“Just what did you have in mind?” Mason asked. “What do you want me to do now?”
She said, “I want you to protect my interests. I would like to find out what it is that happened on the sixth of September that would have caused someone to go to all this trouble.”
“You feel that you were built up as a fall guy, a substitute, a Patsy.”
She said, “I’m quite satisfied that I have been built up as a double and am going to be called on to take the blame for something I didn’t do. And if you had detectives follow me to the airport, you know I was the one who fired those shots and then the woman who came out — this Minerva Minden, did some quick thinking and decided to take the blame rather than let it be known I was her double.”
“Would you mind letting me see your driving licence again?” Mason asked.
“Certainly not.”
She opened her purse, took out her driving licence and handed it to Mason.
Mason checked the licence, then said, “Let me have your thumb. I’m going to make a comparison.”
“Good heavens, but you’re suspicious!”
“I’m a lawyer,” Mason said. “I hate to have anything slipped over on me.”
She immediately extended her thumb.
Mason said, “I know your aversion to fingerprints so I’ll try making a check from the thumb itself.”
He took a magnifying glass from his desk, studied the thumb and the print on the driving licence.
“Satisfied?” she asked.
Mason nodded.
“Now I’ll show you the scar.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Mason said. “I’m convinced.”
“Very well,” she said. “Now will you try and find out what it is I’m being framed for? In other words, what sort of a racket I’m mixed up in?”
Mason nodded.
“Now look,” she told him, “this is going to take some money. I don’t have very much but—”
“Suppose we skip that for the moment,” Mason said. “I’ll give the case a once-over and then get in touch with you.”
“I’m so... so frightened,” she said.
“I don’t think you need to be,” Mason told her.
“But I’m fighting someone who has unlimited money, someone who is ruthless and unbelievably clever, Mr. Mason. I’m afraid that even with your help I... Well, I’m afraid they may pin something on me.”
Mason said, “Call that unlisted number right now and ask the person who answers what your duties are for tomorrow.”
Mason caught Della Street’s eye. “You can call him from this phone,” he said, “and I want to listen in and see what the man says.”
She hesitated a moment.
“Any objections?” Mason asked.
“I’m not supposed to call until later on.”
“Well, let’s try it now,” Mason said. “Let’s see if there’s an answer. Miss Street will fix the telephone connection so you’re connected with an outside line and you can go right ahead and dial the number.”
Della Street smiled, picked up the telephone, pressed the button and a moment later when a light flashed on the phone, handed the instrument to Dorrie Ambler.
“Go right ahead,” Mason said. “Dial the number.” Dorrie seated herself at Della Street’s desk and dialed the number. When she had finished dialing, Mason picked up the telephone to listen.
A man’s voice said, “Yes? Hello.”
“Who is this?” Dorrie Ambler asked.
“Who are you calling?”
Dorrie Ambler gave the number.
“All right, what do you want?”
“This is Miss Ambler — Dorrie. I wanted to know what instructions there were for tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow,” the man’s voice said, “you simply sit tight. Do nothing. Take it easy. Go to a beauty shop. Have a good time.”
“I do nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“And my salary?”
“Goes on just the same,” the man said, and hung up.
Dorrie Ambler looked over at Mason as though for instructions and slowly dropped the telephone receiver into its cradle.
“All right,” Mason said cheerfully, looking at his watch, “we’ve got to close up the office and go home, Miss Ambler, and I guess the best thing for you to do is the same.”
“Suppose something should happen — there should be some developments. Where can I reach you?”
“I don’t have a night number where you can reach me,” Mason said, “but if you want to call the Drake Detective Agency which is on this floor and leave a message for me, they’ll see that I get it within an hour or so at the latest... You feel something may be going to happen?”
“I don’t know. I just have that feeling of dread, of apprehension, of something hanging over my head. Minerva Minden knows what happened, of course, and she’s apt to do almost anything. You see, she’ll know I’ve found out she’s the one I’m doubling for.”
Mason said, “We’ll try to find out what it’s all about, and don’t worry.”
“I feel better now that the situation is in your hands — but I do have a definite feeling that I’m being jockeyed into position for a very devastating experience.”
“Well, we can’t do very much until we know more of the facts,” Mason said.
“And remember, Mr. Mason, I want to pay you. I can get some money. I can raise some. Would five hundred dollars be enough?”
“When can you raise five hundred dollars?” Mason asked.
“I think I could have it by tomorrow afternoon.”
“You’re going to borrow it?”
“Yes.”
“Who from?”
“A friend.”
“A boy friend?”
She hesitated a moment, then slowly nodded.
“And does he know anything about all of this?” Mason asked.
“No. He knows that I have a rather peculiar job. He’s been asking questions but I’ve been sort of... well, giving indefinite answers. I think any young woman who has training in the business world should learn to keep her mouth tightly closed about the things she observes on the job. I think she should keep them entirely removed from her social life.”
“That’s very commendable,” Mason said. “You go on home and I’ll try and find out something more about all this and then get in touch with you.”
“Thank you so much,” Dorrie Ambler said, and then acting on a sudden impulse, gave him her hand. “Thank you again, Mr. Mason. You’ve taken a tremendous load off my shoulders. Good night. Good night, Miss Street.”
She slipped out of the door into the corridor.
“Well?” Della Street asked.
“Now,” Mason said, “we find out what happened at Western and Hollywood Boulevard on September sixth. Unless I’m very much mistaken, Minerva Minden was driving while intoxicated and became involved in a hit-and-run, and now she wants to confuse the witnesses so they’ll make a wrong identification.
“Telephone the traffic department at Headquarters, Della, and see what they have on file for hit-and-run on the sixth.”
Della Street busied herself on the phone, made shorthand notes, thanked the person at the other end of the line, hung up and turned to Perry Mason.
“On the night of the sixth,” she said, “a pedestrian, Horace Emmett, was struck in the crosswalk at Hollywood Boulevard and Western Avenue. He is suffering from a broken hip. The car which struck him was driven by a young woman. It was a light-colored Cadillac. The woman stopped, sized up the situation, got out of the car, then changed her mind, jumped into the car and drove away. She apparently was intoxicated.”