“Just a minute,” Della Street said. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She came back on the line after a thirty-second interval. “Mr. Mason won’t finish dictating until around midnight, then he’ll go out for a cup of coffee. If you want to be here at one o’clock, he’ll meet you.”
“Thank you ever so much! Now listen, I’m working on a witness. Her name is Esther Dilmeyer. Please make a note of that. I’m going to try and get her to come in. If she does, please hold her there and be nice to her. She knows all the facts. I doubt if I can get anywhere without her.”
Della Street said, “I’ll have to bill you for this appointment whether you keep it or not. If you’ll give me your name and address...”
“Mildreth Faulkner. I run the Faulkner Flower Shops. My address is 819 Whiteley Pines Drive. I have a telephone. If you wish, I can send you some money before midnight.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Della Street said. “Mr. Mason will see you at one o’clock.”
Mildreth Faulkner hung up the telephone. Her face was resolute as she walked back to the table where Esther Dilmeyer slipped her a folded piece of paper.
She said, “What time do you get off work here, Esther?”
“Oh, I can leave any time after one o’clock.”
“I want you to do something.”
“What?”
“Go to the office of Perry Mason. He’s my lawyer.”
“When?”
“At one o’clock.”
“You mean Perry Mason, the lawyer who solved the Tidings murder case?”[1]
“That’s the one.”
“Gosh, he’s — he’s a big shot. I always said that if I ever committed a murder, I was going to hold up a bank at the same time and get enough money to have Mr. Mason get me off.” She laughed.
Mildreth said, “Then how about meeting me at Mr. Mason’s office at one o’clock?”
“He won’t be at his office then.”
“Yes, I’ve made an appointment.”
“Why do you want me there?”
“Because I want to get Bob Lawley out of my business. I’ll need our help to do that — and if you’re going to be working for me, you won’t need to mind what any of these people think.”
“Okay, I’ll do that little thing. Listen, it may be about five or ten minutes after one.”
“All right, and I’m going to send you some orchids.”
“Oh, don’t bother.”
“It isn’t any bother. I really do have some orchids that were left over on an order. They’d go fine with that dress, and I’m going to send them up.”
Esther Dilmeyer leaned toward Mildreth. “Listen,” she said, “if you talk with Lynk, watch your step. And don’t mention that I spilled anything. I swore I’d never rat, but you caught me when I was pretty low and that offer of a job — well, that’s one of the few times anyone ever offered to give me a break. How did you know about Lawley getting milked dry and about me?”
“I tried to get him to bring up some securities... Oh, well, never mind. Now you’ll have to forget all about this, Esther. You mustn’t ever mention to anyone that I was talking to you.”
“I’ll say. And don’t you let on to Lynk that I know he has the skids greased for me. I want him to think I’m walking out under my own power. He won’t want visitors tonight, either. You’ll have to watch your step with him. And as for Sindler Coll and that baby-faced little bitch he’s bringing in...”
She blinked her eyes again, then forced a laugh, and said, “Oh, well, what do I care?”
Mildreth looked at her watch. “You don’t. I’ll have to be moving now. I have lots to do between now and one o’clock. I want to see Lynk.”
“Watch Lynk,” Esther said. “He’s bad if you try to crowd him. He has a nasty temper. If he isn’t ready to talk turkey, don’t crowd him — and don’t threaten him with Perry Mason.”
Mildreth smiled. “Thanks. I’ll be tactful.”
Suddenly Esther called her back. “Listen, I want to play fair with you. When I work for anyone, I give them all I have, but...”
“Yes?” Mildreth prompted.
“Look, Lynk thinks he’s going to double-cross me on some private stuff, but I’m going to see that I don’t get gypped here.”
Mildreth said, “Fair enough, but let me return your own advice: Be careful and watch Lynk.”
Esther smiled. That smile changed her whole face. “Don’t think I don’t know how dangerous a game I’m playing — and don’t think Lynk won’t suspect me, but I’ve got a way around all that... Nuts! What do you care about my grief? See you at one o’clock — perhaps just a shade later.”
Chapter 3
At eleven-thirty, Perry Mason unlocked the door of his private office, held it open for Della Street. “No need for you to wait, Della,” he said. “That brief took less time than I thought it would. I’ll sit around and read the advance decisions until one.”
“I want to wait.”
Mason hung up his hat and coat. “There’s nothing you can do. I’ll talk with her and...”
“No,” she interrupted. “I have to stay now. I just had a cup of coffee. That means I can’t sleep for an hour and a half.”
Mason stretched himself in his swivel chair. His motions held none of the awkwardness characteristic of many tall men who have long bones and rangy figures. And many a witness, misled by Mason’s casual manner, fabricating a story on the witness stand with every assurance that his prevarications were completely concealed, suddenly found himself facing a pair of granite-hard eyes, and realized only too late the savage belligerency with which Mason could bear down on a perjurer, the rapier-like thrusts of his agile mind.
But, for the most part, it pleased Mason to assume a good-natured, easy-going attitude of careless informality. He disliked the conventional ways of doing things, and this dislike showed in his manner and his handling of lawsuits.
Della Street, his secretary, had learned to know his various moods. Between them existed that rare companionship which is the outgrowth of two congenial people devoting themselves to a common cause. When the going got rough, they were able to function with the perfect co-ordination of a well-trained football team.
Mason tilted his swivel chair back, and crossed his ankles on the corner of the desk.
“You should have let her call during office hours,” Della said. “You’ve had a hard day, and then with all that dictation on top of it...”
Mason disposed of her comment with a gesture. “Not this case. She sounds as though she’s in real trouble.”
“Why, how do you know? You didn’t even listen over the telephone.”
“I saw your face,” he said.
“Well, she did impress me, but even so, I don’t see why it wouldn’t keep until tomorrow.”
“A lawyer is very much like a doctor,” Mason pointed out. “A doctor devotes his life to easing a person’s body. A lawyer devotes his to easing their minds. The machinery of justice is very apt to get out of gear if it isn’t kept well oiled and running smoothly. Lawyers are the engineers.”
Mason took a cigarette, offered Della Street one, and they lit them from the same match. Mason, tired from the hard day, settled back in his chair and relaxed in the luxury of complete silence.
After some five minutes, he said musingly, “One of the first things a professional man has to learn is that the person who makes the most urgent demands on his time is usually the one who doesn’t intend to pay. But I don’t think this will be one of those cases.”
“You mean that’s a general rule?” Della Street asked.
“Absolutely. The man who expects to pay a lawyer for his time wants to get off as cheaply as possible. Therefore, he never calls on the lawyer for extraordinary services unless it’s absolutely necessary. The man who doesn’t intend to pay doesn’t give a hoot about the size of the bill. Therefore, he’s perfectly willing to call the lawyer at all hours of the night, ask him to give up a golf game on Saturday afternoons, or come to the office on Sundays. It’s always the same.”