The Case of the Singing Skirt pm-63

by Erle Stanley Gardner

  "So then the bartender picks up all the money, goes over to the cash register and starts ringing up sales of varying amounts.

  "If the bartender is good at mental arithmetic, he can add up the figures in his mind and ring up an amount that is exactly two dollars short of the real amount. Then he gives each customer his exact change. Various amounts have been leaping into sight on the cash register, staying there for just a moment only to be superseded by another amount. Nobody can tell for certain what check is being rung up. If the bartender sees someone paying attention to the cash register, he is scrupulously accurate in ringing up the amounts, but if people are talking and not paying too much attention, he'll knock down a couple of dollars and no one is any the wiser. He'll do that perhaps ten to twenty times in an evening."

  "Were you doing any of this work at the bar?"

  "Not last night. I was handling the main cash register. I had the only key to it while I was on duty-at least, it was supposed to be the only key. I would Sit there on the stool, and people would come to me with their checks, or the waitresses would come to check out the amounts due at their tables. I'd take in the money and give out the change."

  "Was there any reason why you couldn't have knocked down if you had wanted to?" Mason asked.

  "There's more of a check on the main cash register. The waitresses issue dinner checks and keep a carbon copy which has to be filed when they go off shift. Theoretically the cash rcgister should show a total income equal to the exact total amount of checks issued by the waitresses. But there are lots of ways of beating that game."

  "How?" Mason asked.

  "Walks, for one."

  "Walks?" Mason asked.

  "A customer pays his bill directly at the cash register," she said. "The amount of the bill is two dollars and eighty-five cents. He gives you a twenty-dollar bill. You pretend to be very much interested in the addition on the check, then apparently something goes wrong with the key on the cash register. You concentrate on that. Eventually you ring up two dollars and eightyfive cents; still without apparently paying too much attention to him, you hand him fifteen cents, then give him two one-dollar bills, then hand him a five, then look back at the cash register for a minute. Nine times out of ten the man will pocket the change and walk away. If he starts to pocket the change and then stops suddenly, or if he still waits there, you take out two additional fives and give it to him with a smile, then start looking back at the cash register again."

  "You seem to know all the tricks," Mason said thoughtfully.

  "I've heard some of them," she said.

  "And you sing?"

  "Yes."

  "Let's hear," Mason said.

  She tilted back her head, sang a few bars of a popular song, then stopped and said, "My throat's always a little thick in the morning-I love to sing-I like melody, always have, but singing in rooms filled with stale tobacco smoke is hard on the throat."

  Mason nodded, studied the young woman's face.

  "You've had ups and downs?" he asked.

  "Mostly downs," she said, "but I'm in there fighting. I think I'll go back to modeling. I can get by doing that-only there's no future in it."

  "How does George Anclitas stand in Rowena?" Mason asked.

  "It depends on whom you ask. He owns the justice of the peace and he has something on Miles Overton, the chief of police. As far as official circles are concerned, George stands ace high. Some of the citizens don't like him but they all kowtow to him. He's powerful."

  "I think," Mason said, "we're going to interrupt a somewhat busy day to call on George Anclitas. You don't happen to know his telephone number, do you?"

  "Rowena 6-9481."

  Mason nodded to Della Street. "Get George on the phone, Della. Let's see what he has to say."

  A few moments later Della Street, who had been busy at the dial of the telephone, nodded to Perry Mason.

  Mason picked up the receiver. "George Anclitas?" he asked.

  "Sure," the voice at the other end of the line said. "Who are you? What do you want?"

  "I'm Perry Mason. I'm a lawyer."

  "All right. What does a lawyer want with George?"

  "I want to talk with you."

  "What about?"

  "About an employee."

  "Who?"

  "Ellen Robb, a singer."

  "That tramp. What about her?"

  "I'm coming out to see you," Mason said. "It will take me about half an hour to get there. Miss Robb will be with me. I want all of her personal possessions, I want all of the money that she has coming to her, and I'll talk with you about the rest of it."

