“Then, as I told you, things got to the point where the glamour wore off and... well, I was working and — I don’t know how to tell you this.”
Mason said, “There was another man?”
“Alan thinks there was.”
“Was there?”
“Alan thinks there was,” she repeated tonelessly.
“Go on,” Mason said, “what happened?”
“Well, one night Alan was working, and I had a sudden crazy desire to put down in writing a lot of things about my private life, things that ordinarily I wouldn’t ever tell anyone about. I wanted to put those things in writing and hide the paper in the back of a drawer under a collection of photographs — I just couldn’t keep from it. I wrote out a lot of things about my private life and about what had happened and put it there under the photographs in the drawer.”
“And then?” Mason asked.
“The next morning I suddenly realized what a crazy thing I’d done and I wanted to get that paper and burn it up. I went to the drawer and... well, you know the answer, the paper was gone.”
“You mean it had been a post-hypnotic suggestion?”
“That’s right. I didn’t even know that he’d hypnotized me. I still don’t know when he had hypnotized me, but he had left that post-hypnotic suggestion in my mind. So then I knew that he had the paper, and the stuff in there was evidence that he could have used against me.”
“In a divorce case?”
Her face flushed. “Yes.”
“What did you do?”
“I was so darned mad I believe I could have killed him, but I was smart by that time. There are some games two people can play. I didn’t let on that I knew a thing in the world about the paper being gone. I waited about two days and then I started searching the house. I took one day to stay home from work and, believe me, I went through that house from top to bottom. I finally found the paper.”
“Where?”
She laughed. “He was smart. He’d taken up one corner of the carpet, pulled it back and slid the paper in under the corner.”
“So what did you do with the paper?”
“I destroyed it, and then I walked right out of that house and went to a lawyer and filed suit for a divorce. I never went back and let Alan get in a position where he could clap those steel-gray eyes on me again.”
“He could hypnotize you quickly?”
“Apparently all he had to do was to snap his fingers and I’d be under the influence.”
“Go on,” Mason said.
“Well, Alan thought that he had me. He thought that I couldn’t do a thing, but then when he went to look for his evidence it was gone and... well, I’d sued him for mental cruelty and there were a lot of things that he didn’t want to have come out, so... well, I got my decree.”
“And remarried?” Mason asked.
She colored a bit and said, “Not yet. My decree isn’t final.”
“When will it be final?”
“In another week.”
“And then you’re going to remarry?”
“Yes.”
“To a man you’ve known for some time?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not a hypnotist, I take it,” Mason said, smiling.
“You can bet money on that, Mr. Mason.”
Mason opened his wallet, took out four fifty-dollar bills, and said, “Here’s two hundred dollars, Mrs. Blevins, that will pay for your time and compensate you for any inconvenience. Those might help on your trousseau.”
She accepted the money, folded it, placed it in her purse, looked up at Mason with eyes that were filled with gratitude.
“Mr. Mason, that’s... well, that’s just fine of you.”
“We certainly appreciate your frankness,” Mason said. “Now could you tell us whether Alan ever hypnotized you and made you think something had happened that didn’t.”
“Oh, yes. That was one of his pet stunts. He’d hypnotize a person and give him a long song and dance about what had happened, and tell the person to wake up and not to think about the thing for an hour or two hours, but gradually to absorb the narrative into his memory as an actual experience, and then after two hours, as a post-hypnotic suggestion, to start telling about it.”
“And people would do that?”
“Some of them would. Of course, you can’t hypnotize everyone, Mr. Mason, and...”
“I understand. Now do you know whether he ever hypnotized Josephine Kempton, Mr. Addicks’ housekeeper?”
“I think he did. I once heard him mention something he had done with her by way of demonstrating a point to Mr. Addicks.”
“Do you know anything else that might help us?” Mason asked.
“No.”
“Well, thanks a lot. I don’t think we need to detain you any longer right now, Mrs. Blevins, but we may want to talk with you again later.”
“Any time,” she said, “any time after four o’clock. You can call me and I’ll come in any time. Mr. Drake has my number.”
“Thank you,” Mason said.
She rose from the chair, started for the door, then suddenly detoured to take Perry Mason’s hand in both of hers. “You’re sweet,” she said. “Here’s something that may be of help. Addicks wasn’t his real name. I know that Alan managed to hypnotize him once and learned that his real name was Barnwell. If there’s anything else, you just let me know.”
Her eyes were grateful as she gave Mason a very cordial smile. Then she opened the door and went out, swinging into the corridor with a saucy flip of her skirts.
“Do you any good?” Drake asked.
Mason grinned at him and said, “Paul, the last few minutes have really done things for me. Start your boys working in Nevada, then go on home, take a good hot bath, crawl into bed and get some sleep.”
“You mean that?” Drake asked in surprise.
“Sure I mean it,” Mason said and hurried out of Drake’s office.
Mason opened the door of his private office.
Della Street, who had been standing by his desk, arranging some papers, looked up as he entered.
Mason reached her in two swift strides, put his arms around her, picked her off the floor, whirled her around, and then held her to him. “Baby,” he said, “we’ve struck pay dirt.”
She looked up at him somewhat wistfully. “All of which, I presume, accounts for this sudden display of enthusiasm.”
“It isn’t enthusiasm,” Mason said, hugging her to him, “it’s affection.”
“Well,” she said, “it must have been important information.”
“Get the newspapers?” Mason asked.
“Yes. Reporters are on their way up here. I told them it was hot, and they’re coming up fast.”
“Good girl,” Mason said, and looked down into her eyes.
She put her hands on his shoulders, her face tilted up. Mason bent forward tenderly.
Her lips clung to his for a long moment, then she suddenly was pushing him away, grabbing a Kleenex from her purse and wiping the lipstick off his lips.
“Chief,” she exclaimed, “have you forgotten that a bunch of observant, keen-eyed newspaper reporters are due to burst in here at any minute?”
Mason smiled, patted her shoulder and said, “It’s okay, Della. We’re going to give them something that will jolt Mr. Sidney Hardwick right back on the heels of his shoes.”
“Good. I hope you do it. How’s my mouth? Am I smeared? Oh, you wouldn’t know anyway!”
“I can see anything a keen-eyed reporter can,” Mason said.