“Then why did you give the Products Refining Company a chance to trap Moar that way?” Della Street asked.
“Because,” Mason said, “after they once make promises in this case, I’m going to see these promises are kept.”
“How?” she asked.
“You’d be surprised. I have a few tricks up my sleeve I can always use on chiselers.”
“Is that why you didn’t want to represent Moar?”
“That’s partially it,” he told her. “The other reason is that I don’t like to represent persons who are guilty. Of course, every person is entitled to a fair trial. That means he’s entitled to a lawyer. But I’d prefer that chaps like Moar would get some other lawyer. Of course, I can’t always pick innocent ones. For one thing, I have to reach snap judgments. I’m like a baseball umpire who has to call the plays as he sees them.”
“So what are you going to do now?” she asked.
“Right now,” he said, “you can encode another wire to Jackson, reading as follows:
“‘HAVE DRAKE DETECTIVE AGENCY PUT OPERATIVE ON ROONEY. DIG UP SOME DIRT WHICH WILL ENABLE ME TO BRING PRESSURE TO BEAR. QUIT PULLING YOUR PUNCHES AND GET RESULTS.’”
Mason grinned and said, “That’ll make Jackson hopping mad.”
“After all,” Della Street pointed out, “you can’t blame him. He’s doing the best he can.”
Mason shook his head. “Jackson’s a rotten fighter. He’s tagging along, taking what Rooney hands out. That’s not the way to get anywhere. A good scrapper keeps the other man on the defensive, trumps the first ace he plays, and after that never lets him get a chance to lead with the others.”
“I’m afraid,” she told him, tucking her shorthand notebook back in her purse, “that you’re simply spoiling for a fight.”
“I am,” he admitted, “but with bigger game than Rooney.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t know the president was in Honolulu.”
Mason said, “That’s a thought. However, he’ll undoubtedly tell Rooney to go ahead and make any promises necessary to get the twenty thousand. Rooney is probably an officious nincompoop who wanted to put Jackson in his place— How’s the romance going, Della?”
“Well,” Della said, “outwardly it seems to be pretty much of a draw. He divides his time about evenly between Celinda Dail and Belle Newberry, but if you ask me, I think he has a lot better time with Belle than with Celinda. Celinda’s more of a duty. She’s in his social set. They have a lot of friends in common, and, above all, he doesn’t want to appear to be dropping Celinda simply because he met some girl for whom he cares more.”
“You’re biased,” Mason told her.
“Probably I am,” she admitted.
“How does Celinda Dail treat you, Della?”
Della Street smiled. “At first she didn’t know I was alive. Then when she found out I was Belle’s cabin-mate, she became very cordial. Whenever I’m with her, she tells me how much she likes Belle and what a fascinating girl she is, and then takes occasion to add it’s funny she’s never met her and wants to know if Belle doesn’t care for polo or yachting.”
“Trying to pump you about her background?” Mason asked.
Della nodded.
“Okay,” Mason told her, “put that message in code and send it to Jackson. We’ll have Paul Drake start work on Rooney. However, I don’t think we’ll have to exert much pressure. My best guess is the president will fall all over himself promising anything we want. Then, after he gets his hands on the twenty thousand he’ll step out of the picture and Rooney will gloatingly march into court and ask the judge to give Moar the limit.”
Mason was reclining in his stateroom reading a book when Della Street brought him Jackson’s reply late that afternoon.
ROONEY ADVISES CORPORATION WILL NOT MAKE TERMS WITH CROOK STOP INSISTS WILL PROSECUTE MOAR TO LIMIT WITHOUT ACCEPTING OR OFFERING ANY CONCESSIONS STOP CLAIMS HAS TAKEN MATTER UP WITH PRESIDENT BUT I THINK HE IS LYING STOP ROONEY ARROGANT SELF-IMPORTANT DETESTED BY ENTIRE FORCE HOLDS POSITION BECAUSE OF RELATIONSHIP BY MARRIAGE TO PRESIDENT OF COMPANY STOP PRESIDENT NOW ON VACATION IN HONOLULU NAME CHARLES WHITMORE DAIL ADDRESS ROYAL HAWAIIAN HOTEL SHALL I GET IN TOUCH WITH HIM THERE STOP HAD PAUL DRAKE PUT OPERATIVES TO WORK ON ROONEY SO FAR NO SUCCESS STOP WIRE INSTRUCTIONS
Mason finished reading the message, to reach for his telephone. “Get me Charles Whitmore Dail, ” he said to the operator. “He has a suite on A deck.”
While Mason held the line, waiting for the call to be completed, Della Street said, “Chief, have you stopped to consider that Celinda Dail may have found out Moar’s aboard and been in touch with Rooney?”
He nodded and said, “I’m calling for a showdown, Della— Hello — is this Mr. Dail? This is Mr. Perry Mason, Mr. Dail. I want to see you on a matter of business... sometime at your early convenience... I would prefer an earlier appointment if possible... Very well, at six o’clock then... In your stateroom. Thank you, Mr. Dail.”
Mason dropped the receiver into place, grinned at Della Street and said, “You never get anywhere postponing a fight, Della.”
“You mean if he knows all about Carl Moar and has found out who Belle really is you’re still going to try and help Moar?”
“Not Moar,” Mason said. “Belle.”
“Is there anything you can do, Chief?”
“I don’t know,” he told her. “One thing’s certain, I can smoke them out into the open.”
Della Street said dubiously, “I’m not certain that you can, Chief. Celinda Dail is nobody’s fool, if she was the one who got possession of Belle’s picture and sent it to Rooney, and they know about...”
“Why to Rooney?” Mason asked.
“Because Jackson’s wire says Rooney is related to the president by marriage. That means Celinda would have confidence in him and he’d probably be the one to whom she’d appeal. That would explain why Rooney is so set against allowing Moar to obtain any concessions by making a partial restitution.”
Mason grinned and said, “Well, we’ll find out within a couple of hours. Wireless Jackson that Dail’s aboard and that I’ll handle it from this end. Tell him to have Paul Drake keep a couple of operatives on Rooney and let me know if they uncover anything interesting.”
Charles Whitmore Dail, looking ponderously dignified in his tuxedo and stiffly starched shirt, said, “Come in and sit down, Mr. Mason. I believe you have met my daughter?”
Celinda Dail wore a dark evening dress, which revealed the long, slender lines of her athletic figure. The black coral bracelets which circled her right wist emphasized the creamy smoothness of her skin. She smiled at the lawyer with her lips. Her eyes were blue, wary and watchful.
Mason bowed, said, “I’ve had that pleasure. Good evening, Miss Dail,” and dropped into a chair. He had not as yet dressed for dinner, and his double-breasted suit of tropical worsted, opposed to the formality of the other’s attire, served as a reminder that his call was a business one, made his approach seem direct and aggressive.
He glanced casually about him at the furnishings of the palatial suite, stretched out his legs in front of him, crossed his ankles and said, “You’re the president of the Products Refining Company.”
Dail nodded.
“You have a man in your employ by the name of C. Waker Moar,” Mason went on.
Dail’s face became an expressionless mask. “I’m not familiar with all of the employees of the Products Refining Company,” he said.
Mason regarded him with steady, patient eyes. “I didn’t ask you that,” he said. “I have reason to believe that the name of C. Waker Moar may have impressed itself upon your mind during the last few weeks.”