  "All right," George said. "Now I'll tell you something. You bring Ellen Robb out here, and she gets arrested quick. If she wants to spend the next sixty days in the clink, this is the place for her. Tell her I've got the reception committee all ready."

  "Very well," Mason said, "and since you're planning a reception committee, you might go to the bank and draw out ten thousand dollars."

  "Ten thousand dollars! What are you talking about?"

  "I am about to file suit on her behalf for defamation of character, for slanderous remarks and false accusation. If you have ten thousand dollars available in cash, I might advise Miss Robb to make a cash settlement rather than go to court."

  "What the hell you talking about?" Anclitas shouted into the telephone.

  "About the business I have with you," Mason said, and hung up.

  The lawyer looked across the desk at Ellen Robb's startled eyes. "Want to put on your coat and go?" he asked.

  She took a deep breath. "No one has ever talked to George Anclitas like that. I want very much to put on my coat and go."

  Mason nodded to Della Street. "Bring a notebook, Della."

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Big Barn in Rowena was a two-story frame building, the front of which had been made to resemble the entrance to a barn. Double barn doors were half open. A recessed partition in the back of the doors, which was not over two feet deep but to which the ends of bales of straw had been fastened, created the impression of a huge barn crammed with baled hay.

  A motel was operated in connection with the other activities, and a sign at the road blazoned TROUT FISHING POOL. RODS, REELS RENTED. FISH BAIT SOLD. NO LICENSE NECESSARY.

  Perry Mason parked his car, assisted Della Street and Ellen Robb to the curb, then walked across to open the door to the night club.

  After the bright sunlight of the sidewalks, the interior seemed to be encased in thick gloom. Figures moved around in the shadows.

  A man's voice said, "I'm Miles Overton, the chief of police of Rowena. What are you folks doing here?"

  Ellen Robb gave a little gasp.

  "Where's George Anclitas?" Mason asked.

  "Here I am."

  George Anclitas pushed his way belligerently forward, his deep-set eyes glittering with hostility at Perry Mason.

  Mason's eyes rapidly adjusted themselves to the dim light.

  "I'm Perry Mason. I'm an attorney," he said. "I'm representing Ellen Robb. You threw her out of here last night without giving her a chance to get her things. The first thing we want is to get to her locker and get her belongings."

  "All right, all right," George said. "You want to go to the locker. The chief of police is here. He'll search the locker."

  "Not without a warrant he won't."

  "That's what you think," the chief said. "When she opens that door I take a look. George Anclitas owns this place. He's given me permission to search any part of it I want."

  "The locker is the property of my client," Mason said.

  "She got a deed to it?" George asked.

  "It was designated as a place where she could store her things," Mason said.

  "While she was working here. She isn't working here any more. I want to take a look in there. I want to see what's in there. I'll bet you I'll find some of the money that's been missing from the cash register."

  "You mean," Mason said, "that she wou
ld have taken the money from the cash register last night, then gone to her locker, unlocked the locker, opened the door, put the money in there, then closed and locked the door again?"

  "Where else would she have put it?" George asked.

  Mason regarded his client with twinkling eyes. "There," he said, "you have a point."

  "You're damned right I got a point," George said.

  "And you don't have a key to the locker?" Mason asked.

  "Why should I have a key?"

  "I thought perhaps you might have a master key that would open all of the lockers."

  "Well, think again."

  "You can't get in this locker?"

  "Of course not. I gave her the key. She's got it in her purse, that little purse she keeps down in the front of her sweater. I saw her put it there."

  "And you have been unable to open her locker?" Mason asked.

  "Of course. Sure, that's right. How could I get in? She's got the key."

  "Then," Mason said, "how did you expect to get her things out and send them by bus to Phoenix, Arizona?"

  George hesitated only a moment, then said, "I was going to get a locksmith."

