Эрл Гарднер: The Case of the Curious Bride

Perry Mason — the most famous criminal lawyer in fiction, whose mental agility once again baffles the District Attorney's office…

Helen Crocker — a seemingly diffident soul who is most anxious to secure information for "a friend"…

Della Street — the perfect secretary, whose insight into human nature is a valuable asset to her boss…

Paul Drake — the quickwitted private detective who gets himself a job by working a hunch…

Nell Brinley — a secretive trained nurse and "a receiver of other people's telegrams"…

Gregory Moxley — a man with a way with the women…

Rhoda Montaine — a bride with pride—and ideals…

Carl W. Montaine — Rhoda's husband, who doesn't make the best use of his fortune or his family…

Doctor Claude Millsap — a lovesick physician…

C. Phillip Montaine — a pedigreed multimillionaire, Carl's father and his worst enemy…

Danny Spear — a wideeyed, yokelish private eye…

John Lucas — belligerent and wily deputy district attorney…

Benjamin Crandall — something in his memory rang a bell…

The woman was nervous. Her eyes held the eyes of the lawyer for a moment, then slithered away to the booklined walls, as the eyes of an animal survey the bars of a cage. "Sit down," said Perry Mason. He studied her with a frank scrutiny which had been developed by years of exploring the dark recesses of human minds—not only of witnesses, but of clients.

"I'm calling," she said, "on behalf of a friend."

"Yes?" asked Perry Mason tonelessly.

"My friend's husband has disappeared," she said. "I understand there's an expression known as 'legal death' that covers such matters, isn't there?"

Perry Mason didn't answer her directly. "Your name," he asked, "is Helen Crocker?"

"Yes."

"Your age?" he inquired abruptly.

She hesitated a moment. "Twentyseven," she said.

"My secretary thought you were a bride," the lawyer went on.

She squirmed uncomfortably in the big leather chair. "Please," she said, "let's not discuss me. After all, my name or my age doesn't make any difference. I told you that I was calling on behalf of a friend. You don't need to know who I am. I'm simply a messenger. Your fee will be paid—in cash."

"My secretary," Perry Mason went on, "doesn't usually make mistakes. She felt quite positive you had been recently married."

"What ever gave her that impression?"

"Something about the way you fingered your wedding ring, as though it were new to you."

She spoke with quick desperation, after the manner of one who is reciting a speech which has been learned by rote. "My friend's husband was in an airplane. It's been a good many years ago. I don't remember the exact location, but it was somewhere over a lake. It was foggy. Apparently the pilot was trying to come close to the water, and he hit the water before he knew what was happening. A fisherman heard the plane but couldn't see it. He said it sounded as though it was just a few feet above the surface."

"Are you a bride?" Perry Mason asked.

"No!" she said with swift indignation.

"Are you," asked Perry Mason, "certain the plane was wrecked?"

"Yes, they found some wreckage. I think it was what they call a pontoon—I don't know much about airplanes. They found the body of one of the passengers. They never found the body of the pilot, nor the other three passengers."

"How long have you been married?" the lawyer inquired.

"Please," she said, "leave me out of it. I have already explained to you, Mr. Mason, that I am trying to get information for a friend."

"I take it," Mason said, "there was some life insurance, and the insurance company refuses to pay until the body has been recovered?"

"Yes."

"And you want me to collect the insurance?"

"Partially that."

"What's the rest of it?"

"She is wondering about her right to remarry."

"How long since her husband disappeared?"

"About seven years I think, perhaps a little longer."

"No one," asked Perry Mason, "has heard from the husband in the meantime?"

"No, certainly not. He died… But, about the divorce."

"What divorce?" the lawyer inquired.

She laughed nervously. "I'm afraid I'm getting the cart before the horse," she said. "This woman wants to remarry. Some one told her that unless her husband's body had been discovered she would have to get a divorce. That seems foolish. Her husband is dead, all right. It seems foolish to get a divorce from a dead man. Tell me, could she remarry without getting a divorce?"

"It's been over seven years since the disappearance?"

"Yes."

"You're positive of that?"

"Yes. It's been more than seven years now… but it wasn't when…" Her voice trailed off into silence.

"When what?" Mason asked.

"When she first met this man she's going with," Helen Crocker finished lamely.

Perry Mason studied her with calm, contemplative appraisal and did not seem conscious of the fact that he was staring. Helen Crocker was not beautiful. There was a touch of the sallow about her complexion. Her mouth was just a bit too long, her lips too full. But she was wellformed, and there was a sparkle to her eyes. Taken all in all, she was not hard to look at. She bore his scrutiny calmly, a touch of defiance in her eyes.

"Was there," asked Perry Mason, "anything else that your friend wanted to know about?"

"Yes. That is, she's curious about it, that's all just curious."

"Curious about what?" Mason asked.

"Curious about what you lawyers call the corpus delicti."

Perry Mason became rigid with watchful attention. His eyes stared with cold steadiness as he asked, "What did she want to know about it?"

"She wanted to know whether it was true that, no matter what evidence they had against a person, they couldn't prosecute her for murder unless they found the body. Is that right?"

"And she wanted to know," said Perry Mason, "just to satisfy her curiosity, is that it?"

"Yes."

"So this friend of yours," Perry Mason went on, with steady remorseless insistence, "finds it necessary to produce the body of her dead husband in order to collect the insurance and be free to remarry, and, at the same time, has to keep that body concealed in order to escape a prosecution for murder. Is that it?"

Helen Crocker came up out of the chair as though she had received an electric shock. "No!" she said. "Certainly not! Not at all. It's just curiosity that made her want to know about that last. She'd been reading a book."

There was a scornful smile in Perry Mason's eyes. His manner became that of a big dog who has condescended to amuse himself for a few minutes with the gambols of a puppy, and, having wearied himself of the purposeless playing, walks toward a shady corner with an air of complete dismissal. He pushed back his swivel chair, got to his feet and stood looking down at her with a patient smile. "Very well," he said, "tell your friend if she wishes to have her questions answered she can make an appointment through my secretary. I'll be glad to discuss the matter with her."

Dismay flooded Helen Crocker's features. "But," she protested frantically, "I'm her friend. She sent me to find out. She can't come herself. You can give me the information and I'll give it to her."

Perry Mason's eyes continued to hold a smile. There were mingled contempt and amusement in his manner. "No," he said, "that's a poor way to get legal information to the ears of a client. Tell her to come in and see me—I'll talk with her." Helen Crocker started to say something, but checked herself with a single quick intake of the breath. The lawyer walked across the office, twisted the knob of the door that led to the corridor and held it open. "You can," he said, "get out this way."