“What do you mean?”
“About an hour after the accident.”
Rosalind laughed light-heartedly and said, “That’s once the breaks are with us, Mr. Mason. Jimmy was with me at the airport — in fact, I guess we were already flying to San Francisco.”
Mason said, “Now here’s something else: You people are wanted by the police. I know you’re wanted by the police. Rita left a broad back trail because of that lame canary. I traced her through that, and if I did, the police may. Now then, if it were ever known that I talked with you here and didn’t turn you in to the police, knowing that you were fugitives from justice, I might be held as an accessory. The question is, can I trust you to keep your mouths shut?”
Rita Swaine nodded and said, “Why, of course.”
Rosalind Prescott said, “But we’re not fugitives from justice, Mr. Mason.”
“Well, it looks like it. Why did you come here in such unseemly haste?”
“I came here,” she said, “because I wanted to get out of the state so Walter couldn’t serve any divorce papers on me. I thought I could come to Reno and file a divorce case of my own. After I got here, I found out I couldn’t do it until I’d had six weeks’ residence. But I didn’t want Walter to know where I was for a while because I was afraid he’d kill me. So this suited me all right.”
“And Driscoll came here to be with you?”
“Yes.”
“And why did you come here, Rita?”
“To bring some of the things Rossy needed.”
“And you had to charter an airplane to do it?”
“Well,” she said, “I wanted to tell Rossy that everything had worked like a charm; that I’d fooled Mrs. Snoops and that you’d agreed to represent her, and that she was to get in touch with you. I thought perhaps she could telephone you and arrange for an appointment. She could fly in and fly out and Walter wouldn’t be any the wiser.”
“You didn’t go into that upstairs bedroom while you were in the house?” Mason asked.
“Not into Walter’s bedroom, no. Rossy had left the dress on the bed in her room. I ran up to her room, changed into her dress, came down, caught the canary, put on an act for Mrs. Snoops, packed some things for Rossy, and took them with me when I left the house. I sent some other things by express.”
“You had the express man call for them while you were there?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you send them?”
“To Mildred Owens, General Delivery, Reno. You see, that’s the name Rosalind had told me she’d register under, so I could keep in touch with her without anyone knowing.”
“Sounds like rather an elaborate set of precautions just to avoid a husband,” Mason pointed out.
“I can’t help it. That’s the truth.”
Mason raised his eyes to Driscoll. “How about you, Driscoll, are you going to keep quiet about my having been here?”
Driscoll said, “You don’t seem to have any confidence in me, and I don’t see why I should have any in you. I’ll give you no promises.”
“Jimmy!” Rosalind Prescott exclaimed. “Can’t you see Mr. Mason is taking a big risk just in order to protect us? Can’t you—”
The telephone rang. Mason pushed past Driscoll to jerk the receiver from its hook and say, “Hello!”
Della Street’s excited voice said, “Sergeant Holcomb and two local deputies, with big sombreros and tanned faces, are just getting in the elevator, Chief.”
“Grab a cab,” he told her. “Beat it to the airport. Meet me there. If I don’t show up in an hour, head back for the office. Hang up your phone, quick!”
Mason jiggled the hook up and down with his finger until the hotel operator said impatiently, “Yes, what is it? No need to have a fit! That hurts my ear.”
Mason said, “I’m in a hurry. This is Perry Mason, a lawyer. I want to report that there are three persons in room three thirty-one who are wanted by the Los Angeles police. There’s Rosalind Prescott, registered under the name of Mildred Owens, Jimmy—”
Jimmy Driscoll lunged for him. Mason, holding the receiver to his ear with his left hand, lashed out with his right, catching Driscoll on the point of the chin. As the young man staggered back, Mason went on evenly into the telephone, as though there had been no interruption, “Driscoll, both of whom are wanted for the murder of Walter Prescott in Los Angeles. There’s also Rita Swaine, Rosalind Prescott’s sister, who is wanted for questioning in connection with the same murder.”
Driscoll, recovering his balance, came charging forward.
Mason slammed the receiver back on its hook and said, “Stop it, you fool! The jig’s up. Now listen, Rosalind, you and Rita are going to be questioned. Don’t answer questions. Don’t waive extradition. Stand on your constitutional rights. Don’t do anything unless I’m—”
A peremptory pounding on the door interrupted him. A man’s voice said, “Open up in there!”
Driscoll stood glowering at Mason. Rosalind Prescott was watching him with a puzzled question in her eyes. Mason pushed past Rita Swaine, and unlocked the door.
Sergeant Holcomb, accompanied by two bronzed men in Stetsons, pushed forward, then came to a surprised halt as he saw Perry Mason.
“You!” he said.
“In person,” Mason assured him.
A grin suffused Holcomb’s features as he said, “Well, isn’t that nice. You knew that these people were wanted by the police. You smuggled them across the state line and—”
“Wait a minute,” Mason interrupted. “I had nothing to do with their crossing the state line.”
“That’s what you say,” Holcomb sneered.
“It’s what I say,” Mason said, “and it’s what I can make stick.”
“Okay. Anyway, we catch you here, plotting with them, avoiding the police.”
“That wasn’t what I was doing at all.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, try and tell that to the Grievance Committee of the Bar Association.”
Mason said, “As it happens I don’t have to tell anything to the Grievance Committee of the Bar Association. I came here because I had reason to believe a person registered in this hotel as Mildred Owens was, in fact, Rosalind Prescott, who I happened to know is wanted by the police for murder. The fact that she happens to be my client in connection with another matter has nothing to do with it.”
Holcomb said, “Try and make that stick.”
“And,” Mason went on, “as soon as I found out the true facts, I determined to surrender her to the police.”
Holcomb said, “Don’t make me laugh. My side hurts. I’ve heard some wild stories in my time, but that’s the wildest.”
Mason nodded toward the telephone. “If you’ll kindly call the operator you’ll find that I asked her to notify the police several minutes before you arrived.”
Holcomb stared at Mason, said, “I’ll just nail you to the cross on that one before you have a chance to bribe the telephone operator to commit perjury,” picked up the telephone receiver and said, “Did anyone from this room try to call police headquarters?”
The receiver made squawking noises. Holcomb’s face showed chagrin as he listened. He said, “All right, forget it! The police are here,” and slammed the receiver into place. He glowered at Mason. “There’s something fishy about this. We’ll pass it for the moment, but I’m not done with it — not by a long ways. You’re representing Rosalind Prescott, Mason?”
“Yes.”
“Representing Driscoll here?”
“No.”
“Representing Rita Swaine?”