
“And,” Della Street said, and paused.
“Yes,” Mason said, smiling, “go ahead.”
Della Street shook her head.
Mason’s smile broadened.
“Oh, all right,” she said. “I hate myself for even entertaining the thought, but if you’re starting to figure out a murder case... well, you can’t overlook the woman who had the adjoining stateroom, who had an opportunity to enter Helen’s stateroom at any time by going through the bathroom, who said she had taken medicine that had drugged her all night — good Lord, Chief, what a horrid, nasty mind I’m getting, working for a cynical lawyer!”
“What a fine, logical mind you’re getting,” Mason corrected.
“Chief! You don’t suspect her?”
“In a murder case,” Mason said, “one suspects everyone.”
“But you don’t know it’s a murder case.”
“No,” Mason said, “and sometimes I wonder if I wasn’t supposed to find out. I wonder somehow if people don’t leave behind them a sort of telepathic thought that can attach itself to someone’s mind.”
“Or if you’re a spiritist,” Della Street said, “you can think that perhaps Helen Cadmus, knowing your ability to ferret out the truth in a case, had been giving you a subconscious urge, perhaps...”
“Quit it,” Mason said, grinning, “or I’ll be going to see a medium.”
“Well,” Della Street said seriously, “under the circumstances, it would be interesting to see what a medium would say.”
“I think a good deal of that is mental telepathy,” Mason said. “She might read my mind and confuse the issues.”
“She couldn’t confuse them any more than you’ve confused me,” Della Street said. “You’ve given me the creeps. There’s something about that... well, I don’t know, now that you mention it, there’s something about that woman.”
“You mean Mrs. Kempton?”
“Yes.”
“Rather a peculiar type,” Mason said, “but not an unusual type. You see them quite frequently, particularly persons who are housekeepers. Those are the people who because of death, divorce or some other reason, have lost their own homes and yet are interested in making a home. So they hire out to make a home for someone else, and in doing it... well, naturally they have to repress a lot of their own feelings, so you get that general atmosphere of repression and...”
Della Street shivered. “I wish I hadn’t thought of it. I’m getting a prickly, cold feeling all the way up my spine.”
“All right, let’s quit thinking of it,” Mason said, “and go to work.”
Chapter number 7
Mason and Della Street, working late in the office that night, were interrupted by the constant buzzing of the switchboard in the outer office.
“I thought we’d shut that off,” Mason said.
“It still buzzes,” she said. “You can hear it.”
“Someone certainly is optimistic,” Mason said. “That board’s been buzzing away at intervals for the last five minutes. Go see who it is, Della.”
“I don’t know who could possibly think you’d be at the office this time of night.”
“Well, you remember what happened with James Etna. We took a chance and — see who it is, Della.”
Della plugged into the switchboard, said, “Hello,” frowned, said, “Yes... Who...? Oh yes, Mrs. Kempton.”
She motioned to catch the attention of Perry Mason and pointed to the telephone.
Mason gently picked up the receiver from his telephone so he could listen in on the conversation.
Mrs. Kempton’s voice, coming over the line, sounded almost hysterical. “I can’t get Mr. Etna. I’m in a terrible situation! I don’t know what to do. I have to see someone I want — oh, I want Mr. Mason so desperately! I’ve tried and tried and someone must help me. I don’t know what’s happening here. I’m in an awful predicament.”
“Where are you?” Della Street asked.
“I’m out at Stonehenge. Out at Benjamin Addicks’ place, and something terrible has happened.”
“You’re where?”
“At Stonehenge. At Mr. Addicks’ place.”
Mason cut in on the conversation.
“This is Perry Mason, Mrs. Kempton. Now can you tell me what the trouble is?”
“Not over the telephone, Mr. Mason. It’s terrible. I need help.”
“I suggest you call the police, Mrs. Kempton.”
“No, no, no, not the police. Not until I’ve seen a lawyer. I simply have to see a lawyer. I tried to get Mr. Etna so that he could get you. You’re the one I want. Mr. Mason, I have money to pay you with, thanks to you. I simply must see you.”
“You can’t leave there?”
“I don’t want — there’s something here that — that’s what I want to see you about. I need your advice.”
“How did you happen to go out there?”
“Mr. Mason, please! I can’t explain over the telephone. Oh, if you could only come out here. Please come out, Mr. Mason. I can assure you it’s the most important thing I ever asked of anybody in my whole life. I’m going absolutely crazy.”
“All right,” Mason said. “I’ll come out. Now where’s Mr. Addicks?”
“Mr. Mason,” she said, ignoring the question, “please do exactly as I say. The front entrance of the house is on Olive Street. There’s a barred gate and a watchman there, but there’s a back entrance on Rose Street that is used by the people who work with the animals. That entrance doesn’t have a watchman. There’s a locked door. I’m going to try to be at that door. It’ll take you about fifteen minutes to get out here, Mr. Mason. Please hurry just as fast as you can. Can you start now?”
“I’ll start now,” Mason said. “You meet me at the back door. That’s on Rose Street, as I understand.”
“On Rose Street, exactly opposite the place on Olive Street where the big iron gates are located. It’s just a plain looking structure like a garage. The door has the number 546 on it. That’s all there is. Just that door with the number 546, and it’s on Rose Street. You go there and turn the knob of the door. I’ll be there, waiting — if I can make it and if you hurry.”
“Is there any reason why you might not be able to make it?” Mason asked.
“Yes,” she said, and abruptly hung up.
Mason clicked the receiver a couple of times, then glanced at Della Street, who had left the other telephone to come and stand beside him.
“Think she was cut off, Della?”
“I think she hung up, Chief.”
“Well,” Mason said, “evidently the situation out there has come to a head.”