“It didn’t work in this case?” Mason asked.
“It didn’t work. I don’t know just what happened, but I Know where the girl is and I want to talk with her. You’ve got her stashed away. It’s only a question of time until I get her and get to talk to her.”
“You’re certain of that?” Mason asked.
“I’ll tell you how certain I am,” Garland said. “Haslett has been lost at sea. If there’s an heir, the heir inherits. If there isn’t an heir, the half brothers inherit. The half brothers are out on the trail, trying to find out what happened. I’m an employee of the company. I’m going to be working for the half brothers or I’m going to be working for an heir. It doesn’t make too much difference which: I’ll try to do my job.
“However, I do want to know where I stand, and I want to bring this case to a satisfactory conclusion by being the one that cracks it and not having some private detective employed by the half brothers beat my time.”
“What,” Mason asked, “specifically, do they want me to do?”
Garland said, “There are lots of people involved, and they have different wants. The half brothers, represented by Duncan Lovett, want to prove there never was any illegitimate child. Then the half brothers inherit the plant and I find myself with three years to go, working for the half brothers, before I can retire on a pension.
“Put yourself in my position, Mason. I’m not going to do anything which will antagonize the half brothers.
“On the other hand, let us suppose that there was an illegitimate child and that rumor is correct and Harmon Haslett has made a will leaving everything to that illegitimate child if the parentage can be established.
“That child would be about nineteen years old now. That child would inherit the company. I’d find myself in an entirely different position.”
“And so you come to me?” Mason asked.
“So I come to you,” Garland said.
“You know that I’m bound by professional ethics, that I can’t give you any information?”
“I know you’re bound by professional ethics. I know you can’t give me any information. But I also know that you weren’t born yesterday. You’re probably the only one who knows the facts and...”
There was a sharp, insistent ringing on Mason’s unlisted telephone, the phone to which only Della Street and Paul Drake possessed the number.
Della Street raised her eyebrows at Mason.
The lawyer nodded, said, “I’ll take it myself, Della,” picked up the telephone and said, “What is it, Paul?”
“This decoy of yours is in trouble,” Drake said.
“How come?”
“A lawyer by the name of Lovett and some woman who is with him have got into the apartment.”
“Dammit,” Mason said. “I left instructions that she wasn’t to let anyone in.”
“They engineered this too cleverly,” Drake said. “The woman knocked at the door. My operative opened it just to the limit of the safety chain. The woman was standing outside; a man was in the background carrying a big box which appeared to be filled with tools. The woman said, ‘My apartment is right below yours, and there’s a bad leak which we think is coming from a faulty connection in your bathtub. In any event, my ceiling is soaked with water. We’ve got to shut off your water for a few minutes.’
“My operative should have had her head examined, but she fell for it, took the chain off the door, and said, ‘Come in.’ The man brought the box in and put it down. It was filled with old newspapers and a briefcase. He took out the briefcase and said, ‘Now, my dear, I want to ask you a few questions. If you answer them truthfully, everything will be all right. If you lie, you are going to be in serious trouble.’ ”
“So what happened?”
“My operative refused to talk, ordered the people out of the apartment. They are still sitting there. She wants to know whether to call the police or what to do.”
“Call her back,” Mason said. “Tell her to wait right there until I get there. We’ll be there within twenty minutes. She can tell these people that Perry Mason is coming to represent her. That probably will frighten them out. In case it doesn’t, we’ll see what they have to say when we get there.”
Mason slammed down the receiver, said to Della Street, “Grab a notebook, Della; let’s go.”
The lawyer paused, looking at Garland.
“All right, Garland,” he said; “you’ve been casing an apartment in the Rosa Lee Apartments. A woman known to you as Ellen Smith is in there, and some people have forced their way into the apartment.”
“That probably will be Duncan Z. Lovett,” Garland said. “He’s clever and he’s fast. He has a private detective on the job who knows as much as I do. We were casing the apartment together. You’re bucking money in this thing, Mason, and you’re bucking brains.”
“All right,” Mason said; “if you want a free ride, come along. I may want a witness to what’s going to happen.”
“Remember I’m biased,” Garland said.
“You’re biased,” Mason told him, “but you’re not going to commit perjury and you’re not going to testify to something that didn’t happen. I have an idea you’re a square shooter.”
Garland said, “All right, since we’re putting cards on the table, Mason, I’ll tell you this. I try to shoot square, but I have loyalty to the people I represent and I’m tricky.”
Mason grinned, said, “Come on, let’s go. I’m tricky myself.”
“Jarmen Dayton is already out there casing the apartment,” Garland said.
“Fine; we’ll pick him up and let him come in. We need an audience. The more the merrier. You can go with us in my car. I’m going to push pretty hard on the throttle.”
Garland got to his feet. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
Mason parked his car at the curb in front of the Rosa Lee Apartments and slid from behind the steering wheel.
His two passengers jerked open the doors and got out. Della carried a briefcase filled with notebooks and ballpoint pens.
Stephen Garland looked swiftly around. “There’s Dayton,” he said. “Do you want him?”
“We want him,” Mason said.
Garland gave a signal.
The heavyset private detective opened the door on the side of the curb and stepped to the sidewalk.
Mason walked up to him. “We’re going up, Dayton. You want to go with us?”
Dayton hesitated a moment, then said, “Why not?” He looked inquisitively at Garland.
“Mason is hep,” Garland said. “I think we’re starting a brand-new deal. Let’s each one of us go his own way from here on in.”
“Suits me,” Dayton said.
The four of them entered the apartment house, climbed the stairs to the Drake apartment where Drake’s operative was living under the name of Ellen Smith.
Mason knocked on the door.
The door was opened a cautious two inches, then held in place by a chain.
Drake’s operative looked out at them, then, her face showing relief, threw the chain back and opened the door.
“Come in,” she invited.
Mason said, “I am Perry Mason. These men are Stephen Lockley Garland and Jarmen Dayton. The young woman is my secretary. Miss Della Street.”
A wiry, pinched-faced man in the fifties, with a sharp-pointed nose and beady black eyes which were quite close together, came rushing forward with extended hand.
“Mr. Mason,” he said, “this is really a pleasure and an honor. I am Duncan Z. Lovett of the firm of Lovett, Price and Maxwell. I am representing Brace Jasper and Norman Jasper, who are half brothers of Harmon Haslett, who has recently been lost at sea in a tragic shipwreck.