“Hines didn’t come up?”
“No. We got out at one forty-five. I noticed the time, just in case it should be necessary to tell exactly when we left. Aunt Adelle was a little slow or we’d have been out before. She had some phoning to do, and I made her do it from the lobby. She tried to get you but your line was busy, and no one answered at the Hines number. It’s the first time that’s happened; he told us there’d always be someone at that number day and night. Once before when we called and he wasn’t there a woman answered. We’re wondering, since what he said to you, whether that woman might not have been the real Helen Reedley. That is, I suggested it to Aunt Adelle. You know what she thinks—she says Helen Reedley is dead, and—”
“What did Hines say over the phone?”
“He was awfully excited. Said you’re unreasonable; that we’re not doing anything wrong, and that, after all, the party that was to see you had another engagement. He said that if you’d only been patient for a short time she’d have been there and given you a complete release and everything would have been all right.”
“Talk is cheap,” Mason said. “I’ll ring up and tell him that whenever he can satisfy me you girls will go back, but that in the meantime you have walked out because he was asking you to do something that was illegal; that, as far as we’re concerned, you’re still entitled to compensation. We’ll expect him to come through.”
“He made us all sorts of promises,” Eva said. “One thing that he did do, Mr. Mason—he asked us particularly not to go home until after five o’clock. He said that if we’d go to some public place and wait, by five o’clock everything would be all right and we could come back; but that if we ever went to our own apartment, the whole thing was off.”
“Did he say why?”
“No, but he was very emphatic about it, and that was his phrase—that if we went to our apartment, then the whole thing was off as far as he was concerned.”
“And that’s why you went to the Lorenzo Hotel?”
“That, and because of the people who are following us.”
“I’m glad you’re out,” Mason told her. “I’m free to do my stuff now. Wait right there at the Lorenzo. Don’t leave until you telephone me and get a clearance that it’s all right. Be sure now, stay right there.”
Mason received her promise, then said to Della Street, “Della, run down the hall to the Drake Detective Agency. Tell Paul Drake these two women are at the Lorenzo Hotel and that they’re being shadowed. I want to find out who the shadows are and to whom they’re reporting. Tell Paul to send four or five men to handle the job. I want him, first, to spot the people that are doing the shadowing, and then to get on their trail and shadow them. You can describe the women to Paul so that his men can pick them up without any trouble. They’ll be there in the lobby of the Lorenzo. Tell him to spare no expense. A smart guy by the name of Hines is going to pay for it.”
Della rushed out of the door.
Mason jiggled the receiver hook with his finger and, when his operator came in on the line, said, “Gertie, get me that apartment. You have the number out there.”
“Okay.”
“If they don’t answer, try the Hines number, Drexberry 5236.”
“Yes, Mr. Mason.”
“Rush it.”
“Yes, sir. You want me to call you when I—”
“No, I’ll wait on the line, Gertie. Rush it as fast as you can. Get me Mr. Hines on the line.”
Mason heard the whir of the telephone mechanism as her fingers dialed the number. Then he sat listening to the sound of the ringing telephone.
“There seems to be no answer, Mr. Mason, at the Reedley apartment. I’ll try the Drexberry number.”
Once more she dialed, and once more Mason heard the sound of the ringing telephone. Then, once again, there was a pause.
“They’re just not answering,” Gertie said.
Mason said, “Try them again in five minutes. And, Gertie, if Hines should ring in, I’m very anxious to talk with him. No matter what’s going on be sure to put the call directly through to my office.”
“Mr. Hines?”
“That’s right—Robert Dover Hines.”
“Okay. I’ll put the calls right through.”
As Mason dropped the receiver back into place he heard Della Street’s quick steps in the corridor, and a moment later she was fitting her key into the exit door of his private office.
“That’s fast work,” Mason said.
“I was lucky enough to catch Paul Drake in the corridor just as he was leaving for the elevator. I outlined the situation to him and he’s getting busy on it right away.”
“I tried to get Hines, but couldn’t get him,” Mason said. “No one answered at the apartment. I told Gertie if he called in to rush the call right through.”
“You think he’ll call?”
“I don’t know. I’m hoping he will. I’ve got my clients out of that apartment and I’m in a bargaining position now. This is going to give him a jolt.”
“Why are you better off now that they are out, Chief?”
“Because we don’t know a darn thing about him,” replied Mason. “He could have stepped out of the picture and left the women holding the sack when the police arrived and found Eva Martell going under the name of Helen Reedley, living in Helen Reedley’s apartment, wearing Helen Reedley’s clothes, and . . . well, you know the answer. We’d have had a lot of explaining to do.”
“Do you suppose it’s Hines who is having those girls shadowed?”
“It could be. Hines was very anxious that they should merely go to some public place and wait. He emphasized particularly that if they went to their own apartment, everything would be off—and may be having them shadowed now to see that they don’t go there.”
“But why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to find out.”
“Do you think the real Helen Reedley is dead?”
“I don’t know. She could be. As yet we haven’t enough information even to speculate. But there’s one fact that is very significant.”
