Paul Drake nodded wordlessly.
"And," said Perry Mason slowly, "if she can't, it's going to be a weak spot, if we can impeach Carl Trask in some way. You say he's a gambler?"
"Yes."
"Any criminal record?"
"We're looking it up. We know he's been in minor troubles."
"All right, look him up from the time he was a kid down to date. Get something on him if you can. If you can't, get something that won't sound good to a jury."
"I'm already working on that," Drake said.
"And the deputies are looking for Wheeler and Doake?"
"Yes."
"By the way," said Perry Mason casually, "where are those two birds?"
Paul Drake looked at Perry Mason, and his face held the innocence of a child.
"I had a very important matter to investigate in Florida," he said, "and I put those two fellows on a plane and sent them there on the job."
"Anybody know they went?" asked Perry Mason.
"No. It's a confidential matter, and they didn't get tickets in their own names."
Perry Mason nodded appreciatively.
"Good work, Paul," he said.
He made little drumming gestures with his fingertips on the desk, abruptly said, "Where can I reach Thelma Benton?"
"She's staying at the Riverview Apartments."
"Under her own name?"
"Yes."
"You keeping her shadowed?"
"Yes."
"What's she doing?"
"Talking with cops, mostly. She's made three trips to headquarters and two to the district attorney's offices."
"For questioning?"
"I don't know whether they're in response to telephone communications or not. But there was only once she was sent for. The rest of the time she went by herself."
"How's her hand?" asked Mason.
"I don't know that. It's pretty well bandaged. I chased down the doctor who treated it. His name's Phil Morton and his offices are in the Medical Building. He was called out to the house on Milpas Drive, and said the hand was pretty badly mangled."
"Mangled?" asked Perry Mason.
"Yes, that's what he said."
"She still has it bandaged?" asked the lawyer.
"Yes."
Abruptly, Perry Mason took down the telephone.
"Della," he said, "ring up the Riverview Apartments. Get Thelma Benton on the line. Tell her that this is The Chronicle speaking, and the city editor wants to talk with her. After that has soaked in, put her on my line."
He hung up the telephone.
Drake looked at him without expression on his face and said slowly, "You're skating on pretty thin ice, Perry."
Perry Mason nodded gloomily.
"I've got to," he said.
"How about that line?" asked Drake. "Are you still on the right side of it?"
The lawyer gave his shoulders a nervous shake, as though trying to rid himself of a disagreeable sensation.
"I hope so," he said.
The telephone rang.
Perry Mason picked up the receiver, raised his voice, and snapped: "City Editor."
The receiver made metallic noises, and then Perry Mason still speaking in the same highpitched rapid tone of voice said, "Miss Benton, it looks as though this Forbes murder case is going to have a lot of dramatic interest. You've been with the parties from the start. Did you keep a diary?"
Once more the receiver made metallic noises, and a slow smile spread over the face of Perry Mason.
"Would you be interested in ten thousand dollars for the exclusive right to publish that diary… you would?… Have you kept your diary up to date?… will you keep it right up to date?… Don't say anything about this offer. I'll have one of our reporters get in touch with you when we want it. I can't tell about the price until I take it up with the managing editor. Then he'll want to inspect the diary, but I'm willing to make a recommendation for its purchase at that figure, provided we have the exclusive on it. That's all. G'by."
Mason slammed the receiver up on the line.
"Think she'll try to trace that call?" asked the detective.
"She can't," Mason said. "What's more, she hasn't got sense enough. She fell for it, hook, line and sinker."
"She keeps a diary?" asked the detective.
"I don't know," Perry Mason said.
"Didn't she say she did?"
Perry Mason laughed.
"Sure," he said, "she said she did but that doesn't mean anything. The way I made the offer, she is going to have time to fake one. A girl can do a lot of writing for ten thousand dollars."
"What's the idea?" asked Drake.
"Just a hunch," Mason said. "Now let's check over those samples of handwriting. Have you got samples of handwriting?"
"I haven't got a sample of Mrs. Forbes' handwriting, but I have got a sample of Paula Cartright's handwriting. I've got some stuff that Thelma Benton has written, and a letter that Elizabeth Walker, Cartright's housekeeper, wrote."
"Have you checked them," Perry Mason said slowly, "with the note that was left by Paula Cartright when she left Forbes?"
"No, the district attorney's office has got that note, but I have a photostatic copy of the telegram that was sent from Midwick, and the handwriting doesn't check."
"What handwriting doesn't check?"
"None of them."
"That telegram's in a woman's handwriting?"
Drake nodded, fished through the folder, and took out a photostatic copy of a telegram.
Mason took the paper and studied it carefully.
"Does the telegraph operator remember anything about it?" he asked.
"He just remembers that a woman handed it in, across the counter, together with the exact amount necessary to send it. She seemed in very much of a hurry. The telegraph operator remembers that he was counting the words when she started out. He told her he'd have to check the amount, and she called over her shoulder that she was quite sure it was right, and went out."
"Would he remember her again if he saw her?"
"I doubt it. He's not too intelligent, and apparently didn't pay any particular attention to her. She came in wearing a widebrimmed hat. The operator remembers that much. She had her head tilted down so that the brim kept him from seeing her face when she was handing the telegram across the counter. After that, he started to count the words, and she walked out."
Mason continued to stare at the photostatic copy of the telegram, then glanced up at Drake.
"Drake," he said, "how did the newspapers get onto the inside of all this business?"
"What inside?"
"All about the man who lived under the name of Foley being, in reality, Clinton Forbes, and having run away with Paula Cartright, and the Santa Barbara scandal end of the thing?"
"Shucks," said Drake, "that was a cinch. We found it out, and it's a cinch the newspapers were as well organized as we were. They have correspondents in Santa Barbara, and they dug up the files of old newspapers and made a great human interest story out of it. Then, you know the district attorney — he likes to try his cases in the newspapers. He's been feeding them everything he could find out."
Perry Mason nodded his head thoughtfully.
"Drake," he said, "I think I'm getting about ready to go to trial."
The detective looked at him with some show of surprise.
"The case won't be tried for some time yet, even if you try to get an immediate hearing," he said.
Perry Mason smiled patiently.
"That," he said, "is the way to prepare a criminal case. You've got to make all of your preparations and block out your defense before the district attorney really finds out what it's all about. After that, it's too late."
Chapter 17
The courtroom atmosphere was stale with that psychic stench which comes from packed humans whose emotions are roused to a high pitch of excitement.