“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m not at liberty at the moment to disclose that information.”
“Then I’m not at liberty at the moment to give you any.”
“All right, can you tell me about when Mrs. Kempton was discharged with reference to the disappearance of Helen Cadmus?”
Etna said, “Helen Cadmus is supposed to have committed suicide about two days before Mrs. Kempton was discharged. It is our considered opinion that if — now understand, Mr. Mason, I’m not making any charges — that if anything had been feloniously taken from the Addicks residence, there is much more reason to believe that Helen Cadmus was responsible than Mrs. Kempton. Now I’ll elaborate that to this extent. The ring and the watch were left in Mr. Addicks’ bedroom. That bedroom was kept locked. Two people had a key to it. One was Mrs. Kempton, and the other was Helen Cadmus. Mrs. Kempton had to go in connection with her duties as housekeeper, and Helen Cadmus had to go into the room in connection with her secretarial duties. It was actually a suite of rooms. A bedroom, office, bath, and den. Now that much I can tell you, Mr. Mason, and that’s all I can tell you at the moment.”
“Can you give me a number where I can reach you later on tonight?”
“I’ll be here for an hour or two. My home number is West 9-7211.”
Mason said, “Thanks a lot. You may hear from me later on.”
Mason hung up. Della Street raised inquiring eyebrows.
“I presume,” he said, “your unspoken question is a desire to know what Mr. James Etna told me.”
“My unspoken questions,” she said, “is a desire to know when we eat.”
Mason laughed. “We eat right now, Della, and after we have eaten we’re going to drive out and call on Mr. Benjamin Addicks, and see what he has to say, and if perchance — understand now, Della, this is just a shot in the dark, a one chance in a thousand — but if we should find a five thousand dollar ring and a seventeen hundred and fifty dollar platinum watch in the Grecian urn in the reception room, we’re going to make a very arrogant and perhaps a sadistic millionaire crawl in a hole and pull the hole in after him.”
“That’s fine,” Della Street said, “but I take it that is not to be done on an empty stomach.”
“Definitely not. Where would you like to eat?”
“Where I can get a thick steak with butter and chopped parsley, and if we’re going to call on a millionaire I think we should enjoy the luxury of eating some French bread, toasted to a delicious brown, and dusted with shredded garlic.”
“By all means,” Mason said gravely. “One owes it to one’s profession to enjoy the opportunities of the moment. Now if we were making a will for Mr. Addicks, or, if we had been called to consult with him on a business matter, we would naturally have to forego the garlic, Della.”
“Oh, naturally,” she agreed, her eyes twinkling, “but under the circumstances, and since I have now labored far into the night, you might also buy me a bottle of red Tipo Chianti to go with the steak and garlic bread.”
“Well, before you go,” Mason said, “you might call up Mr. Mortimer Hershey, and tell him that we will call on Mr. Addicks this evening at nine-thirty.”
“Shall I tell him that if he hasn’t dined yet, he’d better try a little garlic bread, because under those circumstances he might enjoy our company more?”
“No,” Mason told her, “we don’t know him that well yet.”
“But we will?” she asked.
“Oh, definitely,” Mason promised, smiling. “We will, but he wouldn’t enjoy our company anyway.”
Chapter number 4
Perry Mason swung his car to a point where two square pillars furnished supports for wrought iron gates which barred a wide graveled driveway.
A watchman, a big deputy sheriff’s star pinned on his chest, a five-cell flashlight in his hand, a revolver holstered in a well-fitted cartridge belt, stood just behind the gates.
The beam of the flashlight pilloried the occupants of the car.
Mason rolled down the window.
“What do you want?” the watchman asked.
“The first thing I want,” Mason said, “is for you to take the beam of that flashlight out of my eyes.”
The flashlight wavered, then went off.
Mason said, “the next thing I want is to see Benjamin Addicks.”
“What I want to know,” the watchman said, “is whether Benjamin Addicks wants to see you.”
“He said he did.”
“What’s the name?”
“Perry Mason.”
“Wait right there,” the watchman said. “Now don’t get out of the car. Just wait right there until I telephone the house.”
He crossed over to a boxed-in telephone which was recessed in one of the square columns of masonry which supported the gates.
“Nice friendly people, aren’t they?” Mason said to Della Street.
“Well, perhaps he has to be. This is rather an isolated spot out here, Chief, and, after all, the man’s supposed to be wealthy. I presume he could be pestered with prowlers.”
The watchman hung up the telephone, and pressed a switch which started the ponderous gates swinging slowly back on well-oiled hinges.
The watchman came up to stand by the car on Mason’s side.
“All right,” he said, “he’s expecting you. Now you follow this gravel driveway all the way. When you come to the stone porch on the house with the big pillars, you drive right up to the stone steps and stop the car. There’ll be somebody there to meet you. Leave the car right there. Don’t stop before you get there, and don’t get off the graveled driveway. Understand?”
“I understand,” Mason said, “but I’m not particularly impressed with the cordiality of your welcome. What happens if we should get off the graveled driveway?”
“Plenty would happen.”
“Such as what?”
“Well, for one thing you’d find that you’d crossed beams of invisible light, and when you cross one of those beams all hell breaks loose. Sirens scream, floodlights turn on, and the doors of the kennels automatically open. That releases the police dogs. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If you want to experiment, go ahead and find out.”
The watchman turned away.
Mason said to Della Street, “I guess Mr. Addicks has arranged for ample protection. Anything that he lacks in hospitality he seems to make up in efficiency.”
He eased the car into gear and slid through the gates, the tires crunching the gravel on the wide, sweeping driveway, which curved through landscaped grounds, which, to the uninitiated eyes, might seem to furnish plenty of opportunities for concealment.
After a few moments the big house loomed in front of them, a solid masonry affair that had its lines softened here and there by bits of ivy clinging to the stone.
Mason said, “All the soft, pleasing architecture of a state prison.”
He slid the car to a stop by the steps on the front porch.
A porch light came on to flood the place with brilliance. Somewhere in the back dogs were barking with savage insistence.
Mason switched off the motor and his headlights, opened the car door, and walked around to assist Della from the car. She opened the door and without waiting jumped to the steps leading to the porch and ran lightly up the stairs.
The big front door swung open and Nathan Fallon came out to greet them.
“Welcome to Stonehenge,” he said.
“Stonehenge?” Della Street exclaimed.
Fallon said, “That’s the name of the place. Rather a huge mansion, Miss Street. It has plenty of room for all of Mr. Addicks’ requirements. Room for entertaining, room for working, and room for his animal experimentation.”
“Can you tell me just what is the purpose of this animal experimentation that you refer to?” Mason asked.