  The police chief said, "Don't talk with him, George. He's just trying to get admissions from you."

  "First," Mason said, "I'm going to get my client's things. I'm warning you that any attempt to search her things without a warrant will be considered an illegal invasion of my client's rights. I'm also demanding an apology from Mr. Anclitas because of remarks he has made suggesting that my client is less than honest. Such an apology will not be accepted as compensation by my client, but we are suggesting that it be made in order to mitigate damages."

  George started to say something, but the chief of police said, "Take it easy, George. Where's Jebley?"

  "That's what I want to know," Anclitas said angrily. "I told my attorney to be here. This tramp is going to show up with an attorney, I'm going to have an attorney. I-"

  The door opened. For a moment the light from the sidewalk poured in, silhouetting a thick neck, a pair of football player's shoulders and a shock of curly hair. Then the door closed and the silhouette resolved itself into a man of around thirty-seven with dark-rimmed spectacles, a toothy grin and hard, appraising eyes.

  "This," George Anclitas announced, "is Jebley Alton, the city attorney here at Rowena. The city attorney job isn't full time. He takes private clients. I'm one."

  George turned to the attorney. "Jeb," he said, "this man is Mason. He says he's a lawyer and-"

  Anclitas was interrupted by Alton 's exclamation. "Perry Mason!" he exclaimed.

  Mason nodded.

  Alton 's hand shot forward. "Well, my gosh," he said, "am I glad to meet you! I've seen you around the Hall of Justice a couple of times and I've followed some of your cases."

  Alton 's fingers closed around Mason's hand.

  "All right, never mind the brotherly love stuff," George said. "This guy Mason is representing this woman who's trying to blackmail me and-"

  "Easy, George, easy," Alton warned. "Take it easy, will you?"

  "What do you mean, take it easy? I'm telling you."

  Alton said, "This is Perry Mason, one of the most famous criminal lawyers in the country."

  "So what?" Anclitas said. "He's representing a broad who's trying to blackmail me. She claims I accused her of being dishonest."

  "Oh, George wouldn't have done that," Alton said, smiling at Mason. And then turning to Della Street, bowing, and swinging around to face Ellen Robb, "Well, well," he said, "it's the cigar and cigarette girl."

  "That's the one," George said.

  "What's the one?"

  "The one who's making the trouble. Ellen Robb, here."

  The chief of police said, "There's been a program of pilfering going on in the place. George has run up against a whole series of shortages. He's asked me to make an investigation."

  Alton 's eyes swept over the chief of police with skeptical appraisal. "The law of searches and seizures is rather technical, Chief," Alton said easily. "Several decisions of the Supreme Court in California and the Supreine Court of the United States haven't simplified matters any. I'll take charge here."

  Mason turned to Ellen Robb. "Do you have a key to your locker?"

  She nodded.

  "Get it," Mason said.

  Her hand moved into the front of her sweater, came out with a small coin purse. She opened it, took out a key.

  "Let's go," Mason said.

  Ellen Robb led the way. Mason and Della Street came next, then the chief of police. George Anclitas, striding forward, was checked by Jebley Alton who, laying a restraining hand on his client's arm, drew him back to one side and engaged in rapid-fire, low-voiced conversation.

  Ellen led the way into a room marked Employees, through a curtained doorway which had the word Female painted over the top, and paused before a locker.

  "Open it," Mason said.

  She fitted a key and opened the locker. In it there was a cheap suitcase, a pair of shoes, a suit and a raincoat.

  "These all yours?" Mason asked.

  She nodded.

  "Do you want to put those things in that suitcase?"

  "They came in that way. They can go out that way," she said.

  "You have some other things?"

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "There's a motel unit assigned to us girls. We sleep there. It's a sort of dormitory. Sadie Bradford, another girl and I share the unit. He wouldn't let me get my things out of it last night. I was virtually thrown out."

  "Better start packing," Mason said.