“What?”
“The instructions given to Adelle Winters. Whenever any friend of Helen Reedley called the apartment, Mrs. Winters was to stall the party, promise that Helen Reedley would call back in fifteen or twenty minutes, report to Hines—and then forget it.”
“Well, wouldn’t that indicate that the Reedley woman might be— Oh, I see! If she didn’t call back, the friend would get suspicious.”
“Exactly, Della. If Hines merely wanted to stall Helen’s friends along, he would have had a better one than that—such as that Miss Reedley was out shopping, or visiting in the country, or something like that. But to say that she’d call back in fifteen or twenty minutes meant that he’d have to make good.”
“How do you suppose he did that?”
“By having Helen Reedley call back, just as he’d had Adelle Winters say she would.”
“But how?”
“Simple enough. Helen Reedley is afraid of something. She ducks out and stays in hiding. She can’t be dead, because evidently she’s able to call her friends back. They, of course, have no way of knowing she isn’t calling from her own apartment, and—” He was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.
“This is probably Hines now,” he said, as he picked up the telephone.
But it was Gertie’s voice that came over the wire. “A Helen Reedley is out here. Says she had an appointment with you for earlier in the afternoon. She was unable to keep it and—”
“Send her in,” Mason said. “Get her in here right away.”
He hung up and, nodding to Della Street, said, “Helen Reedley. This is going to be good.”
The door from the outer office opened and Gertie ushered in a trim young brunette. The newcomer looked at Della Street first, appraising her coolly from head to feet. Then she turned to Perry Mason. “How do you do, Mr. Mason? I’m Helen Reedley. Good of you to see me so promptly. I’m sorry I was late.”
“Won’t you sit down?” Mason said. “There are some questions I wanted to ask you.”
“So I was given to understand.”
She crossed the office with a smooth sweep of slim-waisted grace, a young woman who was quite aware that her figure would not go unnoticed. In externals she seemed an exact duplicate of Eva Martell, even to a noticeable resemblance in features. What differentiated her from Eva was the supercharged effect that she radiated. Not only were her motions smooth, with the grace that comes from perfect health, but their timing was slow, calculated, tantalizing. Her large dark eyes, with their long, sweeping lashes, moved provocatively under delicately arched brows as she glanced up at Mason, completely ignoring Della.
“What was it that you wanted to know, Mr. Mason?” she asked.
“What,” Mason countered as he sized her up, “do you want to tell me?”
For a moment a shade of annoyance flashed across her features. “Mr. Hines told me you had some questions,” she returned. Her voice, like her motions, had just that trick of timing which made a definite impression on the listener. And Mason noticed that at the end of every speech she raised her eyebrows slightly and at the same time tilted her face upward and to one side.
“I have only one question,” he said, “and I have already asked it: What do you want to tell me?”
She frowned. “About what?”
“About anything.”
“I understand you are interested in my apartment.”
“It is your apartment?”
“Naturally.”
“You have proof of that?”
“Mr. Hines told me you might be difficult. . . . Now—may I draw my chair up a little closer? And if you’ll pull out that leaf in your desk . . . Here are the documents that prove my identity.”
Opening her purse she took out a folding leather wallet and from it produced a driving license. “Made out to Helen Reedley,” she said. “You’ll notice that the address is the same as that of the apartment in question. There’s a thumbprint on the license. Now, if you’ll notice my thumb, Mr. Mason . . . Perhaps you have an inked pad there for rubber stamps? Thank you. Observe, I press my thumb on the pad—and if you have a piece of paper?—There you are: my thumbprint. Please notice that it corresponds exactly with the thumbprint on the license.”
Helen Reedley took some cleansing tissue from her purse, wiped her thumb free of ink, dropped the tissue in Mason’s wastebasket, settled back in the chair, and waited for him to compare the thumbprint with the print on the driving license.
“It’s all right to smoke?” she asked.
“Quite,” Mason said without looking up from the thumbprint. Once more she showed a faint flicker of annoyance. But she took a cigarette case from her purse, extracted a cigarette from it and a lighter, lit the cigarette, and studied Mason with a sidelong glance.
“The prints appear to be identical,” Mason said.
“They are identical.”
“I notice that the address here is the address of the apartment we’re talking about. But perhaps you have still other proof?”
“Certainly,” she replied calmly. “I understood that you would want plenty. I have here a series of rent receipts signed by the manager of the premises. You will notice that they are for consecutive months for the past six months.”
“You have a Social Security number?” Mason asked.
“No.” There was contempt in the monosyllable.
“You have other means of identification than the driving license?”
“Certainly. I have credit cards, golf-club membership cards, and various other things, but I see no reason to produce them. Certainly this driver’s license vouches for my identity—it’s dated six months ago.”
“Better let me see some of those other cards,” Mason said.
This time she was, for a moment, definitely angry. But she wordlessly produced some half-dozen cards and passed them across for inspection.
Mason pulled pencil and paper toward him and started making a list of the cards with dates and numbers.
“Really, Mr. Mason, is that necessary?”
