Эрл Гарднер: The Case of the Curious Bride

"Yes."

"Look here," Mason told her, "as a matter of fact, I'm friendly with R. Montaine."

"You don't even know whether it's a man or a woman," she challenged.

"It's a woman," he told her, watching her narrowly.

"If you're a friend of hers, why don't you get in touch with her?" Nell Brinley asked.

"That's what I'm trying to do."

"If you're a friend of hers, you'd know where to find her."

"I'm going to find her through you," Mason said doggedly.

"I don't know anything about her."

"You gave her this telegram?"

"No."

"Then," said Perry Mason, "it becomes necessary for me to disclose my real identity. I am a detective working for the telegraph company. There have been complaints of unauthorized persons receiving and reading telegrams. You probably don't realize it, but it's a felony under our state law. I'm going to ask you to get your things on and come to the district attorney's office with me for questioning."

She gave a quick, gasping intake of breath. "No, no!" she said. "I'm acting for Rhoda. I gave her the telegram."

"And why," asked Perry Mason, "couldn't Rhoda receive telegrams at her own house?"

"She couldn't."

"Why not?"

"If you knew Rhoda, you'd know."

"You mean on account of her husband? Married women shouldn't have secrets from their husbands—especially brides."

"Oh, you know that, then?"

"What?"

"About her being a bride."

"Of course," Mason said, laughing.

Nell Brinley lowered her eyes, thinking. Mason said nothing, letting her think the matter over.

"You're not a detective from the telegraph company, are you?" she asked.

"No. I'm a friend of Rhoda's, but she doesn't know it."

Abruptly, she looked up and said, "I'm going to tell you the truth."

"It always helps," Mason commented dryly.

"I'm a nurse," she said. "I'm very friendly with Rhoda. I've known her for years. Rhoda wanted to get some telegrams and some mail at this address. She lived with me here before her marriage. I told her it would be quite all right."

"Where does she live now?" Mason asked.

Nell Brinley shook her head and said, "She hasn't given me the address." Mason's laugh was scornful. "Oh, I'm telling you the truth," she said. "Rhoda is one of the most secretive women I have ever known in my life. I lived with her for more than a year. We kept this little house together, and yet I don't know the man she married or where she lives. I know that his name is Montaine. That's all that I know about him."

"Know his first name?" Mason asked.

"No."

"How do you know his name is Montaine?"

"Only because Rhoda had the telegrams come here addressed to that name."

"What was her maiden name?"

"Rhoda Lorton."

"How long's she been married?"

"Less than a week."

"How did you get this telegram to her?"

"She called up and asked if there was any mail. I told her about the telegram. She came out and got it."

"What's your telephone number?"

"Drenton ninefourtwosixeight."

"You're a nurse?"

"Yes."

"A trained nurse?"

"Yes."

"You're called out on cases?"

"Yes."

"When was your last case?"

"I came in yesterday. I was special nurse on an operative case."

Mason got up, smiled. "Do you think Rhoda will call up again?" he asked.

"Probably, but I'm not sure. She's very queer, very secretive. There's something in her life that she's concealing. I don't know just what it is. She's never given me her full confidence."

"When she rings up," Mason said, "tell her that she must go back to the lawyer she called on today, that he has something of the greatest importance to tell her. Do you think you can remember that message?"

"Yes. How about the telegram?" she asked, her eyes on Mason's pocket. "It's addressed to Rhoda."

"It's the same telegram you delivered to her this morning," he said.

"I know that, but how did you get it?"

"That," Mason said, "is a professional secret."

"Who are you?"

Mason's smile was baffling. "I am the man who left you the message for Rhoda Montaine to go back to the attorney she called on earlier in the day." He walked through the corridor. She called some questions after him, but he banged the front door, moved rapidly down the steps, across the strip of cement sidewalk, and, as the cab driver pulled open the door of the cab, jumped inside. "Snappy!" he said. "Around the corner. Stop at the first place where there's a telephone." Nell Brinley came to the door and stood staring at the cab as it lurched into motion and swung around the corner.

The cab driver swung toward the curb in front of a candy store which exhibited a public telephone sign. "How will this do?" he asked.

"Fine," Mason said. The cab stopped. Mason strode into the candy store, dropped a coin into the telephone, held his mouth close to the transmitter and cupped his fingers over the hard rubber mouthpiece so as to muffle his voice. He gave the number of his office, and, when he heard Della Street 's voice on the line, said, "Take a pencil and notebook, Della."

"Okay," she said.

"In about twenty minutes, ring up Nell Brinley at Drenton ninefourtwosixeight. Tell her that when Rhoda Montaine comes in she is to call you at once. Give her a fake name. Tell her that it is a message from Gregory."

"Okay, chief, what do I do when she calls?"

"When she calls, tell her who you are. Tell her that she left her purse in my office. Tell her that I want to see her at once. Now, here's something else for you. Check over the marriage licenses. Find out if a marriage license was issued to a man by the name of Montaine, in which the name of the bride was Rhoda Lorton. Have Paul Drake send one of his men to the water, light and gas companies and see if they have made a service connection for a Montaine recently. When you get the right initials from the marriage license, check up with the telephone company and see if there's a telephone in his name. Have Drake put a man on addresses and see if he can run down the address of the bridegroom from the marriage license. Have him get in touch with the Colt arms people and see if he can trace the number on that gun. You've the number there in your notebook. Keep all of this stuff under cover. I want to get a line on that woman."

"Why," she asked, "has anything happened?"

"No," he told her, "but it's going to if I can't get in touch with her."

"You'll call me again to pick up what information I've received?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Okay, chief."

Mason hung up, returned to the cab.

The printer had a small stall between skyscrapers, adjacent to another stall which dispensed orange drinks. An oblong glass frame contained samples of the various types of printing. A placard announced that cards and stationery were printed while the customer waited. Perry Mason stared speculatively at the glass oblong, his manner that of one who is debating whether to buy or not to buy. The man behind the short counter leaned forward. "I can give you a quick drying ink," he said, "that will look like engraving. It will fool even an expert."

"How much?" asked Perry Mason. The man's inksmeared forefinger indicated a schedule of samples and prices. Mason took a bill from his pocket, indicated one of the cards. "I like this one," he said. "Make it 'R. L. Montaine, one twentyeight East Pelton Avenue. Down in the lefthand corner put 'Insurance and Investments. "

"It'll take me just a minute or two to get the type ready," the printer said, handing Mason his change. "Would you like to wait here or come back?"

"I'll be back," Mason said. He crossed to a drug store, telephoned his office, learned that Della had received no message as yet from Rhoda Montaine. He sat at the counter, sipped a chocolate malted milk meditatively, and let minutes slip by unnoticed. At length he crossed the street to the printer, and received the stack of freshly printed cards. He returned to the drug store called his office again.