“They’ve never solved a gangster killing yet that I ever heard of — except once when they convicted the wrong man.”
“So what do you want me to do?” Mason asked.
“After this stock sale goes through, I want to retain you to do something about my father’s murder. I want you to get a private detective to start looking into the case, to unearth clues that can be turned over to the police.
“Then I want you to sort of chaperon the case, to act as liaison man between the private detective and the police, to use your brains to interpret the evidence.”
Mason shook his head. “You don’t need to retain an attorney to see that the police solve a murder case.”
“What have they done so far?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither does anyone else.”
“Could this Mr. X have been implicated in the murder? He seems to have profited by it.”
“Certainly he could.”
“Then you should let Garvin conduct the negotiations.”
“When Mr. Garvin got this stock,” she said, “he thought he was buying something to give me as a wedding present. He thought I was to be his daughter-in-law. Now that situation has changed... radically.”
“Where can I get in touch with you?” Mason asked.
“You can’t,” she said. “I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow morning. Will ten o’clock be all right?”
Mason glanced at Della Street, said, “Very well. Ten tomorrow morning.”
She included Della Street in her smile, said, “I take it I can get out through this exit door to the corridor?”
Mason nodded.
Stephanie Falkner glided to the door, opened it, turned, said in a calm, cool voice to Perry Mason, “Until tomorrow. And please reach Mr. Garvin in the meantime.”
Mason turned to Della Street as the exit door closed behind the young woman. “I don’t think I’d like to play poker with that young woman, Della.”
“Well,” she asked, “what do you think you are playing?”
“I’m damned if I know,” Mason told her. “I’m going down and talk to that new secretary of Garvin’s. Perhaps I can pry some information out of her.”
“Chief, if she makes that sale, if Homer Garvin says it’s all right, would you try to do what she asks and act as liaison man in this murder case?”
“I don’t know, Della. It would depend. I don’t think she needs to retain a lawyer for that.”
“Chief, I’m frightened. The pit of my stomach is telling my brain to try to keep you out of this mess.”
Mason smiled. “Well, I’ll go see Eva Elliott. Perhaps I can learn something from her. We’ll cross the other bridges when we come to them.”
Chapter Two
Eva Elliott, a tall, blue-eyed, blonde with penciled eyebrows, was seated at her secretarial desk. She had moved this desk to the opposite side of the office from that occupied by her predecessor. It was in a corner which framed her blond beauty against the dark mahogany paneling. Drapes on the windows had been carefully arranged so that the lighting made the corner seem to be part of a stage set.
As Mason opened the door the phone rang.
Eva Elliott flashed him a smile, picked up the telephone, held it dose to her lips, and talked for a few minutes in a low voice. Mason was barely able to hear the words.
“No, I can’t tell you when he’ll be in. I’m sorry. Yes, he’s out of town. May I take a message?
“Thank you. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver, turned to face Mason.
“I’m Perry Mason,” the lawyer explained.
Her eyes widened. “Oh, Mr. Mason, the lawyer!”
“That’s right.”
“Oh yes, Mr. Mason. I have a note for Mr. Garvin to get in touch with you just as soon as he comes in. Your secretary called, you know.”
“Thanks,” Mason said. “I see you’ve moved your desk.”
“No, I haven’t moved it, Mr. Mason.”
“Marie had it over...”
“Oh,” she said, “I moved it from where Marie had it. The light was all wrong.”
“What do you hear from her?” Mason asked.
“She has been in twice,” Eva Elliott said somewhat frigidly.
“What’s her name now?” Mason asked. “I always think of her as Marie Arden.”
“She married a man by the name of Lawton Barlow.”
“Oh yes,” Mason said. “I remember. Tell me, Miss Elliott, where is Mr. Garvin?”
“He’s away on a business trip.”
“When did he leave?”
“I... He wasn’t in the office all yesterday afternoon.” Mason regarded her with thoughtfully studious eyes. “Something unusual about it?” he asked.
“Nothing unusual at all, Mr. Mason. Mr. Garvin, as you know, makes a great many business trips. He has a lot of diversified investments and he has properties that are widely scattered.”
“I see,” Mason said. “I take it that you know I do all of his legal business?”
“I’ve heard him speak of you.”
“I’d like very much to get in touch with him.”
“Mr. Mason, may I ask if this is something which has to do with Miss Falkner?”
Mason’s face became expressionless. “Why?” he asked.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll put my cards on the table. I... Mr. Mason, it’s very important that we not be interrupted. Would you mind if I lock the office door? Then would you step into Mr. Garvin’s private office with me? We won’t be disturbed there.”
“Certainly,” Mason said.
She arose from behind the desk, walked with long-legged grace across to lock the door, then opened a door marked “Private.” Mason followed her into Garvin’s sumptuously furnished private office.
She turned to face Mason, her hands and hips pressing against the edge of Garvin’s desk. Her pose was that of a movie star holding her chin up so as to present the best camera angle.
“Mr. Garvin is going to be furious with me if he knows I have said anything about it to you. However, you are a good judge of character and you don’t need to have me point out that Stephanie Falkner is a very shrewd, very scheming, very selfish individual.
“Stephanie Falkner, as you probably know, was very friendly with Homer Garvin, Jr. Now Junior is carrying the torch for another girl, so Stephanie seems to be cultivating the father. Mr. Garvin is taking an interest in her. I don’t know exactly what her game is now, but I do know that it is something intended to be for the advantage of Stephanie Falkner.
“I don’t want to play cat’s-paw for her and I know you don’t. So please don’t take any story she tells at face value.
“Now I’d be fired if either of the Garvins knew that I had told you any of this. But I have a loyalty to them that is not going to be stifled by the dictates of expediency.
“Now then, Mr. Mason, are you going to accept this confidence in the spirit in which it is offered, or are you going to tell Mr. Garvin what I said?”
Mason smiled at her. “I’m going to accept it in the spirit in which it was offered.”
“Thank you,” she said, and with a swift gesture moved out front the edge of the desk to extend both of her hands to Perry Mason. “I think you’re wonderful!”
Mason left Garvin’s office, and telephoned Della Street.
“Della,” he said, “do we have the address of Marie Arden, who in now Mrs. Lawton Barlow?”
“I think so,” she said. “Just a minute. You want her phone number or her address?”
“Her address,” Mason said.
“Going calling?” she asked.
“Uh-huh.”
Della Street gave him the address and said, “Give her my love.”