“I think it is.”
“Very well,” she said in tight-lipped anger.
When Mason had finished with them, he handed them back to her.
She had waited for that moment when his hand was extended toward hers. Now she brushed his hand with the tips of her fingers as she took the cards, suddenly favoring him with a dazzling smile. “And now that we’ve completed the nasty part, Mr. Mason, can’t we be friends?”
Mason grinned. “But we haven’t completed the nasty part, yet. You own the apartment—that is, you rent it. So what?”
“My friend, Mr. Hines, is in complete charge of my affairs so far as they concern that apartment.”
“And its contents?” Mason asked.
“Its contents, too.”
“All of them?”
“Everything.”
Mason turned to Della Street. “Take this down, will you, Della?”
“To whom it may concern:
This is to certify that the undersigned, Helen Reedley, is, and for some six months past has been, the tenant of an apartment in that certain apartment house known as the Siglet Manor situate on Eighth Street, and specifically, the number of the apartment so rented by the undersigned being designated as number 326 in said apartment house. I represent, warrant, and state that I am the sole owner of all property in said apartment; that one Robert Dover Hines is my agent and attorney in fact for the purpose of dealing with said apartment and with all of the contents thereof; that he may, at his discretion, permit any person or persons to enter into said apartment, to remain there as long as the said Hines desires, and on such terms as he may care to make; that such person or persons, with the consent of the said Robert Dover Hines, may use, take, convert, transport, or otherwise dispose of any or all of the contents of said apartment including my own personal wearing apparel, toilet articles, and accessories, or any other thing of any sort, nature, or description which may be situate in said apartment. I hereby ratify everything the said Robert Dover Hines has done in connection with such matters and agree to abide by any agreement he may make in connection with such apartment.”
“Put a blank for a signature on that, Della, and then bring your notarial seal. You can put an acknowledgment on it.”
“I say,” Helen Reedley protested, “isn’t that going rather strong?”
Mason met her eyes, smiled, and said, “Yes.”
As Della Street withdrew to type the document, Mason lit a cigarette and settled back in the chair. “Now the ‘nasty part’ is over, and we can be friends.”
Her eyes were blazing with anger. “But now I don’t want to be friends!”
Mason smiled. “You know, of course, what Hines is doing?”
“Certainly.”
“And what,” Mason asked, “is the reason for all this?”
“That’s purely personal.”
“I’ll have to know.”
“That document I’m going to sign protects you.”
“It affords us adequate protection provided I know the reason for what is going on.”
“I see no reason to tell you.”
“In the event you don’t,” Mason said, “it’s going to be necessary to strengthen that document.”
“If you can find any way of strengthening that, I’ll eat it!”
Mason pushed the button on his desk. When Della Street appeared from the adjoining office he said, “Get your book, Della. I’m going to put some additional stuff in that release.”
Helen Reedley sat in tight-lipped angry silence.
Della Street returned with her notebook, settled herself in the secretarial chair by Mason’s desk, and held her pencil poised.
“I further understand [Mason dictated] that the said Robert Dover Hines has installed certain parties in the said apartment, one of whom has been instructed by the said Hines to use the name of Helen Reedley. I
hereby consent to the use of my name, the signing of my said name, or the impersonation of me by such person at such times and in such manner and for such purposes as my agent, the said Robert Dover Hines, may instruct, and I hereby waive any claim of any sort, nature, or description against said person, because, or by reason of, her use of my said name, and agree to hold her harmless for any damages which may be suffered because of so impersonating me and fully indemnify her against any financial loss of any sort, nature, or description incurred through following the instructions of my said agent, Robert Dover Hines.”
There was a sudden crash as Helen Reedley jumped indignantly to her feet; her purse slipped from her lap and fell to the floor, spilling some of its contents over the office carpet. “Do you think I’ll sign any such thing as that?” she blazed. “That’s absolutely beyond all reason. It’s impertinent, it’s . . . it’s . . . suicidal!”
Suavely Mason broke in on her sputtering indignation. “I suggested to you, Miss Reedley, that it might be much better to confide in me fully and tell me the purpose back of all this. I told you that if you didn’t I’d strengthen that document.”
“But that’s absurd—absolutely ridiculous! Why, under that document the girl could go to my bank and sign my name to a check for five thousand dollars and calmly walk off thumbing her nose at me.”
“She certainly could,” Mason said, “provided, of course, that your agent, Mr. Hines, told her she could do so.”
“Well, Hines isn’t my agent to that extent.”
“Then you’d better tell me a little more about Mr. Hines and the extent to which he is your agent.”
“I’ve told you everything I intend to.”
“I’m sorry,” Mason said. “Either I get that information, or I get a signature to that document. Go ahead and type it up, Della.—You’d better pick up your things there on the floor, Miss Reedley. And incidentally, if you’re carrying a gun in that purse, you should have a permit.”
“How do you know I haven’t one?” she flared.
“I don’t,” Mason said. “But if you do have, by all means let me see it because that in itself will be a means of identification.”
The Case of the Borrowed Brunette Page 5
