Mason said, “This is a copy.”
“Who says so?”
“My client.”
“PoofI”
“And,” Mason went on, “one other witness who compared it with the original, a witness whose name I’m not prepared to disclose at the moment.”
Dorley Alder’s face lit up. “You mean there is a dis-interested witness who can vouch for the accuracy of this copy?’”
“Yes.”
“That,” Dorley Alder said, “is different.”
“Quite different,” Mason assured him.
“Does George know that letter was copied?”
“I don’t think so.”
“He may suspect it?”
“He may.”
“Did George manage to get that letter back?”
“There’s every indication that he did.”
Dorley Alder sat in silent thought for several seconds, then he turned to Mason and said impressively, “Mr. Mason, I want you to keep away from George Alder. I want your client to keep away from George Alder. I am particularly concerned about her. If George has any idea that she has a copy of that letter she … Well, in the interests of safety, in the interests of preserving her life, I feel that she should take steps to safeguard herself. She is in custody now, and … “
“She isn’t any longer,” Mason said. “She was released on bail about an hour ago.”
“She was?”
“That’s right.”
“And where is she now?”
“At her apartment, I believe.”
Dorley Alder pushed his way up out of the depths of the big chair, said to Mason, “Keep her away from George Alder. Stay away from George Alder yourself. Safeguard the copy of that letter. You may hear from me within the next day or two. Remember what I told you, Mr. Mason. You have made a valuable ally.”
“Just a minute,” Mason said. “There are two questions I should like to ask.”
“What are they?”
“How did you learn about that letter in the bottle?”
“Frankly, I learned as much as I know from my nephew, George S. Adler. He started to confide in me, then changed his mind. I knew enough to know there had been such a letter. I wanted to find out more about it. I asked Dorothy if she had heard anything about it. She hadn’t. I hoped my question would inspire her to make inquiries of Pete Cadiz.
“And your second question, Mr. Mason?”
“Why are you so afraid of George?”
“I’m not.”
“But you’ve emphasized that I am not to go near him, and that…”
“Oh, that!”
“Yes, that.”
“Well, Mr. Mason … I, personally, am not afraid of him. When he is crossed he has rages that are terrible. When Corrine disappeared in this fit of suicidal despondency, I fear it may have been caused in part by a difference of opinion she was having with him. He flew down to South America to get her to sign some papers. It is my understanding that she first turned him down, then refused to see him after that and … Well, you know the rest … Frankly I don’t feel he ever forgave the poor sick girl for not yielding to his demands.
“However, I have answered this second question perhaps too fully. I must leave—at once.”
He bowed to Della Street, shook hands with Mason, turned toward the corridor door, said, “I can get out this way?”
Mason nodded.
“Say nothing about my having been here,” Dorley Alder said, “nothing to anyone.”
He strode to the exit door, opened it and walked out without once looking back, yet managing to maintain the dignity and power of his presence by the even set of his shoulders and the lines of his back.
Mason and his secretary were silent for some seconds after the door had closed.
“Well?” Della Street asked at length.
Mason said, “Get Dorothy Fenner on the phone, Della. Tell her that I am anxious to have her keep away from George Alder, and for the moment not to be available to Dorley Alder.”
Della Street raised her eyebrows.
“Anything that Dorley has to say to her,” Mason explained, “can be said through me. You may or may not have noticed it, Della, but the man was careful to say that all the shares of stock were in the trust.”
“And?” she asked.
“Carmen Monterrey is supposed to hold ten shares that aren’t in the trust.”
Della Street thought that over. “And could those ten shares be important?”
“They might be damned important, Della.”
“Then we didn’t make an ally after all, Chief?”
“That,” Mason said, “will be disclosed in due time.”
“And what’s due time?”
“Damn soon,” he said, grinning.
Chapter 8
THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR OF DOROTHY FENNER’S APARTMENT was quietly insistent, and yet there was something almost apologetic in the gentle, steady, tat—tat—tat—tat—tat.
Dorothy Fenner walked to the door, jerked it open and said, irritably, “I wish you newspaper people would telephone before you try storming the door. I’ve been … “
She stopped in startled dismay.
“May I come in?” George Alder asked.
Wordlessly, she stood to one side, holding the door open for him.
“The newspaper people have been here?” he asked.
She nodded.
“That’s good,” he said.
“Sit down,” she invited.
“Lock the door, please.”
She hesitated an appreciable instant, then turned the knurled knob on the door, putting the bolt into place.
It was an old-fashioned apartment, with old-fashioned furniture, but there was a certain roominess about it, and the ceilings were high. Woodwork and furniture were dark, which by day made it gloomy and depressing, by night furnished an atmosphere of genteel respectability.
Alder said, “All right, what are your terms?”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Alder settled himself in the straight-backed chair near the table. There was something in his pose which made it seem he was on the point of pulling out checkbook and fountain pen.
“I made a fool of myself,” he admitted.
She watched him with outward hostility as her mind began adjusting itself to this new development.
“Why the sudden burst of conscience?” she asked.
He said, “It isn’t conscience, it’s business.”
“Any business can be discussed with my lawyer, Perry Mason.”
“Don’t be a fool!”
“What’s foolish about that?”
“He’s rich. He makes more every day than you do in a month.”
“What does that have to do with it?”
“I’m prepared to be decent and reasonable. All this newspaper notoriety has hurt you. You’ve probably lost your job. Ill compensate you for the damage I’ve caused, but there’s no reason for you to pay Perry Mason part of your money.”
“You’ll pay him?”
“Don’t be a fool. I’m not that dumb. I might be willing to pay you for the damage to you. I’ll be damned if I’ll support a lawyer with any of my money.”
She had moved toward the telephone. Now she paused to think that over.
“You’re a working girl,” he told her. “You’d better start using your brain. You haven’t done much with it so far.”
She walked back toward him and seated herself on the arm of the overstuffed chair, one area over the back of the chair, the other indolently at her side, her right foot crossed over her left knee. A movie star being interviewed for one of the fan magazines had assumed this pose and it had been extremely effective. Dorothy Fenner had tried it, liked it, and filed it away for future use. There was a certain nonchalance about it, an air of informal ease, and it didn’t detract any from her looks.
“Let’s quit beating around the bush and put a few cards on the table,” Alder said.