“What do you think?”
“Use your imagination.”
“It sometimes leads me astray.”
“My wife didn’t want to give me a divorce. She’s not the type that would retire from circulation and live the life of a recluse. She’s had six months. She spent a lot of money having me shadowed. I decided I’d return the compliment.”
“She’s having you shadowed now?”
“Not now. Up to a couple of months ago she made my life miserable. There was some private detective on my trail every time I turned around. She quit because she couldn’t get anything.”
“When did you hire these detectives?”
“Two or three days ago.”
Mason said, “I think we could swap information to some advantage if you’d be more specific.”
“I never make a trade without looking over what I’m going to get.”
“The woman your men were shadowing wasn’t your wife,” Mason told him.
“Don’t be silly.”
“I’m not.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll put it this way. When you decided to have your wife shadowed, you got in touch with a detective agency. You told them that you wanted to arrange for a twenty-four-hour shadow job, on a woman who was around twenty-three or twenty-four, a brunette, height five feet four and a half inches, weight one hundred and eleven pounds, waist measurement twenty-four inches, bust measurement thirty-two. She lived at Apartment 326 in the Siglet Manor on Eighth Street. You wanted them to keep an eye on the apartment, and pick her up and shadow her every time she went out. You also wanted to know what visitors came to the apartment house and went to see her.”
“All right,” Reedley said. “So what?”
Mason took a wallet from his pocket, extracted the folded copy of the ad, handed it to Reedley. “That,” he said, “is the answer.”
Reedley read it through twice before he got its significance. “Well, I’ll be double damned!” he said slowly.
“You see what that means,” Mason went on. “There was a tip-off. Someone knew in advance that you were going to hire a shadow to trail your wife. Your wife didn’t want to be shadowed, so she sidestepped and ran in a ringer. Your detectives put an eye on the apartment you designated. A woman was living there who answered in every way the description that you had given; a woman who could very well have been the person pictured in the snapshot you gave the detective agency.”
“I didn’t give them any photographs.”
“That made it a lot easier,” Mason said. “The point I’m making is that here was a tip-off. Someone knew you were going to employ the detective agency two or three days before you actually got the men on the job. Now I want to know where that leak came from.”
“You want to know,” Reedley said angrily. “How the hell do you think I feel about it?”
“I thought you’d feel the same way,” Mason said. “We might pool our information.”
“What information do you have?”
“I’ve put some of my cards on the table. After you’ve followed suit, we’ll try another lead.”
“Look here, Mason,” Reedley demanded abruptly. “Don’t detective agencies sometimes sell you out? Isn’t there a double cross?”
“Sometimes.”
“What do you know about the Interstate Investigators?”
“What do you know about them?”
“They were recommended to me by a friend.”
“When did you go to them?”
“What do you mean?”
“How soon did you have them put men on the job after you approached them?”
“Almost immediately.”
“Then it couldn’t have been a leak through the Interstate Investigators. There must have been time for this ad to be inserted, and time for the women to get installed in the apartment; and that must all have been done before the Interstate men got on the job. Therefore, there must have been a tip-off two or three days before you went to the detective agency. Who was the friend who recommended that agency?”
“Does that make any difference? I didn’t tell him what I intended to do.”
“Perhaps you didn’t need to. Perhaps you were just asking about some detective agency?”
“I asked him what he knew about the Interstate outfit.”
“All right, who was he?”
“I don’t think I care to tell you that.”
Mason shrugged his shoulders.
There was silence for several seconds. Then Mason turned to Drake and nodded. “I guess that’s about all, Paul.” And Mason got up.
“Don’t go yet,” Reedley said. “Sit down.”
Mason said, “Hines had a key to your wife’s apartment. Have you met Hines?”
“No.”
“I’ve met your wife. She seems to be rather high-voltage.”
“High-voltage is right.”
“Hines was not exactly a weak sister, but he was sort of nondescript. I can’t imagine his appealing to your wife.”
“It takes all sorts of people to make a world. You can never tell who is going to appeal to whom.”
“That’s right. Just the same, Hines impressed me as being rather weak.”
“Mason, let’s be frank. I don’t give a damn if the man was the anemic ruin of a misspent past. If he had a key to Helen’s apartment, that’s all I want.”
“If he’d lived, you’d have named him in a divorce action?”
“I can still use that key business to soften up my wife’s demands.”
“It might be a two-edged sword,” Mason warned him.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Hines was murdered.”
“Meaning that . . . Oh, I see.”
There were several seconds of silence. Then Reedley said, “Don’t be foolish, Mason. I didn’t even know the man. I don’t like your insinuation.”
“I’m not being foolish, and I’m not making any insinuations.”
“You’re coming damn close to it.”
