“What sort of ethics?”
She indicated the suitcase. “Do I have the right to open this?”
“Does it belong to you?”
“Technically speaking, no.”
“Whom does it belong to?”
“Morley Theilman.”
“Who’s he?”
“My boss.”
“Do you have any idea what’s in the suitcase?”
She looked at Mason for some two or three seconds as though debating whether, now that the chips were down, she wanted to go through with it or not. Then, reaching a decision, said, “I think it’s money.”
“And what about the money?”
“I think it’s blackmail.”
“And what are you supposed to do with it?”
“I’m supposed to deliver it to the blackmailer — that is, leave it where he can get it.”
“And what do you want to do?” Mason asked, his eyes probing her face. “Did you want to call the police or—”
“Heavens, no! I wanted to know if I had the right to open the suitcase.”
“For what purpose?”
“To see what’s in it.”
“Perhaps,” Mason said, looking at his watch, “you’d better sit down there in that chair and give me the details just as rapidly as you can. Just sketch the highlights.”
She seated herself, smoothed her dress, said, “I’m Mr. Theilman’s confidential secretary. I have been his secretary for six years. I know him. I know his every mood. I... I can read his mind.”
Mason, glancing at Della Street, said, “I think every good secretary can do that.”
“I open his mail,” she said, “all of his mail. I separate it and arrange it in the order of its importance. He trusts me absolutely. We are... we have been... well, very close.”
Mason’s eyes narrowed slightly. “He’s married?”
“Yes.”
“Is it a happy marriage?”
“I think so, yes.”
“Anything emotional between you?”
“No.”
“His wife is perhaps inclined to be jealous?”
“I wouldn’t know, but I’m still his secretary.”
“How long has he been married?”
“Four years.”
“And,” Mason said, “so that she won’t be jealous and so that she won’t try to exert pressure to get him to let you go and hire someone less attractive, you have deliberately tried to belittle your charms. Is that right?”
She hesitated for a flicker of an eyelash, then met his eyes and said, “Yes.”
“Do you care for him that much?”
“I care that much.”
“You mean you’re in love with him?”
“No. I respect him. I... It’s hard to explain. I am in love, not with my boss but with my job. It has become my life. I understand my work. I understand him. He depends on me and he needs me. I think a woman likes to feel that she’s needed.”
“When you go home,” Mason said, “after office hours, do you take off the disguise?”
“Sometimes.”
“Has his wife ever seen you without the disguise?”
“Yes, I think so, shortly after the marriage; but I don’t think she noticed me — then.”
“Do you see her often?”
“No.”
“All right,” Mason said, looking at his watch, “now tell me what makes you think this is blackmail.”
“Well,” she said, “I open all of Mr. Theilman’s mail. A few days ago he told me that in case any envelope was received bearing the return address of A. B. Vidal, I wasn’t to open it. I was to pass it along to him unopened.”
“That aroused your curiosity?” Mason asked.
“Yes.”
“Such a letter was received?”
“Yes.”
“And you did open it and—”
“No, Mr. Mason, I didn’t. Just a moment, Mr. Mason. I’ll show you the letter itself.”
She opened her purse and reached inside.
Mason and Della Street exchanged swift glances.
Janice Wainwright extracted a folded sheet of paper and unfolded it.
“Now, just how did you get this?” Mason asked.
“Well, when I saw a torn piece of paper in the waste-basket that had some words pasted on it, I assumed that must be the letter and— I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Mason, but my curiosity got the better of me, although I was simply trying to protect Mr. Theilman.”
“You rummaged around in the wastebasket, found the other torn pieces of the letter and put them together?” Mason asked.
She nodded.
Mason took the letter and read it, holding it so Della Street could see the printed words. The letter read: GET MONEY. INSTRUCTIONS ON TELEPHONE. FAILURE WILL BE FATAL.
“How about the envelope it came in?” Mason asked.
Again Janice reached in her purse and took out an envelope. The envelope was addressed to Morley L. Theilman, Bernard Building, Room 628; and in the upper left-hand corner there was a return address of A. B. Vidal, General Delivery. The envelope had been addressed on a typewriter.
“When did you get this?” Mason asked.
“This morning. The letter was in the morning mail. I found it in the wastebasket about an hour ago.”
“Now tell me about the suitcase,” Mason said.
“Well, this morning after that letter I could tell Mr. Theilman was exceptionally nervous. He told me to go down to a luggage store and get a suitcase. He said it was to be just a plain suitcase but he wanted it strong and durable. He said the handle, particularly, had to be strong and he wanted one with sides so strong that the salesman could stand on it. He said he’d seen suitcases demonstrated in that way in some of the magazine ads.”
“What happened?”
“I went down and bought this suitcase... Now then, here’s what happened, Mr. Mason. The suitcase has a lock and there were two keys to the lock when it was sold to me. I... I took one of those keys before I delivered it to Mr. Theilman.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess perhaps I was thinking about... well, about what I’m thinking now.”
“All right,” Mason said. “What happened?”
“He took the suitcase and went into his office. The suitcase was empty. When he came back, it was locked and it was heavy.”
“And what did he tell you?”
“He told me that there was a very delicate mission that I must perform; that he wanted me to take this suitcase and be very, very careful not to let it out of my possession; not to let anything happen to it. I was to go to the Union Depot and go to the place where they have the lockers — you know, the baggage lockers where you pay twenty-five cents, deposit baggage and get a key.”
Mason nodded.
“I was to go to locker FO82 and put this suitcase in there. I was to take out the key, put the key in an envelope addressed to A. B. Vidal, General Delivery, put stamps on the envelope and put it in the mail. Then I was to return to the office.”
“How long ago did you receive these instructions?” Mason asked.
“Just about twenty minutes ago.”
“Now, what was to happen if this locker was already in use? Suppose someone had put baggage in there and had taken the key out. Then what?”
“Then I was to use any one of the four adjacent lockers in the same row as FO82 and to the left of that locker.”
“And why do you want to do what you want to do?” Mason asked.
She said, “I’m fighting against time, Mr. Mason. I’ve got a taxicab waiting downstairs. I want to open the suitcase and see what’s in it and if, as I rather suspect, it’s full of money, I want to take the numbers on some of the bills — all of them, if we have time.”
“Why didn’t you just open it?” Mason asked.
“I wanted to consult a lawyer and see whether it’s legal.”
“You’re sure you haven’t opened the suitcase?”
She shook her head.
“You don’t know what’s in it?”