Mason walked over, climbed into his car and sat down.
“Want any notes?” Della Street asked.
“No, not yet. Did Doxey call his wife?”
“No. He called the police. They told him to wait right there at the phone booth and they’d have a radio car there within five minutes.”
“Good work,” Mason said.
Sergeant Holcomb and two detectives from Homicide Squad entered the place, leaving one of the radio officers on guard.
After a while, Holcomb came out, talked briefly with the officers, and then came over to Mason.
“What did you find?” Mason asked.
“How did you happen to come up here, Mason?”
“I’m representing a client.”
“Who?”
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
“We’ll find out.”
“Go ahead. That’s your duty and privilege. It’s my duty to protect my client.”
“What did you come up here for?”
“Specifically,” Mason said, “I came up to look at the boundaries of this property. Does that satisfy you?”
Sergeant Holcomb regarded him for a moment, said, “No,” and abruptly turned away.
Mason nodded to Doxey. “Let’s go, Doxey,” he said. “They’ve got everything they need from us.”
“I’m not so sure,” Sergeant Holcomb said, turning around.
“Well, I am,” Mason told him. “There aren’t any other questions you want to ask, are there?”
“They may turn up later on.”
“Then get in touch with me later on,” Mason said. “You coming Doxey?”
Doxey glanced apprehensively at the officers, said, “Yes... I guess so,” and got in Mason’s car.
“I’ll take you home,” Mason said, easing the car into motion, “and you can break the news to your wife personally. That’ll be better than trying to do it over the phone.”
Doxey nodded, presently blew his nose, surreptitiously wiped the corners of his eyes. “I’d be a damned liar if I told you there weren’t times when Daddy Lutts was hard to get along with, but I was very fond of him and — The poor guy.”
“It wasn’t suicide?” Mason asked.
“Heavens, no. At least, I don’t think so. He was in good spirits until after you bought his stock, and then he... and then he thought of a way of getting stock to take the place of the stock he had sold you, and still have some gravy, and that made him feel even better.”
“After he got to thinking it over,” Mason said, “he may have thought it would have been better if he’d left the situation the way it was.”
“Not Daddy Lutts. He worries about something of that sort. He just couldn’t understand why you wanted stock in the company, and the more he thought of it, the more worried he became. He’s a gambler at heart. A situation like this was made to order for him. When I say he was worried, I don’t mean it the way you’d be inclined to take it. I mean that he was afraid there was something going on beneath the surface that he couldn’t get a line on — you know what I mean — that he couldn’t — well, if there were any gravy trains going by, he wanted to get aboard.”
“Nothing in his accounts,” Mason said. “He wouldn’t be short of money or anything?”
“Anything but! Why, the guy’s worth a million. He played the cards close to his chest, but he had lots of chips.”
“Well,” Mason told him, “I extend my sympathies. You’ll have to break it rather gently to your wife. Was she fond of him?”
“In their respective ways, they were very fond of each other. But they were... well, they were a lot alike. Their temperaments would clash, but they loved their little squabbles. She’s going to be terribly broken up.”
“Does she have any stock in this company?” Mason asked.
“No. Daddy Lutts told her she’d have plenty when he died, but while he was alive he was going to hang on to every cent. That’s the way he was — always joking, telling her about the too indulgent and credulous parents who gave it all away and then were thrown out. It’s hard to explain. When I tell it, it doesn’t sound like a joke, but Daddy Lutts and Georgiana always used to kid about it. It was the way they joked back and forth. She’ll miss him terribly.”
“Well, it’s a horrible jolt,” Mason said.
Again Doxey blew his nose, then turned his head, ostensibly interested in the scenery.
Mason paused at the first service station where there was a telephone. “I’ll only be a minute,” he told Doxey. He called Paul Drake’s office. “Paul, do you still have contacts with the newspaper reporters who cover police headquarters?”
“Sure,” Drake said. “Why?”
“Because,” Mason told him, “a man by the name of George C. Lutts was murdered in a deserted house in an outlying real estate development project late this afternoon. I want all of the dope just as fast as it comes into police headquarters. I particularly want to know whether they have recovered the murder weapon, where the man was standing when he was shot, how long he lived after being shot, the direction from which the shot was fired, and whether police feel there was a woman involved in the case.”
“Anything else?” Drake asked sarcastically.
“Certainly,” Mason said. “I want everything else — fast.”
“Okay,” Drake said. “Here’s something else for you, Perry.”
“Hurry up, Paul. I’m in a rush.”
Drake said, “Mrs. Harlan phoned... said she wanted me to give you a message. Said to tell you that everything was working out fine, that the third corner of the triangle already had her husband on the defensive, that Roxy and Mrs. Harlan’s husband had been to see Roxy’s lawyer and that her husband had finally awakened to the fact that it was their fifth wedding anniversary. She said that I was to tell you, quote, ‘He is behaving in a most satisfactory manner and exactly as anticipated.’”
“Well,” Mason said, grinning, “that’s something.”
“I take it it makes sense to you,” Drake said.
“It makes sense to me. How long will it take you to get some of the dope on this Lutts murder case, Paul?”
“About the time Homicide Squad gets back and makes a report. The newspaper boys will pick up everything they’re releasing to the public.”
“You had dinner?” Mason asked.
“Oh, sure,” Drake said sarcastically. “I had two sandwiches and coffee, and now I have just had my dessert of four tablets of bicarbonate of soda. I’m right back in my stride.”
“That’s fine,” Mason told him. “You stay there and get the dope. Della and I are going out to dinner. Mrs. Harlan didn’t leave any more messages for me, did she?”
“Yes,” Drake said. “She said that she didn’t want to be disturbed any more this evening, that she would appreciate anything you could do along those lines.”
“Yes, I take it she would,” Mason said dryly. “Okay, Paul, see what you can find out. We’ll call you later.”
Mason hung up, returned to his car. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Doxey.”
“It’s okay. I’m dreading going home, breaking the news.”
“Would it help any if I went in with you?” Della Street asked. “Or I could phone and tell her that you were on your way in and that you had some disturbing news — sort of break it to her gently.”
“No, thanks. I appreciate your offer, but I’ll have to face the situation, and I think the best way is to tell her all at once, not beat around the bush.”
“You’re the doctor,” Mason told him. “But Miss Street wants you to know that anything we can do, we’ll be glad to do.”
“Thanks. This is one thing I’m going to have to face alone.”
Chapter 8
Perry Mason, fresh and debonair, latchkeyed the door of his private office.