“Not at all. It makes no difference to me. I was merely interested in what course you’d pursue under certain circumstances. Therefore I was pointing out all the facts.”
“Well,” Reedley admitted, “you pointed out a fact that hadn’t occurred to me.”
“And that may be important,” Mason added.
“It may be damned important,” Reedley grudgingly conceded. “Have you any suggestions?”
“About what?”
“About the way to handle that business of the key?”
Mason shook his head. “Ask your lawyer.”
“I haven’t a lawyer.”
“Then I’d suggest you get one. How about the reports you received from the Interstate people?”
“What about them?”
“You have them here?”
“Yes. That is, the ones sent out yesterday. They mail them out twice a day.”
“I’d like to look at them.”
“Why?”
“You might say it was merely as a matter of curiosity.”
“Just whom do you represent?”
“It might be the brunette who got the job.”
“Posing as my wife?”
“I wouldn’t say that. She was simply given a job.”
“You say you’ve met my wife?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At my office.”
“When?”
“Within the last forty-eight hours.”
“How much ‘within’?”
Mason smiled and shook his head.
“What did she want?”
“It wasn’t what she wanted—it was what I wanted.”
“Well, what did you want?”
“I don’t think I’m entirely in a position to tell you that.”
“Then I’m not in a position to show you the reports of the agents from the Interstate.”
“Well, I guess that covers the situation,” Mason said with a
smile as he got to his feet. “You know where my office is in case you want to give me any information.”
“What would I get if I did give it to you?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On the information that you had, and on the information that I had, at the time.”
“Okay, I’ll think it over.”
“Good night,” Mason said.
Reedley escorted them to the door, his manner that of a poker player who has sized up a bet and doesn’t know whether to quit, raise, or call, but wants a little time to think it over.
7
BACK IN Drake’s car, the detective said, “Gosh, Perry, you certainly did a job on that.”
“We didn’t get very far,” Mason said, a little ruefully.
“Didn’t get very far?” Drake echoed. “You got all the information there was. He confirmed the situation you’d suspected about the reason for hiring the brunette actress and all that.”
“There’s some more to that that I’d like to find out about. Did you notice his apartment, Paul?”
“What about it?”
“He’d evidently furnished it himself.”
“Sure. You don’t get that type of furniture in furnished apartments, even the swanky ones.”
“The whole effect was very—very harmonious, wasn’t it, Paul?”
“It’s a darn swell place, Perry.”
“No,” Mason contradicted. “The word for it isn’t ‘swell’—it is ‘harmonious.’ Nice Venetian blinds, beautiful draperies and upholstery, good pictures effectively hung, handsome Oriental rugs, and a lot of excellent furniture—and all in a color scheme that is exactly right.”
“What are you getting at?” Drake asked. “What’s the apartment got to do with the thing we’re talking about? It’s a swanky apartment, probably sets him back five or six hundred a month unfurnished. So what?”
“You saw what Reedley is like—a man filled with turmoil and restlessness. It’s driving him from one thing to another as he goes through life. There’s an inner conflict, a desire for power, a certain ruthlessness. He’s like a volcano rumbling with molten lava—you can’t tell just when he’s going to erupt.”
“Okay, I’ll agree with you on all that.”
“What I’m getting at,” Mason said, “is this: a man with that temperament never furnished an apartment in the way that one’s furnished.”
“Oh-oh!” Drake exclaimed.
“You see it now, don’t you? There’s a woman’s touch there. Another thing—did you notice that telephone conversation of his?”
“What about it?”
“He was rather enigmatical.”
“It was from the Interstate,” Drake said. “They were relaying on some information to him and he was sitting tight because he didn’t want to discuss it while we were there.”
“What makes you think it was the Interstate?”
“He used the word ‘information,’ didn’t he?”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now think back a minute. Before the telephone rang, what was he doing?”
“He sat there and talked with us.”
“No, he didn’t. He got up and walked over to the window. He took a few steps up and down, walking restlessly around, and then he went over to the window. And do you remember what he did then?”
“Came back and— No, before he came back he turned the Venetian blind so that he could see out.”
“Or so that someone else could see in.”
“Well . . . yes,” Drake admitted.
“That someone else could have looked into the apartment, could have seen us there, could have telephoned, could have said, ‘You have a couple of men there. What do they want?’ And he could have said, ‘Information.’”
Drake gave a low whistle.
“Of course,” Mason said, “I’m just sticking my neck out. But it’s a logical deduction. Here we have Reedley, apparently a man of considerable means, with a restless, driving temperament that makes him turn from one thing to another and would naturally make him go from one woman to another. As he gets older, his changes will be made less frequently; but that type of man never celebrates a golden wedding anniversary.”