  She pulled out the suitcase and flung back the lid. "I think Miss Robb would like some privacy while she changes her clothes," Mason said. "My secretary, Miss Street, will wait with her and-"

  Mason broke off at the startled exclamation from Ellen Robb.

  "What is it?" he asked.

  She instinctively started to close the lid of the suitcase, then checked herself.

  "Let's take a look," Mason said.

  "I'll take a look," the chief of police said, pushing forward.

  "What is it, Ellen?"

  Ellen Robb reopened the lid, then pulled forward the elastic which held closed one of the compartments in the lining of the suitcase. A wad of currency had been thrust hurriedly into this compartment.

  "I'll take that into my custody," the chief of police said.

  Mason moved so that he interposed a shoulder between the officer and the suitcase. "We'll count it," he said.

  Ellen Robb glanced at him in questioning panic, then with trembling fingers counted the money. "Five hundred and sixty-eight dollars," she said.

  "Good," Mason told her. "We'll give George credit for that on the amount of back wages due and our claims against him for defamation of character."

  George, who had quietly entered the room with Alton at his side, started to say something, but just then the curtained doorway was flung back with such violence cloth was almost ripped from the guide rings on the overhead pole. A woman's voice said angrily, "Defamation of character, indeed! That's a laugh-pot calling the kettle black, I'd say!"

  Her eyes blazed hatred at Ellen, then she turned back to George.

  "But I didn't come here to see that husband stealer, I came to see you. Just what do you think you're doing to my husband?"

  "Why Mrs. Ellis!" George said, stepping forward and smiling cordially. "This is-that is-we aren't really open for business yet. I had some people come in and- Come on with me and I'll buy a drink."

  She ignored the man's proffered hand, said furiously, "You've been trimming my husband in a crooked game here and I am tired of it. He tells me you took him for six thousand dollars last night. We don't have that kind of money to lose, and I'm not going to let you make a sucker out of my husband. I want the money back."

  "You want it back!" George said incredulously.

  "That's right, you heard me. I want it back."

  George said sooth
ingly, "Your husband was in a little private game last night, Mrs. Ellis. I don't know how he came out. I believe that perhaps he did lose a little, but I haven't tried to figure up just how much. I can assure you that the game was on the up and up. I was in it myself. If we gambled with people at night, let them take a chance on winning the place, and then, if they weren't lucky, gave them back the money they had lost the next morning, it wouldn't be very long before I'd be selling apples on the street corner."

  He laughed at the idea, his mouth making the laughter, his eyes anxiously watching her, appraising her mood.

  "As far as I'm concerned, that's exactly where you belong," Mrs. Ellis said. "I want our money back. That's money my husband earned, and I have other uses for it than giving it to you. I'm not going to let you cheap crooks rob us of that money and get away with it."

  The chief of police said, "I hope I don't have to take you into custody for disturbing the peace, Mrs. Ellis. If you continue to make abusive statements of that sort in public, I'll have to take action."

  "You!" she snapped at him. "You fatheaded nincompoop! You're just a shill for these gambling houses. George Anclitas has you right in his hip pocket. You don't dare to hiccup unless he gives you permission. Don't tell me what I can do and what I can't do!"

  "You're using loud and profane language in a public place," the chief said.

  "I haven't moved into profanity yet," she told him, "but I'm getting ready to, and when I do, I'm going to have some very biting adjectives and a few nouns that may startle you… you-"

  "Just a minute," Mason interposed. "Perhaps I can be of some help here."

  "And who are you?" Mrs. Ellis demanded, turning to regard Perry Mason belligerently. "You… I've seen your pictures… why, you're Perry Mason!"

  Mason bowed, said, "I think it might be better to control your temper, Mrs. Ellis. Apparently you aren't going to get anywhere making a personal demand, and I think perhaps a written demand made in a more formal manner through an attorney would do you more good."

  "What are you talking about, through an attorney?" George said scornfully. "You know as well as I do that when a guy loses money gambling he can't get it back."