“Well, if she’s like that,” Della Street said, “we’ll just send her a bill for five hundred dollars.”
Mason said, “Let’s try to get her on the phone, tell her I finished with my brief earlier than I expected, and that if she wants to advance the appointment by an hour, it’ll be all right with us.”
The telephone rang, just as Mason finished talking.
Della picked up the receiver, said, “Hello... Yes, this is Mr. Mason’s office... Can’t you speak more clearly?... Who is it?... What’s that name?”
She turned to Perry Mason and cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “She’s drunk,” she said.
“The Faulkner woman?” Mason asked.
“No. Esther Dilmeyer.”
“Oh, yes,” Mason said. “The witness. Let me talk with her.”
Della handed him the phone.
Mason said, “Hello. What is it, Miss Dilmeyer?”
The voice that came to him over the telephone was so thick that it was with difficulty he could understand what she was saying.
“Promised come your office... Can’t... Poisoned.”
“What’s that?” Mason asked sharply.
“Poisoned,” the voice said wearily. “They got me.”
Mason’s eyes glinted. “What’s that? You’re poisoned?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re not drunk?”
“Not tonight... thought I was smart... They got me first.”
“Where are you?”
The words came with an effort, interspersed with intervals of heavy breathing. “Apartment... Box of candy... ate... sick... Can’t... Can’t... Please send help... Get police... Get... Get...” The conversation terminated in a crash as though the telephone had been dropped to the floor. Mason said, “Hello. Hello,” and heard nothing. Then, after a moment, the receiver clicked into place at the other end of the line.
Della had dashed from the office the minute Mason said, “Poisoned,” to plug in on the switchboard and ask the exchange operator to trace the call, but she was too late. The receiver had been hung up at the other end before Della had finished explaining what was wanted. She waited at the switchboard long enough to learn that there was no possibility of tracing the call, then came back to Mason’s private office.
“What was it?” she asked.
“She says someone sent her a box of candy, that she ate the candy, and was poisoned. She certainly sounds sick or drunk. Now the question is, what’s her address, where is she? See if there’s a Dilmeyer listed in the telephone book.”
Della thumbed through the pages of the telephone book.
“No, there isn’t.”
Mason looked at his watch. “That Faulkner woman should know where she is. See if you can get her on the phone.”
Mildreth Faulkner was listed at her residence address, and the Faulkner Flower Shops were listed. Della finally got a response on the residence phone. A somewhat sleepy high-pitched voice said, “Hello. What is it?”
“Is this Miss Mildreth Faulkner’s residence?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“I want to speak with Miss Faulkner. It’s very important.”
“She ain’t here.”
“Do you know where I can reach her?”
“No.”
“When do you expect her in?”
“I don’t know. She don’t tell me when she’s coming in, and I don’t ask her.”
“Wait a minute,” Della said. “Don’t hang up. Do you know a Miss Dilmeyer — Esther Dilmeyer?”
“No.”
“It’s very important we find out her address.”
“Well, I don’t know. And don’t ring me up at this hour of the night to ask foolish questions.”
The receiver banged indignantly.
Della shook her head at Mason.
Mason said, “Miss Faulkner isn’t due until one?”
“No.”
“We’ve got to locate that Dilmeyer woman. That call sounded genuine to me.” He pushed the papers he had been using in dictating his brief to one side and said, “Police headquarters, Della.”
A moment later, when she had headquarters on the line, Mason said, “This is Perry Mason. I had a call a few minutes ago from an Esther Dilmeyer. She said that she was at an apartment. I presume it’s an apartment where she lives, but she didn’t say so. I don’t know the address. I don’t know anything about her, except that I had an appointment with her for one o’clock this morning. She was to be at my office. She’s a witness in connection with some matter. I don’t know just what it is.
“Now get this straight. She said over the telephone that someone had sent her a box of poisoned candy. She sounded very ill. Her speech was thick, and apparently she either fell over or the telephone slipped from her hand as she was talking. Then the receiver was dropped back into place. She seemed to think she’d been poisoned to keep her from talking.”
“You can’t give us an address?”
“No.”
“Well, we’ll try and look her up. We’ll see if she’s registered as a voter. That’s about all we can do.”
Mason said, “Call back and let me know if you find anything, will you?”
“Okay, but if we haven’t got an address, there’s nothing we can do... Where are you?”
“I’m at my office.”
“You’ll be there until we call?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, we’ll call back.”
Mason hung up the telephone, pushed back his chair, got to his feet, and stood with his hands pushed down deep into his trousers pockets. “This thing’s goofy, Della,” he said. “I don’t think the police are going to do anything. Of course, they may find her in the voters’ register... Miss Faulkner didn’t say what she was a witness to?”
“No.”
“Think back on that conversation. See if you can...”
“Wait a minute,” Della said. “She was calling from a nightclub somewhere. I could hear the sound of an orchestra. It... Wait a minute now. I remember hearing the background of music. It was... Chief, I’ll bet it was Haualeoma’s Hawaiians. I could get the background of Hawaiian music, and they were playing an Island song that I heard a couple of weeks ago when they were on the radio.”
“Well, it’s a lead,” Mason said. “How could we go about finding out where they’re playing?”
She said, “I think I can find out. I’ll go out and play tunes on the switchboard. See if you can think of any other way of getting the address.”
Della went out to the switchboard. Mason hooked his thumbs through the armholes of his vest, and paced the floor, his head dropped forward in thought.
Della came running into the office within little more than a minute. “Got it, Chief,” she said.
“Her address?”
“I think we can get it.”
“What is it?”
“The Hawaiians are at the Golden Horn. That’s a nightclub. I rang up the club and asked if they knew an Esther Dilmeyer. The hat-check girl said she did. She said that Esther Dilmeyer had been there this evening, but had left early, saying she had a headache. I asked her if she knew a Miss Faulkner, and she said she didn’t. I asked how we could find Miss Dilmeyer’s address, and she said she didn’t know, that she thought Mr. Lynk, one of the proprietors, knew where she lived, but Mr. Lynk is out tonight, and couldn’t be reached.”
“You told her it was important?”
“Yes, I told her it was a matter of life and death.”
Mason said. “Okay, Della. Get me police headquarters. See if you can get... Let’s see...”