“Yes,” she said unexpectedly, “I do.”
“You do?”
“Yes.”
“What about it?” Mason asked.
“That weapon,” she said slowly, “is part of a collection at the San Molinas Public Library.”
“There’s a collection of guns there?”
“Yes, there’s a museum in one room, in connection with the library — that is, it isn’t exactly operated in connection with the library, but it was presented to the city, and, under an arrangement with the library committee, the librarian has charge of the room. The janitor, who takes care of the library, does janitor work, and...”
“Who took this gun from the collection?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“My husband asked me to. He... No, I don’t think I’m going to talk about that, Mr. Mason.”
“To whom did you give this gun?”
“I think we’ll just skip everything about the gun.”
“When did you first know your husband was really Fremont C. Sabin?”
“This morning, when I saw the picture of the cabin in the paper... well, I suspected it then. I didn’t know what to do. I just waited, hoping against hope. Then the afternoon papers published his picture. Then I knew.”
Mason asked abruptly, “Just what do you have to gain in a financial way?”
“What do you mean?”
“Was there any will, any policy of insurance, any...”
“No, of course not,” she interrupted.
Mason stared thoughtfully at her. “What are your plans?” he asked.
“I’m going in and meet Mr. Sabin’s son. I’m going to explain the circumstances to him.”
“His wife is in there now,” Mason said.
“You mean Fremont C. Sabin’s wife?”
“Yes.”
She bit her lip, then sat silently digesting that bit of information.
Mason said gently, “You know, Miss Monteith, the authorities are not going to understand how that gun happened to be one to which you had access... Look here, you didn’t find out, by any chance, who he was, and find out about his wife, and get angry because...”
“You mean and kill him?” she interrupted.
“Yes,” Mason said.
“The very thought is absurd! I loved him. I have never loved any man...” she broke off.
“He was,” Mason pointed out, “considerably older than you.”
“And wiser,” she said, “and gentler, and more considerate, and... You have no idea how grand he was; contrasted with the young men whom I meet around the library — the fresh ones who try to take me out, the stupid ones, the ones who have lost all ambition...” Her voice trailed away into silence.
Mason turned to Della Street. “Della,” he said, “I want you to take Miss Monteith with you. I want you to keep her some place where she won’t be annoyed by newspapermen, do you understand?”
“I think I do,” Della Street said quietly from the back seat, and her voice sounded as though she had been crying.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” Miss Monteith said. “I understand that I’m in for a disagreeable ordeal. The only thing I can do is face it.”
“Do you want to meet Mrs. Sabin?” Mason asked. “I understand that she’s rather disagreeable.”
“No,” Helen Monteith said shortly.
Mason said, “Miss Monteith, I think the developments of the next few hours may make a great deal of difference. Right at present the police haven’t identified that murder weapon; that is, they haven’t found out where it came from. When they do... well, you’re going to be arrested, that’s all.”
“You mean and charged with murder?”
“You’ll be booked on suspicion of murder.”
“But that’s absurd.”
“It isn’t absurd, looking at it from the police viewpoint,” Mason said. “It isn’t even absurd looking at it from any common-sense reconstruction of the evidence.”
She was silent for a few seconds, thinking over what he had said, then she turned to him and asked, “Just whom do you represent?”
“Charles Sabin.”
“And what are you trying to do?”
Mason said, “Among other things, I’m trying to clear up this murder case. I’m trying to find out what happened.”
“What is your interest in me?”
“You,” Mason told her, “are in a spot. My training has been to sympathize with the underdog and fight for him.”
“But I’m not an underdog.”
“You will be by the time that family gets done with you,” Mason told her grimly.
“You want me to run away?”
“No, that’s exactly what I don’t want. If the situation hasn’t clarified itself by tomorrow, we’ll... well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
She reached her decision. “Very well,” she said, “I’ll go.”
Mason said to Della Street, “You’ll go in her car, Della.”
“Shall I communicate with you, Chief?” she asked.
“No,” Mason said. “There are some things I want to find out, and other things I don’t want to know anything about.”
“I get you, Chief,” she said. “Come on, Miss Monteith. We haven’t any time to waste around here.”
Mason stood on the curb, watching the car, until the tail-light became a red pin-point in the distance. Then he turned toward the huge, gloomy house with its somber atmosphere of massive respectability.
Chapter five
Richard Waid, the secretary, opened the door in response to Mason’s ring. His face showed his relief at seeing the lawyer. “C.W. has been trying to get you on the phone,” he said. “I’ve been calling every few minutes.”
“Something wrong?” Mason inquired.
“Mrs. Sabin is home — the widow.”
“Has that resulted in complications?” the lawyer asked.
“I’ll say it has. Listen, you can hear them in there now.”
Richard Waid stood slightly to one side, and the sound of a woman’s excited voice came pouring through the doorway. The words were undistinguishable, but there could be no mistaking the harsh, rasping sound of the voice itself.
“Well,” Mason said, “perhaps I’d better join in the fight.”
“I wish you would,” Waid said, and then, after a moment, “It may be that you can tone her down a bit.”
“Does she have a lawyer?” Mason asked.
“Not yet. She’s threatening to hire all the lawyers in the city.”
“Threatening?” Mason inquired.
“Yes,” Waid said shortly, and as he led the way into the living room, added, “And that’s putting it mildly.”
Charles Sabin got to his feet at once, as Mason entered. He came forward to grasp the lawyer’s hand, with evident relief. “You must be a mind reader, Mr. Mason,” he said. “I’ve been trying to get you for the last half hour.”
He turned and said, “Helen, let me present Perry Mason. Mrs. Helen Watkins Sabin, Mr. Mason.”
Mason bowed. “I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. Sabin.”
She glared at him as though he had been an insect impaled with a pin and mounted on a wall board. “Humph!” she said.
She was heavy, but there was nothing flabby about her heaviness. Her body was hard beef, and her eyes held the arrogant steadiness of a person who is accustomed to put others on the defensive and keep them there.
“And her son, Mr. Watkins, Mr. Mason.”
Watkins came forward to take Mason’s hand in a firm, cordial grasp. His eyes sought those of the lawyer, and his voice as he said, “I’m very glad to meet you, Mr. Mason,” lent emphasis to his words. “I’ve been reading so much about you, from time to time, that it’s a real pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I was particularly interested in the newspaper accounts of the trial of that case involving the murder of the insurance man.”