“And you think there’s someone there in the apartment house who—”
“Sure. The man’s nobody’s fool, Paul. His wife has been on his trail with private detectives. She’s had him shadowed for months. He knows it. She’s kept tabs on his visitors—those she knows about. But suppose he’s friendly with a woman in an adjoining apartment? Or suppose he puts the woman with whom he’s friendly in an adjoining apartment?”
“Gosh, Perry, it’s logical all right. It’s getting a lot of answers from just one or two clues—sure. But when you stop to think of it, it’s the only solution that fits the facts.”
“I’m not getting it as a solution,” Mason said. “I’m getting it as a clue on which we can work. See if you can’t find out who has the adjoining apartment, how long it’s been occupied. Get a floor plan of the building. It may not be the adjoining apartment; it may be one of those across the court. But the person must be someone who can see in through that window when Reedley fixes the Venetian blinds right.”
“I’ll get busy on it, Perry. Anything else?”
“Keep men on Reedley. I don’t suppose it will do very much good, but I’d like to know a little more about him.”
“Just who is the client in this case, Perry?”
Mason grinned. “Darned if I know. I guess it’s Eva Martell. I’d like to get just a little more information in order to protect her in case it becomes necessary. But I think the real truth is that in part I’m my own client. I have some healthy curiosity about what’s happening. It’s a mystery, and mysteries interest me. I’d like to find out just a little more about Reedley—particularly about how his apartment came to be furnished with such excellent taste.”
“Okay, I’ll get to work on it. We’re going back to your office?”
“That’s right. Della’s waiting.”
Drake turned in at the parking lot next to the office building, and he and Mason went up.
“Coming down to my place?” Mason asked.
“Not unless you want me, Perry. I’ve got quite a bit of stuff to check up on.”
“Okay. Go ahead.”
“You’ll let me know in case there’s anything you want?”
“That’s right.”
“Any other instructions?”
“Just keep working on the thing. Find out as much about the murder as you can. Get some men investigating that apartment house setup. Keep a shadow on Reedley.”
“How about the operatives from the Interstate Investigators?”
“Forget them. You can take your men off them and put them on Reedley.”
“Okay, Perry. How do you want your reports?”
“Usual way. If anything’s really important, get in touch with me no matter where I am.”
“Okay.”
Walking on down the corridor, Mason latchkeyed the door to his private office. Della Street looked up, then held up her finger to her lips as a sign for silence.
Mason raised his eyebrows. She gestured with her thumb toward the outer office.
Mason walked quietly over, sat down close to her, and asked in a half-whisper, “What is it?”
“Eva Martell and Adelle Winters are out there.”
“Anything new?”
“I don’t know. They only arrived about five minutes ago, and all I told them was that I didn’t know whether you’d be in any more this evening or not. Thought I’d park them and find out whether you wanted to see them.”
“Let’s see them,” Mason said.
“Now?”
“Uh-huh. Bring them in. Tell them I just came back.”
Della Street went out and a moment later returned with Eva Martell and Adelle Winters.
“Well,” Mason said, “you seem to have run into quite a bit of excitement.”
> “I’ll say we did,” Eva said.
“Sit down and tell me about it.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell. We went back to the apartment and let ourselves in with the key Mr. Hines had given us and started making ourselves at home. I had taken off my hat and coat and was just going into the bathroom when I saw him.”
“Where was he?”
“In a big chair in the bedroom. All slumped down. And that bullet hole in his forehead, and the blood down the side of his face and over the shoulder of his shirt—it was terrible!”
“What did you do?” Mason asked.
“Screamed her head off,” Adelle Winters said, interposing her competent personality as a barrier between Mason and further questioning of the girl. “I clapped my hand over her mouth and told her to be her age. I went over and took a look at him, saw he was dead, and told her to telephone you for instructions.”
“He was shot in the forehead?” Mason asked.
“Yes—right between the eyes.”
“Did you notice any powder burns?”
“I didn’t look for them, but I didn’t see any.”
“I understand he was shot with a .32 revolver.”
Mrs. Winters shrugged her shoulders.
“You had a .32 revolver, I believe, Mrs. Winters. You’d better—”
“Who? Me?”
“You did have one, didn’t you?”
She threw back her head and laughed. “Good heavens, no!”
“Why, I thought you said that . . .”
“Oh, that’s just one of my little ways of running a bluff, Mr. Mason. I’ve never yet seen the man that I had to be afraid of, but it doesn’t do any harm to let them think they’re dealing with a hellcat, so I always tell ’em that I’m carrying a gun. It’s a good bluff.”
Mason frowned. “You told me you carried a gun and had no permit to do so. I told you to get rid of the gun or else get a permit to carry it.”
The Case of the Borrowed Brunette Page 8
